Journal: The Chiru of High Tibet

My Father's Village by Claire Nivola: a wonderful story, a wonderful model.

2012-01-24T08:29:00.000-08:00

My Father's Village by Claire A. Nivola (Frances Foster Books, 2011) tells the story of the author's visits to the Sardinian village where her father was born. We readers go with her as she and her family "traveled far across the ocean to Italy..." to the "overnight boat [that] took us from the mainland to the island's port, arriving at dawn. From there we rode inland, past the scrub oaks and red trunks of the harvested cork trees, past chalky talc cliffs and expanses blackened by brush fires.
How long it took to get there!"

Once there the author and cousins "flew and settled wherever something was happening,... and something was always happening--close enough to touch." We adventure with the cousins, eat the feasts, even attend the wake of a dead man, and the occasional wedding and its three day feast. Eventually the narrator returns home to New York City. And Claire Nivola ends the story with a question and an invitation to readers. "Everywhere there were so many people! It seemed strange that not one of them knew Orani. But then, what different world, I wondered, what Orani of their own might they have known before they traveled here?"

There are many reasons to love this book. First, it takes us to a new place. Most of us have not been to Sardinia but Nivola's detailed descriptions and wonderful illustrations take us there, make us aware of another culture, where people share food and festivals, joy and sorrow; where kids play and run, eat chocolate and find birds that have fallen out of their nests. We see up close the sameness that exists in a faraway culture. And we perhaps are reminded--in a time when so many are so quick to divide our lives in to "us" and "them"--that we may all be "us."

Another important reason to love this book is for the invitation to write about an "Orani" of our own. We could each write a story about the place our father was born--and if we have students, they could, too. Did we live there? Did we ever get to visit? What did we love about those visits? What was scary?

I grew up in the house where my father was born so there was no travel involved. But there were favorite times--playing with my brothers and sisters in the little nook formed by three (or was it four) cedar trees in our front yard, tipping over the lawn chairs and making them into "houses" for fox and geese; homemade lemon/orange ice cream, cold on the tongue but so sweet and creamy, thanks to those Holstein cows; the little surprises in the Christmas stocking--and the night my brother and I were just about sure we saw a shadow of Santa Claus in the front hall, as he was headed downstairs.

Of course there are some who do not know of their fathers' birthplace. But every child has a favorite place. It is the nature of us and of childhood that some places are special to us--a single tree, a grandparent's kitchen, a rock by a river, a candy shop on a busy street, even a favorite car. Whoever we are, there are stories in that place--secrets, surprises, what we used to be just about sure of, what wants to be told.

Martin Luther King's Birthday

2012-01-15T19:41:00.000-08:00

Today, for another few hours is Martin Luther King's birthday.

I've been busy at the Hamline University Low Residency MFA program's winter residency. Today's the last day, so suitcase packing might be a good idea, but I could not let this date pass without some acknowledgement of the birthday of a great American.

And fortunately for me, at this residency I met Ann Bausum, writer of wonderful non-fiction for children and young adults. Ann read to us from her new book, Marching to the Mountaintop, the story of Martin Luther King, Junior's last days in Memphis in 1968, released just last week.

In this book, Ann tells us the story of the Memphis sanitation workers' strike, when these city workers could not take any more mistreatment and marched in the streets with signs that read "I am a man."

She also reminds us of the lasting impact of King's campaign for civil rights using non-violence as the strategy. Here's a bit of the flap copy:

"I've been to the mountaintop . . . And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!"

"On Wednesday, April 3, 1968, Martin Luther King, Jr., delivered one of the most stirring speeches of his career. His vision of the promised land and his confidence that it could be reached was for his audience the essence of what it would mean for a dream to come alive. They were the sanitation workers of Memphis, Tennessee, a group of poor African-American men who had spent their lives being treated like garbage. The men were completing week eight of a strike to improve working conditions—eight brutal weeks of being stonewalled after a lifetime of being ignored. King galvanized them and gave them hope. But not 24 hours later, he was dead, killed by an assassin's bullet."

And here's a brief quote from the book:

"' Freedom is not something that is voluntarily given by the oppressor,' Martin Luther King said in Memphis, yet he proved over and over again that it could be achieved by non-violent means. His rich understanding of that truth arose from his relentless, uphill campaign for social justice. ... King's faith in non-violence echoes through events that have unfolded around the globe in the decades since his death. Even at the dismantling of the Berllin Wall in Germany people sang 'We Shall Overcome.'"

We heard echoes of Dr. King's influence again last winter in Egypt's Tahrir Square as protesters were careful to keep their movement non-violent.

Some people make history. Some people change lives around the world.

It feels good to remember.

Beginning with a picture

2011-12-30T10:05:00.000-08:00

On this next to the last day of 2011, almost the end of the year, I want to add one more voice in the series on beginnings.

We've listened to people who begin with research, who begin with doodling around, who begin in their heads and don't write until they know a good portion of the story.

Today's guest--Anne Ylvisaker--often begins with a photo. She'll find a photo that seems to "speak" to her and ask herself questions. Who are these people? What are they like? Why is the grandmotherly woman so sour-looking.

Here's the photo [from Anne's blog] and here's Anne talking about the beginnings of The Luck of the Buttons:

"And The Luck of the Buttons is set in fictional Goodhue, Iowa. I named the town Goodhue because the family photo that led me to writing the story is taken on a farm in Goodhue County. Look closely at the cover of the book and you'll see a tiny reproduction of this image on the family album Tugs is holding.

While there is an actual town of Goodhue in Minnesota, I brought this fictional Goodhue to Iowa because of my experiences living there when I was beginning to write the story. My inspiration for the main character came from an Iowa cemetery, and I was drawn in by the people and landscapes of Iowa artists Grant Wood and Marvin Cone."

Thanks Anne. And while we're still thinking about The Luck of the Buttons here's a lovely review.

Beginning with a photo...maybe it would be useful to build up a collection of photos and use them as writing prompts on those days when the cupboard is not brimming over. And maybe that writing will lead to some questions that prompt more writing.

Or when we want to shake things up we could just pick a photo and insert one character into a current story and see what happens.

Beginnings..let's begin something..something new..any little thing..today and that beginning will get us across the bridge into the new year.

Solstice Greeting

2011-12-21T14:00:00.000-08:00

In the Christmas Carol "In the Bleak Midwinter"--

"Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter,
Long ago."

We have no snow on snow. We have no snow. Still the solstice is not dependent on snow--and here we are on the darkest day, the pivot toward light. So let's toast to what keeps us going-- to lots of candles, to cherishing warmth and light, to the company of good friends, family, and rambunctious children, to libraries, to independent bookstores, to cinnamon babka, to the rambunctious, hopeful, funny, or tender stories that we read and/or hope to write.

And tomorrow there will be more light.

Holiday Greeting from the kids of Mount Vernon

2011-12-08T10:48:00.001-08:00

I'm interrupting this blog's usual focus on writing and stories and chiru to send you this holiday card--actually made by the kids at the Mount Vernon Elementary School with their art teacher, Sarah Fitzgerald (front, in the photo). Each art class watched the video of Snowflake Bentley. Then each student cut out a snowflake.

Much good art, whoever is involved, is a collaborative venture. The chandelier began when Stan Crocker, (left in the photo) lighting designer and artist, imagined an art project in which the artists--the kids who cut the snowflakes--would feel an ownership, and art that could be part of Mount Vernon's annual "Magical Night" celebration.

Once the snowflakes were cut, Sarah and volunteers organized by Susan Hargus (right in the photo) and Stan strung the snowflakes on lines and hung the chandelier. Stan did the lighting and voila, we have this wonderful art. And the kids do feel ownership. The ones I saw at the event were smiling and admiring.

It was on display in a public space for just about the life of a snowflake (4 hours) last Thursday night (December 8). But it was so lovely, that it will last in the heads of those of us who saw it much longer than that. I think Wilson Bentley would have loved it.

Thanks to dedicated teachers, thanks to parents who volunteer with their ideas and their time, thanks to kids, all of whom make our lives richer.

And happy holidays to all!

Beginning after Thanksgiving

2011-11-28T11:06:00.000-08:00

Opening up the writing notebook on the Monday after Thanksgiving weekend seems almost like a beginning to me, or at least a very powerful "resuming." So I want, this week, to share the last two visitors to share thoughts on new projects.

Today's guest is Jennifer Jacobsen, author of the very popular Andy Shane series for beginning readers and award-winning "Winnie" series of middle grade readers, as well as a number of YA novels. Her most recent book, Small as an Elephant (Candlewick, 2011) received many wonderful reviews and was a winner of the "Gold Fiction Award" from Parent's Choice. She's also a successful teacher of writing seminars for both students and teachers.

Here's Jennifer:

"I’m working on another middle-grade novel... [inspired by a] game I made up as a child. I’ve worked on the story steadily in my mind since the idea first germinated, despite travels and life-changing events (a totally new experience for me). But the drive doesn’t come from the desire to find audience (i.e. publish) or a fierce commitment to art . . . but to the rediscovery of play. Play for play’s sake. I play at writing this story in the very same way I played ... as a child. For the first time ever, I find the writing lusciously slow and well . . . pure pleasure.

"Jackie, I do believe my beginning process has differed for every book. With this [new] story, I have spent far more time musing -- staring off into space as others have described. Also, much of the time that this book has been “beginning,” I’ve been on the road, conducting writer’s workshops in classrooms During each workshop, after presenting a mini-lesson, I write privately for ten minutes along with the students. During these ten minutes, I’ve been journaling on the book: asking myself and my characters questions. I suppose the quick ten minute writes have the same desired effect as telling myself I only need to show up and write nine lines: it has kept the story building and invited a steady stream of new insights. If I go down a wrong path in a quick write – no big deal."

I really like the idea of committing to ten minutes, just ten minutes every day. I have been trying to do this in November--and have to admit that I haven't always succeeded. But I'm going to stick with it, until it becomes habit. Just start and write for ten minutes--and maybe more. As Jennifer has noted, it often does turn into more.

The occasional lift

2011-11-15T09:59:00.000-08:00

Last week at this time I was visiting a school in Cedar Rapids to talk with students about bullying. The Cedar Rapids Opera Company will celebrate its 15th anniversary next year and they have asked Rob Nassif, a composer who divides his time between Cedar Rapids and New York City, to compose an opera for kids about bullying. Rob thought it would be nice if kids did some writing, in advance of his work, that he might incorporate into the opera.

We started out with Goggles by Ezra Jack Keats, a satisfying Keats story in which Archie and Peter outwit a group of "big boys" who want to take the treasured goggles that the two have found in the street. We talked about the big boys and what would make us call them bullies. Then I read excerpts from The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes. Should we call Peggy a bully? How might the victim of the teasing, Wanda Petronski, feel about the "hundred dresses" game? How do bullies want us to feel?

We made a lot of charts: what bullies do, what words bullies use, how to respond to bullies. And the students did some writing. Some shared, some didn't. The charts we made were good but fairly predictable. Bullies use words like, "nerd," "ugly," "hate," "dumb," words we've heard. Words we know. They push, shove, grab, punch, laugh, gossip, lie. These kids have a grasp on bullies. I knew that.

But they took my breath away in the afternoon. We were almost out of time and I started one more chart: "If a bully were an animal it would have..." Almost before I could finish the phrase, someone shouted out "antennae." Of course! That's what bullies are so good at--figuring out just where the weak spot in a person is, figuring out just who to tease, and what to tease about. I don't know if "antennae" will show up in the opera or not, but it was a wonderful moment.

And it reminded me that that's how writing goes--we write, and write, and most of it is pretty much mashed potatoes. We've heard it. But then in the middle of all that mash comes the surprise--the detail that startles, the action that captures the character. It doesn't matter how old or young we are: that's the way writing is. If we stay at it long enough, we get an idea that lifts us off the ground.

Talking with writers and readers

2011-11-03T14:44:00.000-07:00

Writing is a pretty solitary activity. So, it's good once in a while to get out and visit with the ones we write for, the ones who read our books. And that's what I did on Thursday, November 3 at the Durant, Iowa, Elementary School.

It's good to know that some students read Banjo Granny carefully enough to wonder why Owen threw his socks out the window; or to know that someone wondered where the story of The Water Gift and the Pig of the Pig came from.

It's good to know that the idea of a favorite place resonates with kids: it might be an aunt's farm or a grandma's kitchen but, as we discovered, it's place where a story can happen; it's good to meet two young writers who are taking on the challenge of NaMoWriMo. Good luck!

Thanks Sheila Fargo for taking such good care of me all day, Maria Brown and Joy Sheeley for working out so many details in advance, and all the staff for their enthusiasm for books and stories. I could see in your students the effects of your commitment and felt privileged to spend the day with all of you.

Good inuksuit

2011-10-31T11:32:00.000-07:00

In the last post I mentioned going to the AASL in Minneapolis. Sharron McElmeel , Jeni Reeves, Carol Gorman and I spoke on how to foster curiosity in young readers and how librarians can become an important part of the collaborative process with teachers in helping students to become better readers.

Our session had a good audience. We saw some long-time friends, including Toni Buzzeo, shown here with Sharron (Sharron on the left, Toni on the right).Toni was at the AASL speaking on a topic similar to ours--how librarians can become visible and essential collaborators in their schools. We know they are essential, but we are the choir. We-writers and readers--want school boards, parents, community people to realize that excellent schools, even just good schools, require trained librarians.

I also had a chance to spend some time with Phyllis Root, which is always a treat. Phyllis and her daughter Ellen have recently built this inuksuit, a trail marker like the ones built by Alaskan natives to mark the way. Rocks were what they had to build with and what they used.

Every writer needs to run into an inuksuit once in a while. Wandering is good. We find what we didn't even know we were looking for by wandering. But once in a while it's good to see an inuksuit that reminds us that we are on the path, a path.

Seeing friends, spending time talking about shared writing problems, seeing librarians talking about shared purpose-good inuksuit.

Thinking About Endangered Animals

2011-10-26T12:25:00.000-07:00

I’m packing and otherwise getting ready to go to the 2011 meeting of the AASL in Minneapolis tomorrow and, since I’ll be talking about the chiru, I thought it might be appropriate to interrupt the discussion on beginnings to share a sampling of books about other animals who, like the chiru, are or have teetered on the edge of existence.

Ellis, Carol. Apes Endangered. Benchmark, 2010. (One of a series of books on endangered animals).

Firestone, Mary. Top 50 Reasons to Care About Elephants. Enslow, 2010.

Kurlansky, Mark. World Without Fish. Workman, 2011.

Lasky, Kathryn. Interrupted Journey: Saving Endangered Sea Turtles. Candlewick, 2006.

Montaigne, Fen. Fraser’s Penguins: A Journey to the Future in Antarctica. Henry Holt 2010. (for teens and adults).

Montgomery, Sy. Spell of the Tiger: The Man-eaters of the Sundarbans, Houghton Mifflin, 1995.

_____________. Kakapo Rescue: Saving the World’s Strangest Parrot. (illustrated by Nic Bishop). Houghton Mifflin, 2010. Siebert Medal Winner 2011.

Safina, Carl. Voyage of the Turtle: In Pursuit of the Earth’s Last Dinosaur. Holt (paper) 2007.

Sinha, Vivek, R. The Vanishing Wild Tigers: Co-Predator and Prey Species. Anova, 2003. (for all ages).

Turner, Pamela S. A Life in the Wild: George Schaller’s Struggle to Save the Last Great Beasts. Farrar Straus & Giroux.

Only by understanding the peril can we act to prevent it. I hope this list will be a useful beginning for some readers.

Back to beginnings

2011-10-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the long break here. Rich and I have been touring around with family, looking for pelicans, watching herons, peeping at fall leaves, generally having a good time.

But there's more to be said about beginnings. Today I want to share illustrator and writer Jo Stanbridge's thoughts on beginnings. Jo lives outside of Toronto. She's also a librarian in her day job and a passionate artist in her heart. She's published a number of books, including two award--winners titled "Famous Dead Canadians." She finished a picture book on Charles Ives that will be published in the near future by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt .

Here's Jo:

"I adore research, too.

The other thing I have to do is to make a mess. I envy Nancy her ability to think clearly in her head! I can't seem to think without scribbling, anymore. I've attached an example. I was trying to work out an idea for a "Seasonal ABC" book. You can see how it started out tight and got messier and messier as I went along.

Near the end, I must have thought, "What would make this book different or interesting? Where's the added-value?" And out popped two ideas. I still think the Australia idea is cool. But I don't think I would have hit on it without the scribbling and mess."

It's nice to be reminded that beginnings can be messy. And out of those messes come some great ideas.

Thanks Jo!

Start here: learn something new

2011-09-28T07:17:00.001-07:00

Beginning a new writing project has often been compared to taking off on a journey, or a hike, maybe, for short projects. When we start there's some trepidation. We don't know what lies ahead-- a surprise snake across the path? someone's territorial dog? Will we, or our story, fall into a pit?

But there's also an enticing anticipation--what will we see? A bird we've never seen. An old Native American fish weir? What will surprise us? What will happen that we'll never forget? What new character will come walking into our story and demand to have a voice? How will we be able to give that character a voice? Sometimes starting requires learning something, something about our characters' lives or places.

Today's guest, Toni Buzzeo, had a first and successful career as a school librarian who loved kids and loved books. That combination sparked an interest in writing for children. And that's Toni's second successful career. She has published, or has under contract, nineteen books for children and nine books for teachers and librarians. (My private theory is that she never sleeps.)

Toni says about beginnings:

"I almost always begin a new project in the same way and you'll understand why when I tell you that I am a librarian. I begin with some kind of research--may take notes, and steep myself in reality while my imagination begins to weave a fictional web. These days, I do that in my writing cottage, a space devoted to creation of story. Sometimes I spend a long, long time, six months or more, sometimes just a week or two. But when I'm ready to write, I know it. The story starts to push forward, to demand that I put words on a page which will be shaped, reshaped and hopefully someday published. For a librarian like me that research phase is an exciting part of the journey!"

Toni's newest book Lighthouse Christmas, illustrated by Nancy Carpenter, available on October 13, required considerable research on the Flying Santa program, a New England tradition, and research on details of family life in a lighthouse.

When I research it feels as if I'm arming myself with new knowledge and becoming stronger, more able to do what I want to do with a story, whether it's fiction or non-fiction.

Start here, "moodling" a story along

2011-09-26T12:14:00.000-07:00

Starting a new story, with only a seed or two for that story, seems very dicey to me. Perhaps I expect too much too soon. Perhaps, as Jane said, I resist for a while because I know how hard it will be. But eventually the story demands that I pull up my socks, sit down at my chair and write.

Today's guest Dian Curtis Regan has published more than fifty books for young readers. She's written those books in Texas, Oklahoma, Venezuela, Kansas, and Colorado. So clearly, place does not effect Dian's ability to start a project. Here's what she says about starting a book:

For me, it begins with the seed of an idea or, in the case of The World According to Kaley, a slip-of-the-tongue comment. I spend a lot of time staring out windows and moodling and jotting notes. Eventually, the opening line comes to me. At that point, I know it's a 'go.'

The ritual part: going off to Office Max and buying a binder to fill as I print out drafts, and to keep my notes and comments from reader friends. The big decisions: what color binder will suit this story? Will the story be a picture book--which requires a 1/2 inch binder? A chapter book: 1 inch. Or a YA novel: 2 inch? The buying of the binder makes it all official: I am writing a new book.

Here is Dian's current line up of binders.

For me, the scariest part has always been that nagging seed of doubt that can quickly grow into a thorny mean-spirited flower whose nasty smell fills my writing place.

Whatever we can do to keep that seed, that smell of doubt away--a new notebook, a carefully nourished excitement over the stories we want to tell, a resolute shutting the door on doubt-- is what we have to do, and then get down to business.

Start Here, part 2

2011-09-22T06:44:00.000-07:00

We've all started, once or twice, with "Once upon a time," but even with that beginning, we usually don't use it until we know where we are going. The hard part about starting is that we often don't know where we are going and we make a lot of bad turns, enter a lot of avenues that don't go anywhere we want to go with our stories. That's just part of the process. But it's not fun.

Jane Kurtz, today's visitor, grew up in Ethiopia and still has strong ties to that country. She's recently published the very successful Lanie in the American Girl Series, one of thirty (!!) she's published for young readers of all ages. (Jane has also published four books for use by teachers. ) When she's not writing, she's very active with Ethiopia Reads, an organization she co-founded, the purpose of which is to get books into the hands of young people in Ethiopia.

With such a lengthy publication list, Jane had a lot of experience starting new projects. This is what she says:

"Jackie, the beginning of a new book always seems to involve resistance. Is it fear? Is it a healthy respect for how long and arduous the road is going to be before The End? Is it some mysterious universe thing rising up to make me fight the good fight over and over again? I seem to have to come to my senses and remember the only way through is BIC and once my butt is planted in the chair and words begin to creep onto the page, I never turn back."

BIC is the rule we all finally must follow, whether we know where we are going or not, whether we feel inspired or dull, we have to close the door on all the other distractions and busy-ness, put butt in chair, pick up our best pen, find our paper and write.

Start here

2011-09-20T12:07:00.000-07:00

I love notebooks and can hardly resist adding another to my collection when I'm in an office supply store. A new notebook is so full of possibility. Maybe this time I'll make the transition from glistening idea to actual story with no loss.

I always start a new writing project with a new notebook and a new pen. Once I have the notebook I often put pictures or mementos on the cover to remind myself that it is not just a generic notebook but it is the physical "hatching place" for whatever is to come.

I'm beginning to think about a new project this month and I've been wondering how others writers start out. What can we learn from each other?

I asked some friends to share their "starts" and will be posting this week about what they have told me. I hope some readers will also be moved to share how you begin a piece of writing, whether it's a poem, a children's story, an essay, a school assignment or a piece of freelance writing.

Nancy Werlin, National Book Award finalist (Rules of Survival) and Edgar Award winner (Killer's Cousin), and, most recently, author of Extraordinary and Impossible, told me:

"I think and think and think, sometimes for years, in the back of my mind while I'm doing other things, and then one day I am ready to sit down and open a file and start writing. It doesn't go smoothly after that -- there are always fits and starts -- but one day, I open a file and write."

This morning, while I was walking and waiting for herons, I was reminded of Nancy's comment and wondered if I have too much of a tendency to pursue stories as if they were runaway rabbits, to chase them into their hole and then drag them out. Perhaps I would do better to be more relaxed about it, to wait patiently, enjoying the sunshine, for the stories to nibble on my toes, as it sounds like Nancy does.

I'm going to try that with this new notebook and new pen.

And speaking of sunshine, here's a wonderful poem by 14th century Iranian poet Hafiz, a gift in my mail today from Ellen Levine.

Even after all this time
the sun never says to the earth,
You owe me.

Look what happens with
a love like that.
It lights up the sky.

Perhaps every beginning starts with love-- some kind of love--love of character, love of story, or as E.B. White, once said: "I just wanted to say I love the world."

When to open the door

2011-09-06T09:47:00.000-07:00

My granddaughter, who is six years old, has decided she wants to play the ukulele and she wants her Mom to teach her. And she wants her lessons to be in her bedroom—with the door closed.

She reminds me of some writers, me included, who, when we start a story, keep it in our pockets, in our bedrooms so to speak, with the door closed. I have found that if I share an idea for a new story too soon the whole thing evaporates. I lose interest in the story. I’ve already told it. I know this because I've done it--a number of times.

But not all writers are that way. Some get more energized by sharing their story ideas. What about you? Are you sharers or secret keepers? When do you open the door?

Central City Peaches

2011-08-29T11:33:00.000-07:00

If you go north on Highway 13 here in eastern Iowa you’ll come to a small town called “Central City.” It’s not a city and it’s not too central, but it’s home to a couple of really nice county parks. Best of all, just off the highway, under a makeshift tarp there’s a man who’s put up some makeshift tables. And he sells Missouri peaches off those tables. Someone drives the peaches up from Missouri once a week, on Wednesday afternoons. And we Iowans come to buy those peaches because they are sweet and juicy and they just got here from Missouri. Those peaches are definitely “central” to peach jam, peach pie, any good peach experience.

When I stopped last week there were no peaches: sold out. But the peach man offered to deliver them to my house on Friday if I wanted a half a bushel. I declined, but now I’m feeling like it was a mistake. I’m going back.

What do peaches have to do with writing? Everything. Who is this man? Where did he come from to be selling peaches under a tarp in Central City, Iowa? What’s his story? He's been in the same spot since 1947. What story could we invent for such a man, who’s proud of the quality of his peaches ("They're picked the same morning they're delivered so they ripen on the trees.") and accommodating enough to deliver a half a bushel to a stranger? Who are we overlooking who’s just around the corner, just off the highway, next to some makeshift tables, who has a story we need to know?

And when you are finished with writing, or reading, or finding stories for the day you might want to make your own English muffins to go with your peach jam--or whatever jam you happen to have on hand.

English Muffins

Heat in a saucepan until very warm

1 cup milk or lowfat buttermilk

2 tablespoons butter

Cool to lukewarm.

In a large mixing bowl combine

2 tablespoons sugar

1 tsp salt

1-1/2 cups flour

Add

milk and butter

1 tablespoon yeast dissolved in ½ cup water

Beat in 1 cup whole wheat flour

Add 2 cups flour or enough to make a fairly stiff dough.

Knead for about two minutes. Cover, let rise in warm place until doubled, about 1 to 1-1/2 hours.

Roll dough 1/2" thick . Cut into 3" circles. Let rise again for about an hour.

Cook in n ungreased frying pan on or an electric griddle at medium low heat (275-300) for eight minutes per side or until brown (but not less than 6 minutes per side). Makes about 14 muffins.

Writing stories, re-writing the landscape

2011-08-29T11:01:00.001-07:00

Last winter the Iowa City Public Library put on a fund-raising auction for which people could donate items or their own time. I offered to donate myself reading a story. Sunday afternoon was the day. The purchasers brought brought their own children and some friends to a place south of Iowa City called Belgum Grove.

Belgum Grove is a 40 acre prairie restoration project undertaken by the Johnson County Heritage Trust. Wayne Petersen, who works for the state of Iowa and is deeply involved in this project, was there to talk to the kids about the prairie restoration. And I was there to talk about saving what we value--snowflakes and chiru, stories, big bluestem, yellow coneflowers.

We had a good time. I read The Chiru of High Tibet, brought barley crackers so we could taste a bit of Tibet, and pocket notebooks so the kids could save their own stories. We toured Belgum Grove on a hay rack, and ate some barley crackers and goat cheese, and some delicious muffins that Bonnie Penno (of the ICPL Foundation) had made.

In addition to the parallels of saving plants, snowflakes, and endangered animals, it struck me that Wayne Petersen and his volunteers and other helpers are re-writing this portion of the Iowa landscape. They are editing out the monocrop of corn or soybeans, inserting Stiff Goldenrod, Coneflowers, Sneezeweed, Big Bluestem. Just as revising stories is not a quick project, re-writing the landscape can take years. Sometimes the prairie forbs (plants) are crowded out by invasive weeds. Sometimes they just don't grow and have to be replanted. As a person who loves to see bits of prairie come back into our landscape, this project makes me happy. As a writer, who never stops listening for good words, I love the names of the plants--Sneezeweed, Big Bluestem--names of local landmarks--Dirtyface Creek, which feeds into Old Man Creek.

Time to get out the journal and "save" the afternoon.

Finding Stephen Sondheim in Bangor Maine

2011-08-22T08:28:00.000-07:00

This is more than an excuse to share some photos from our trip to Maine, but I do want to do that, too--a rainbow over my sister Laura's place, northern Maine looking toward Mount Katahdin, and my brother David's blueberry pie.

Who would have thought that on a trip to northern Maine I'd find a copy of Stephen Sondheim's book about writing song lyrics for musicals--Finishing the Hat-Collected Lyrics (1954-1981) with Attendant Comments, Principles, heresies, Grudges, Whines and Anecdotes. But I did and am excited to have it. We writers can learn from each other and often "cross-over learning" surprises us, shakes us out of our old ways into some new ways.

And, sure enough, right off the bat, in the Preface I find: "There are only three principles necessary for a lyric writer, all of them familiar truisms...I have not always been skilled or diligent enough to follow them as faithfully as I would like, but they underlie everything I've every written. In no particular order, and to be written in stone:

Content Dictates Form
Less Is More
God Is in the Details

all in the service of

Clarity

without which nothing else matters."

In thinking about "Content Dictates Form," I was reminded of Candace Fleming's wonderful book about the Lincolns, The Lincolns: a scrapbook look at Abraham and Mary.

Stephen Sondheim and this wonderful Lincoln book will make me think harder about the form of my next book--what is the best, right-est form for the story I want to tell? Maybe short prose poems, maybe letters, maybe include some lists. But whatever I do, I won't assume that the traditional narrative is the best form.

"Less is More" is the first principle of revision which is really often cutting, cutting, cutting, to let the real story emerge. Sondheim says in writing lyrics for musicals the principle further demands that the lyric writer leave a space for the music to carry the message, too, that too much fanciness in the lyrics gets in the way of the music. This is probably true for picture book writers. We should leave a space for illustrators to add their important strand to the story.

And of course "God is in the Details." We know that. That's why we spend so much time thinking about the details of our characters and our settings. But it's good to be reminded, and to be reminded that it's a truism for all writing.

And the blueberry pie-- warm summer days, smell of pines, fingers stained purple and blue. Best for breakfast.

A spaghetti picnic

2011-08-10T10:43:00.000-07:00

Our temperatures in Iowa have moderated to the point where it now feels good to be outside. And my thoughts turn to picnics. Some months ago I wrote about food stories--and I promised a few. Just to make good on that promise I want to share a picnic story.

When I was growing up on the farm we did not take vacations. Who would have milked the cows while we were off at the beach? And we didn't have much time for play, especially during haying season. But memory makes play out of the simplest of experiences. One summer afternoon my father was busy in the hayfield, too busy to come home for supper. My mother decided we'd have a picnic--with the spaghetti and meatballs she had made for our supper. We packed the usual--blanket, plates, silverware, lemonade--and of course the six quart pot of spaghetti and huge tennis-ball-sized meatballs, and drove from our home on Upper Street to Lower Street where the hayfield was. We spread out the blanket and the picnic fare. We sat, under the sun, surrounded by the smell of hay, while my mother served the supper. My dad jumped off the tractor and ate with us. We packed up our picnic and went home.

Recalling this picnic makes me want to send a character on a picnic. How might I use a picnic scene?

*Could it be the beginning of a story, a story that starts with a simple picnic and then an unexpected twist, which is how Abel's Island begins. "Early in August 1907, the first year of their marriage, Abel and Amanda went to a picnic in the woods some distance from the town where they lived. The sky was overcast, but Abel didn't think it would be so inconsiderate as to rain when he and his lovely wife were in the mood for an outing." Oh, poor Abel....

*Perhaps the picnic could be the turning point. My character has a realization, figures something out, is somehow changed by something that happens during the picnic.

*The picnic might be the glorious culmination.

*Could one actually tell a story as a series of picnics, some successful, some rained on, some too buggy, some in the mud?

*Perhaps the story is one of getting ready for a picnic that keeps being pushed back by interruptions and seems never to happen.

*Perhaps we should try dropping a picnic into a story that seems not to be working quite right. Picnics add spice to our days, maybe they can also add spice to our writing.

If you send your characters on a picnic, I'd love to hear what happens.

A connection to Tibet: barley bread

2011-07-29T09:53:00.000-07:00

What's a blog on writing doing talking about a bread recipe? Well, there's the starting with something small and watching it grow, there's the waiting, the required patience, and best of all the nourishment of a good story or a good slice of warm bread. So enough with metaphors--today I want to talk about bread.

A few months ago I mentioned that I was working on a recipe for barley bread. I learned to love barley flour when I was in Tibet and have used it to make barley crackers (for cracker recipe, see blog entry for November 4).

Bread hasn't been as easy as crackers and I've too often ended up with a soggy gray mass that wasn't even good at the bottom of a soup bowl. But I think I'm getting close and want to share this recipe with you because it's so easy. I don't have to include any photos of kneading because you don't have to knead. You don't have to do anything except mix and wait (it's actually much easier than writing).

I started with Mark Bittman's recipe for quick no-knead bread.

Barley flour is not quite the same as bread flour so I made some changes. Here's the barley bread recipe:

2 cups unbleached flour
1 cup barley flour
1-3/4 cups water
2- 1/4 teaspoons instant yeast (or one package)
1-1/2 teaspoon salt

Mix water and yeast in a large bowl. Add barley flour and salt. Stir in the 2 cups of unbleached flour.
Cover bowl with a place and let mixture sit for four hours. (Kids can do this part.)

After dough has sat in bowl for four hours, lightly grease a smooth surface. Turn dough out on greased surface. Fold dough in half a couple of times. Shape into a round loaf or an oblong depending on the shape of your covered baking pot. Let dough rest 30-45 minutes.

While dough is resting, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6-8 quart heavy covered pot (can be cast iron, Pyrex or ceramic) in the oven. Let pot sit in hot oven for at least 20 minutes.

When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Lift dough with both hands and put it into the pot, trying for even distribution.

Cover pot with lid and bake 30 minutes. Then remove lid and bake another 15-20 minutes. Cool on rack.

Sometime when you--and maybe some kids you work or play with-- just want to make something that smells good, is a little connection to Tibet, holds peanut butter or cheese, and doesn't take all day (or when you're looking for a break from pen and paper), try this recipe.

"We all go to the same silence." Marilyn Nelson

2011-07-13T06:00:00.000-07:00

Marilyn Nelson read here at Hamline yesterday and, during an informal discussion, said that we can grow our capacity for compassion and empathy by meditating. "We all go to the same silence," she said.

And we were silent in thinking about those words.

Writing and seeing

2011-07-06T14:40:00.000-07:00

Packing notebooks, books, manuscripts, computer for the residency at Hamline University's Low Residency Program in Writing for Children and Young Adults, which starts tomorrow. Eleven days of intensive thinking, talking, writing about telling stories for young readers.

But it's not all about writing. It's about seeing--floating on the Mississippi River, walking past flower beds and beds in flower beds . It's about catching up with long-time friends and finding new friends.

I'll try to keep you posted.

Quiet, beautiful places

2011-06-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we need quiet places where the beauty is bound to return year after year. The Rochester Cemetery in Iowa--a cemetery, parts of which have never been tilled, holds hillsides of native prairie flowers-- is such a place for me. It offers a connection to lives lived before my time, and reminds me of the inexorable chain of time.

Ideas can come in quiet places or in the middle of airports or busy streets. But the quiet, beautiful places allow us to hear the meaning that comes only in silence.

I hope for all of us that there are some quiet, beautiful places this summer.

Out and about, Part II

2011-06-08T07:21:00.001-07:00

Writers are sustained by words. We take pleasure in the sounds of words. For me, "Wisconsin," "riverside," "turpentine," are some of my favorites. They have a melodic sound totally apart from their meanings. It gives me pleasure to say them out loud.

But we can also take pleasure in images. And this summer I am going to keep a journal of images, starting with these roses from the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. The Botanical Garden has a wonderful collection of roses and we were not the only ones taking pictures. We met an old man, who had an amazing camera, who goes to the Garden several times a week to take photos, seems to know the roses personally, and to feel sad when rain knocks the petals off.

I have no story in mind right now for the images I collect this summer and I don't want to force them into a shape they don't take on their own. But I am looking forward to the process.

Out and About

2011-06-05T12:10:00.000-07:00

A visit toThe Cloisters in New York City with Kate, Justin, and one year old Ella--our Brooklyn family--was a powerful reminder of the urge we humans have to make art, to make meaning in our lives with art, to express ourselves in wood (I am still in awe at the depth of emotion in that face--in wood!) stone, metal or tapestry.

We are all tied together over the centuries by this urge and our appreciation of what artists have done in service of this urge.

And whatever our chosen way of expressing ourselves, places like The Cloisters fill the "well" the space, the place we draw our stories from. (I did not invent the notion of the "well." I got it from my friend Carol Gorman, who says she got it from Ray Bradbury.) But wherever it came from, it is our job to fill the well every now and then. The long days of summer allow us all time to write and time for outings that renew our spirits. Such outings might be a walk down a trail on the other side of town, a visit to a public garden, a baseball game, an outdoor concert, a sit-down by a little waterfall, a balloon launch, a bird walk, an art show, an afternoon in a coffee shop, or a shoe store. I'd love to know where you are going this summer to fill your well.

A Great Day at Harrison School

2011-04-28T11:18:00.000-07:00

Harrison Elementary School in Cedar Rapids sits in an area much affected by the Cedar River flooding of 2008. Many families were forced out of their homes. Many homes were damaged. Many are still under repair. I have been to Harrison School in earlier times. I wasn't sure what I would find this time. Would kids be quiet, beat down by a couple of rough years? Would they have energy or interest for talking about books?

I've always loved Harrison School and hoped for a good day with students.

I was not disappointed.

Students at Harrison School are excited about reading, excited about books. I told them how I had wished I could see baby Owen and so wrote Banjo Granny with my daughter Sarah out of that yearning. They shared stories of what they wish they could do-- be a veterinarian, see a sister who lives away, have a puppy, spend some time with Dad.

They showed me the oak trees they are growing--inspired by Annie Livermore in Button, Bucket, Sky (Carolrhoda, 1998). Their wonderful librarian, Stephanie Rose, shared a friendship quilt made by Second and Fifth graders, inspired by Bizzy Bones and the Lost Quilt (Lothrop, Lee & Shepard, 1988).

We talked about writers' block, rejection letters, favorite books, where writers get ideas, revising, and the fun of a good story. We shared some hugs.

I was reluctant to leave at the end of the day, and hope I'll be getting stories in the mail from the kids at Harrison Elementary School.

Stroll on over

2011-04-28T05:13:00.000-07:00

Anne Ylvisaker's new book, The Luck of the Buttons, is set in small town Iowa and she's including in her blog a number of Iowa authors writing to answer "why Iowa?" Stroll on over to check it out.

Living Room Tourist: Lhasa

2011-04-26T12:23:00.000-07:00

The story and setting of The Chiru of High Tibet may make readers want more information about Tibet. Who wouldn't want to travel to such a beautiful and mysterious land? But real travel to Tibet is expensive and arduous. Still, there's the possibility of "living room" travel, traveling by immersing ourselves in the pictures of and writing about a place. Of course there are many places to go for pictures and writing about Tibet. Here are a couple of my favorites:
Galen Rowell and the Dalai Lama worked together on a wonderful book called My Tibet (University of California Press, 1995). The photographs are by Galen Rowell, who was one of the trekkers in The Chiru of High Tibet. The text is by the Dalai Lama.

George B. Schaller made many trips to Tibet to study the animals who live there. George Schaller is also a wonderful photographer and his book Tibet's Hidden Wilderness (Harry Abrams, 1997), which focuses on the animals and the people of the Chang Tang plateau will whet any reader's appetite for more Tibet.

As the anniversary of my May/June trip to Tibet a few years ago gets closer I have the urge to revisit some of the places I feel as if I only glanced at. I would certainly spend more time at the Jokhang Temple in Lhasa, where I took these photos. It is the most sacred temple in Tibet. The goal of every Tibetan Buddhist is to go to Lhasa and go around the Jokhang. Some walk. Some prostrate themselves all the way around, that is, spread their bodies out flat along the ground, then scoot forward toward their hands, stand up and then spread flat again, a slow and painful way to travel, but a way that religious pilgrims believe expresses their devotion to Buddha.

The temple, though much changed over the centuries, has been on this same spot since the 7th century. King Songtsen Gampo built it to be a place for an image of Buddha brought to him by one of his queens.

Current visitors enter an open courtyard (pictured at the top of this entry). If we turn right and go under the balcony, we'll see a table filled with yak butter lamps (also above). We'd enter the temple itself off this courtyard. And we'd be able to stroll past many chapels of statuary and paintings of Buddhas other important figures in Tibetan Buddhism.

At some point we'd be ready for tea. Here's a recipe for tea that is similar to Tibetan yak butter tea:
(serves 1)
1 cup boiling water
1 tea bag (black tea)
steep tea bag in water for several minutes, then put tea in a blender or heavy jar with 1 tsp. butter and a couple of shakes of salt. Blend or shake for about half a minute. Pour into a cup or glass. Drink and think of far off mountains.

Traveling Bloodroot

2011-04-13T13:27:00.001-07:00

Traveling Bloodroot is not the name of a rock band. Bloodroot is one of the prettiest of the spring "ephemerals," the spring flowers that show up in forests before the trees leaf out while there is still sunshine on the forest floor.

We don't have a forest in our yard, but a few years ago a dear friend gave us some blood root plants. I put them in a northeast corner and enjoyed them every spring.

Then they disappeared, stopped coming up. A few years later, they showed up several yards away under our apple tree. I looked there for them this spring. No bloodroot. They had migrated west along the fence, past the roses, into the daylilies.

I do not know how these plants with the beautiful white flowers (and roots that bleed red when they are cut) do this. It's a mystery.

But it reminds me of writing (doesn't everything?). The ideas that are really important to us keep showing up. They move from one work to another. We can't always anticipate their appearance. They may surprise us. But because such ideas are part of our mental make up they find their way into our stories.

There are the times we come up with a character who doesn't really fit the story we are working on so we retire that character to the shelf, only to have them appear again in the next story, insisting that we pay attention.

Something is going on underground. It's a mystery. We can honor the mystery by showing up at the writing place, by writing, even when we aren't so sure. Bloodroot is gone by summer, no more flowers, few leaves. But the roots are there, waiting for the next spring. The stories are there, too, just waiting.

One World. Many stories.

2011-04-11T11:18:00.000-07:00

I'm excited to learn that the theme for many libraries' summer reading programs this year is "One world, many stories."

What a treat to be taken by a book to the world across the river, across the ocean, on the other side of the globe. What draws us to these stories from other parts of the planet are the connections--in a new place--to our own lives.

The connection to my own life that spurred me to write The Chiru of High Tibet was admiration for a different kind of bravery: the bold, adventurous trekkers, (who had climbed the faces of glaciers, kayaked icy waters, taken photographs from treetops) did not draw swords or engage in fisticuffs to prove their bravery, but walked two hundred and fifty miles across the Tibetan wilderness, behind chiru, an endangered species. The four men gave up a summer and risked their lives to save animals they might never see again, risked their lives just to keep the web of our world intact. They were taking care of this one aspect of our world.

There is much to be taken care of in any part of the world. A connection that readers might make to The Chiru of High Tibet is to think of what in their own towns they could take care of. Where I live, there is
*my own garden where I can grow food for Rich and me and the food pantry that gives food to others;
*the garbage and litter scattered in my favorite park--Palisades Kepler State Park;
*our public library that can use the books I no longer need.

We all can come up with a list.

When we go around the world we find families, too. I continue to be amused that this Tibetan baby was as curious about me as my little grandbaby Ella would be about a stranger in her home.

We also find cities and towns and the yearning for a spiritual life all over the world. The prayer flags in Tibet have inspired me to think about what I am grateful for, what I would like to change. Students can look at their own lives and think about what they are grateful for, what they wish for and make a "hope" flag, or a "wish" flag.

I can think of nothing better than filling our minds with stories from around the world and filling the air with our wishes, gratitudes, and hopes.

[Next time: facts about Tibet and experimenting with barley bread]

Tomorrow is the "Lucky" day!

2011-04-11T08:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is the release day for The Luck of the Buttons, my friend Anne Ylvisaker's (pictured above) wonderful book about plucky Tugs Esther Button who is twelve years old in the small town of Goodhue, Iowa in 1929.

The Button family has never had good luck. They don't expect good luck. Uncle Norton "sliced off his left foot with a scythe" so Uncle Elmer had to do the farm work by himself. Then "a card playing con man suckered Uncle Elmer out of his seed money and he had to plant with last year's leftover s...and a storm washed all those seeds away."

The uncles' run of bad luck is just what the Buttons expect--until Tugs wins a Brownie camera in the Independence Day raffle. That's not the last of her luck on Independence Day either...

Tugs is wonderful. Anne's fictional Goodhue is a place I love visiting. And the Buttons, for all their bad luck, have one habit I especially enjoy. They make a lot of pie. Of course "Pie in the Button family meant trouble." Anne writes, "There were apple pies for fall funerals and custard pies for the measles, mumps, and broken bones. "

I guess I don't want to wait for trouble to make pie. But, as a writer, not an eater, I can appreciate how their pie habit makes the Buttons more real for me. And, since I know that Anne is a wonderful pie-maker herself, I know that this great detail comes from her own life. What we love, what we notice often finds its way into our work. It might be a good idea to start out our writing each day by just noticing, noticing something to be grateful for.

Thanks Anne, for the great book, for reminding us of the pleasure of pie, for reminding us of the importance of remembering the pleasure of pie and the rewards of noticing.

Something to Celebrate

2011-03-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, April 2 my good friend Jane Kurtz will receive the 2011 Kerlan Award, given by the Kerlan Library of the University of Minnesota “in recognition of singular attainments in the creation of children’s literature and in appreciation for generous donation of unique resources to the Kerlan Collection for the study of children’s literature.”

Jane has written many wonderful books for children, books that reflect her childhood in Ethiopia, her love of family and folk story. Her love of family and story and Ethiopia are also reflected in her tireless work on behalf of Ethiopia Reads, an organization which she co-founded to fund libraries for Ethiopia’s children. I can recall few conversations with Jane in my years of knowing her in which her work for Ethiopia Reads did not come up. It is as much a part of her life as breathing. Thousand of Ethiopian children will read a book today because of Jane’s work.

So it makes me especially happy that this weekend Jane will be recognized for “singular attainments.” She has so many. If you are in the Twin Cities, it's still possible to attend the awards presentation and hear Jane's acceptance speech. For more information contact the Kerlan staff at 612-624-4576 or e-mail circ@umn.edu.

Save a chair in the audience for me, Jane. Other travel keeps me away, but I’ll be there in spirit.

Stories about food

2011-03-15T07:12:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite pieces of writing, one that I have gone back to time and again over the years, is a cookbook published by the H.P. Hood Dairy in the 1940s. My copy is so old and tattered it begins on page ten.

What I love about this cookbook are the stories that are told by contributors and accompany each recipe. For example Mrs. James B. Sherman of Arlington, Massachusetts writes of the buckwheat griddle cakes:

"It would be worth getting up in a room so cold water froze in the glass to once again run downstairs to a breakfast of genuine old-fashioned buckwheat griddle cakes, with maple syrup, made from batter that had been rising while we slept. My Aunt. who is entering her 80th year, says she had them for breakfast 'on the farm' as far back as she can remember."

"...so cold water froze in the glass..." I would like to have known Mrs. Sherman and heard more of her stories. We all have stories about food experiences. Food ties us to family ("my aunt who is entering her 80th year"), food ties us to culture.

In my family in rural Maine we had a large garden and summertime was pickle-making time. I grew up with the sweet, vinegary, spicy smells of fresh-made pickles. And when our children were young and we went back to Maine they were part of pickle-making too. Food experiences become stories, or poems.

Our daughter Sarah (www.sarah.busse.com; www.versewisconsin.com), now a poet and pickle maker has said I can share her poem of pickle making.

Billy Mills's Bread and Butter Pickles

Plunge glass jars into clean hot water and soap.

(Wash the world, wash the weary feet of the traveler.)

Then scrub the cukes in cold and towel dry.

Slice onions thin. For accent pick a pepper,

Green or red. Salt it all down with ice.

The brine is vinegar and sugar in equal part,

Mustard and celery seeds, whole studs of clove,

Turmeric for color. Bring to a boil,

But only just.. Turn off the stove. This

Is the secret to keeping them crisp.

A small detail, but crisp is the trick, the unseen

Flick in the wrist, that makes them really good.

Where might love lead, if we were light on our feet?

If we were quick? That’s not our way.

Welcome the traveler, and don’t skip the turmeric.

We all have food stories--stories of special holiday dishes, stories of Friday night traditions, or of special Grandma or Grandpa recipes, stories of fishing, or mushrooming, or growing huge pumpkins.

Food stories are often the beginnings of longer works. And food stories are fun for kids, grownups, readers and writers. Once a month I want to feature food stories--some from picture books, some from cookbooks, some from other authors, some from you, I hope.

Let's eat. Let's write.

Interviewing--real and imagined

2011-02-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

Early this month I went down to Fairfield Iowa to meet my friend Cheryl Fusco Johnson so we could talk on the radio about the chiru story. We drank coffee at Paradise (and it was heavenly coffee). Then we went over to the radio station. Talking about stories and writing is always fun. Here's the interview if you want to listen to part or all.

The afternoon reminded me of how helpful the interview format can be when we are researching a story.
There are several ways that interviews can work for us:

(1) Formulating questions that we might ask someone helps us to identify what we actually want to know about a subject. When I was researching for Snowflake Bentley (Houghton Mifflin, 1998), I made up a list of questions that I wanted to ask Wilson Bentley. Of course I couldn't actually ask him because he had been dead for so many years. But once I had the list of questions I could work at finding the answers. Many I found in his own writing. I liked to imagine that he was speaking to me.

(2) We can "sit in on" the interviews that others have done by reading transcripts of interviews.
For On Sand Island (Houghton Mifflin 2003), a story about a boy who lived on one of the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior and wanted to build his own boat, I read the transcripts of many interviews done by others and imagined myself sitting in the interviewer's chair.

When researching Chicken Joy on Redbean Road (Houghton Mifflin, 2006) I was lucky enough to find the book Cajun and Creole Music Makers by Barry Ancelet and Elmore Morgan (University of Mississippi Press, 1999). It is a compilation of transcripts of interviews with many of the best of the old time Cajun and Creole musicians. I could imagine myself sitting on those porches, in those kitchens, and listening in on the interviews.

(3) Once we've formulated our questions, of course we can do our own interviews in person, by mail, or by phone.
In researching the chiru book, I read as much as I could find about the chiru and the men who make the trek across Tibet. Then I interviewed George B. Schaller and Rick Ridgeway by letter to find answers to the questions I still had.

(4) The interview technique also works when we are writing fiction. Sometimes we just hit a dead end--a character just won't come to life.

We can make a list of interview questions for these recalcitrant characters, such as:

what do you worry about?
what's your favorite color? why?
what do you always carry in your pocket?
what's your best breakfast?
what secret would you never tell?

Then we can have our characters answer those questions.

(5) There are even some days when interviewing ourselves helps us to focus, helps us to find the story we want to write or the job we need to do next.

Gotta' go. I'm late for an interview.

Creating characters in a cold month

2011-01-16T05:12:00.000-08:00

I could travel to Tibet and back in the time since I wrote on this blog. But that's not where I've been. First, there were the holidays and some wonderful family time. And then a deft segue to the Hamline University Low Residency MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults (January 6-17). It's been a wonderful ten days. We've been talking about character--how writers of all ages can create and write about characters.

Phyllis Root and I did a workshop together about picture book characters and emphasized how we, as readers, care about characters who have a yearning. Wilson Bentley had a yearning, a passion, to photograph snowflakes. In M.T. Anderson's book STRANGE MR SATIE (Viking, 2003) the composer Erik Satie had a yearning to create a new kind of music. But it's not just real characters who have yearnings. For example, in Amy Hest's IN THE RAIN WITH BABY DUCK Baby Duck has a yearning to see Grandpa and eat pancakes, but--she hates rain. Phyllis and I also talked about how we might bring readers to care about non-human characters such as chiru and bogs (The Big Belching Bog, University of Minnesota Press, 2010). We try to include details that readers can connect with. Also regarding picture books, Marsha Chall gave us a tour through a huge gallery of anthropomorphic characters.

Anne Ursu gave a wonderful talk about "the hero's journey." Liza Ketchum showed us all how to make our characters more rounded by including details of their work lives in our writing. Claire Rudolph Murphy had us writing about characters who are antagonists. Kelly Easton helped us hone our skills in defining our characters by dialogue and the way they talk. Jane Resh Thomas helped us to look in our own lives for characters worth writing about. And Marsha Qualey reminded us of the protagonist who is paralyzed, who cannot act and how we can keep readers turning the page, even when the protagonist is doing little. For anyone who wants to write, young or old, it's good to listen to people talking, to practice writing dialogue, to notice characters at the bus stop, standing in line at the bakery, to imagine lives and stories for them, patterns of speech, likes and dislikes.

Sometimes when I have been writing with students I have taken calendar photographs of animals to a classroom and we have talked about what kind of dog this might be, what this dog might love to do, or avoid doing. We bring details from our own lives and our own pets to these discussions, just as all writers do when they are writing, and we are surprised by what we think of to add.

And yesterday in his graduation speech Gary Schmidt reminded us, in a moving speech, that writers must notice the world, must love the world and love their readers.

And now it's back home to write some characters.

Winter Solstice

2010-12-20T06:05:00.000-08:00

I love winter. I love the quiet of a steady snow.

There is something about the cold and the whiteness of winter that makes it easier to focus on essentials--essentials of our days, essentials of stories. We're not distracted by riotous summer with its blooming buzzing confusion of color and busy life happening all around.

Winter makes us listen. Listening is something that writers of all ages need to be able to do. As writers, student writers--and aren't we all student writers?--it's a good exercise just to close our eyes and make a mental catalog of what we hear.

Another good exercise is to keep our eyes open and imagine stories. What about the couple? Where are they going? Where have they been? What are they saying to each other? What do they want to happen in the next two hours? What would that dog tied to the park bench say, if it could talk. What kind of a voice would it have? And the tree. What is going on in the tree that we can't see? What would we like to imagine is going on?

I hope, as a celebration of tomorrow, Winter Solstice, we all have time to give ourselves the light of one story idea, one piece of writing, one good word.

Celebrating in Monticello--Better Than Fireworks

2010-12-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

Though we writers are surrounded by our characters, and life in our heads may be busy and even chatter-y, writing is still really a solitary activity. And we don't know, as we are writing, if the stories we are working on will ever be found by readers.

That's why getting out into the world and meeting those who've read and thought about our books seems like the best kind of celebration. And two days ago in Monticello, Iowa, we had a celebration. It was better than fireworks. It was fireworks, mental fireworks.

All the students from preschool through fourth grade had read at least some of my books and thought about them, thought about how grannies travel, farmers who take pictures of snowflakes, and endangered animals who live in a faraway place.

All day I was at least a foot off the ground with happiness--happiness that there are teachers who will take the time to talk about books with their students, that there are students who respond and get excited about books and writing, that there are dedicated people like Mary Melchert who will spend hours, days, and weeks organizing an author visit, people like Heather Hansen who took all the photos you see on this blog--as well as the ones on the website.

Some days this winter it has seemed like there's not a lot to be grateful for, but this week I am truly grateful for all the people at the Shannon Elementary School and the Carpenter Elementary School in Monticello, Iowa.

And, did I mention the staff are also great cooks? Lunch was wonderful!

Another book party!

2010-11-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

Who can ever have enough book parties? What's cozier than a bookstore on a November afternoon? Hope you can join us.

Bringing Tibet to the classroom, bringing the classroom to Tibet

2010-11-12T08:09:00.000-08:00

Good news for The Chiru of High Tibet!

The National Science Teachers Association--Children's Book Council's Outstanding Science Committee has named the book to the "Outstanding Science Trade Books for Students K-12" List for 2011.

I hope that teachers who work with students of all ages will want to use this book.. I plan, over time, to share books in several curriculum content areas that relate to The Chiru of High Tibet--endangered species, the environment, cultural studies.

I'm starting today with some books and stories that are set in Tibet or, as in the case of the George Schaller biography and Rick Ridgeway's book, are directly connected to The Chiru of High Tibet.

Picture Books

Berger, Barbara Helen. All the Way to Lhasa. Philomel, 2002. A telling of a Tibetan tale by the author of the wonderful Grandfather Twilight.

Gerstein, Mordecai. Mountains of Tibet. HarperCollins, 1989. Story of a Tibetan wood-cutter who loves to fly kites and is given a chance to live his life again.

Sis, Peter. Tibet Through the Red Box Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1998. I loved this book before I even knew about the chiru. It's part autobiography, part folk tale, part journal. And of course includes Sis's wonderful art.

Soros, Barbara. Tenzin's Deer. (illustrated by Danuta Mayer) Barefoot Books, 2005. Tenzin discovers a wounded deer in the mountains and nurses it back to health.

Turner, Pamela S. A Life in the Wild: George Schaller's Struggle to Save the Last Great Beasts.
Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2008.

Chapter Books

Dalai Lama (author) and Galen Rowell (photographer). My Tibet. University of California Press, 1995. The trek following the chiru told in The Chiru of High Tibet was not Galen Rowell's first trip to Tibet. In the 1990s he had taken stunning photographs of Tibet for this book. This is a wonderful book that can be enjoyed by anyone who wants to see more of Tibet and/or hear the voice of the Dalai Lama.

Rick Ridgeway. The Big Open. Rick Ridgeway's own telling of the trek following the chiru, along with a history of the trade in chiru skins and extensive details of the efforts by Tibetans and others to put an end to this trade. Rick Ridgeway is a wonderful writer and this is a good, accessible read for middle schoolers or older.

Tenberken, Sabriye. My Path Leads to Tibet. Arcade, 2004. Very accessible and gripping story of a young blind woman from Germany who decides to go to Tibet and establish a school for the blind children of Tibet. In Tibet blindness is sometimes considered a curse from the spirits. So blind children were often treated poorly, not allowed to leave home, forced to do the most menial work. This book takes readers to Tibet to watch as Tenberken works toward her goal and reminds us that one person can make a difference.

Books, plus barley crackers, hot tea with a bit of butter and a shake of salt take us almost to Tibet. Good travels!

Chiru videos to share--and barley crackers

2010-11-04T08:44:00.000-07:00

My trip back to Maine to see family and talk about the chiru book was a highlight of this season. Thanks to my cousin Pat Dickinson who did so much to get ready for the library visit, my sisters Laura and Audrey Briggs who keep me grounded, and other family and friends who helped make those days so special.

While in Maine I visited with the eighth graders at Tripp Middle School. My second cousin, Judy Reed, who teaches eighth grade and invited me, spent some time searching the internet for related materials to share with students. Perhaps others will find these videos useful, too.

This first video shows the four trekkers trying to get their carts through the "Gorge of Despair," mentioned in The Chiru of High Tibet.

In search of the endangered chiru - Tibet's Remote Chang Tang Plateau by Conrad Anker
http://vimeo.com/10593633

The following videos, The Story of Tsoe (chiru) I and II , includes wonderful panoramas of the Tibetan landscape and the chiru; part II deals with the illegal international trade in shahtoosh.

The Story of Tsoe - Part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbFpGM4a7q0&feature=related

The Story of Tsoe - Part 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8e80dyGbYkE&feature=related

"A Shawl to Die For" has shots of the weaving of the shahtoosh shawls.

A Shawl to Die For
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sfi__-52gaA

Barley Crackers

Now about those barley crackers:

Sometimes it helps students to feel closer to a faraway place to sample a little of the diet of that place. Tibetans eat a lot of barley. When I was traveling there during the months of May and June I saw many people planting barley in the rural areas not too far from Lhasa. They often eat ground barley mixed with tea. Our tastes might be more likely to enjoy crackers made with barley flour and cooked. Here' s a recipe I came up with:

Barley Crackers

1 cup barley flour
1/2 tsp. salt
3 T. butter
1/4 cup low-fat buttermilk.

Preheat oven to 400.

Mix barley flour, salt, and butter in a food processor. Pulse until mixture looks like course cornmeal. Add buttermilk and pulse. Add more by the teaspoonful, if necessary, until mixture holds together in a workable, but not sticky, dough.

Roll out on a surface, lightly floured with unbleached wheat flour, until 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. Prick tops with the tines of a fork. Cut into squares or rectangles with a knife. Bake about 10 minutes on a lightly floured baking sheet.

Tibetans also use yak butter and yak cheese. Some Tibetans keep goats and milk them. I do not know that they make goat milk cheese, but when I serve barley crackers to students I serve them with butter and/or goats' milk cheese. The authentic beverage would be tea with salt and (yak) butter, though I have to admit I saw many western beverages (colas, lemon lime soft drinks) in Tibetan restaurants.

Going Home

2010-10-20T12:53:00.000-07:00

One party for The Chiru of High Tibet wasn't enough for me. So when the Board of the Turner Public Library in my home town invited me to come and share the story of the book, I immediately said yes. The party was last Sunday at the library and what a party it was! The Board members had done a wonderful job of publicizing the event with stories in local papers and posters posted in Turner and nearby towns. They even made cakes and cookies, hot cider and coffee.

I am finding, as I share the chiru story, that many of us respond to the plight of these shy animals. Though most may never have a chance to see them, we do care that they stay in their spot in our world. We have some sense of the web-ness of the world and we want that web to be whole.

It's always a treat for me to talk about Tibet and the story covered in the book, but last Sunday was a special personal treat. The afternoon offered a chance to see friends and relatives I had not seen for a long time, my aunt Alberta, cousin Joan and others, my school friend Marion Emerson. (My sisters came, too, and we planned a lark, but that's a story for another day.) The library is located in the building that had been my high school--Leavitt Institute. For a few seconds I was a high schooler, running up the stairs to Latin class, and I half expected to see John MacMorran or Luther Bonney at the top of the stairs. I wish I had. I would have said thanks for all they gave me. Good teachers change lives in ways they can never know. Thanks to all of you teachers out there, who are changing lives every day.

Celebration! Celebration!

2010-10-14T12:01:00.000-07:00

On Sunday we had a little party for The Chiru of High Tibet at The Perfect Blend here in Mount Vernon. What's more fun than celebrating a new book with friends who love books?

We were more than seventy who ate barley crackers and goat cheese, talked about books, about Tibet and the chiru, about the goodness of good cake, and the power of stories to make our lives sweeter and more substantial.

Writing is often done alone, but celebrating a book is best done with others. Welcome to the celebration!

Drama in the Carriage Shed

2010-09-25T08:24:00.001-07:00

This week I have been with my mother at my sister Laura and her husband Bruce's place in Maine while Bruce and Laura are away on vacation. Their buildings include a remodeled 18th century farmhouse, carriage shed and barn. My mother likes to walk in the carriage shed for exercise. One afternoon we were out strolling and noticed a caterpillar entangled in a strand of spider web. We broke the web and thought it would crawl away (sorry, Charlotte). On our next round, back by the caterpillar under the chair we noticed that the spider had once again entangled the caterpillar. It hadn't been an accident, but part of the spider's design. We decided that we'd have to let Nature take it's course.

As we walked, we watched the caterpillar struggle against the strand of spider thread, curling and uncurling it's body. The spider continued to wrap its victim until the caterpillar couldn't reach the carriage shed floor. The caterpillar continued to struggle, twisting, turning, in its instinctive attempt to escape. We thought it was doomed. I went into the house--I know it's odd, it was just a caterpillar after all, but I couldn't stand to watch its inevitable end.

A few minutes later my mother yelled in, "He escaped!" Somehow the caterpillar got away. The caterpillar's fate hadn't been inevitable.

Afterward I thought about how caught up my mother and I had both been in the fate of this little worm, of which there are hundreds this time of year. We probably drive cars over them without thinking. We watch bluejays eat them and don't lift a hand. There was nothing special about this one. Why did we care so much about this little character? Was it the struggle? the seeming helplessness of the caterpillar? Was it that we were right there to see it?

I wondered what I could learn from this about writing, how could I make my character's stories more compelling? Does any kind of struggle resonate with readers? We all struggle against something. Is it enough to have characters who have a struggle? who yearn?

Perhaps I need to work to be sure that their struggles are important to them (what's more important than survival?). It would make my work stronger to have a "spider" of some kind in the story, some character or force for my character to struggle against. And I need to bring readers in close so they can be "in the same shed" as my "caterpillar."

Student writers, too, can learn from this caterpillar. When they are writing, they can look to their own lives, what do they want to do? What struggles have they watched? Perhaps it's only a struggle to ride a bicycle, or save money for a new basketball. That's enough. It's the moving toward the goal, whether it's survival, or winning an important race, that draws us in. And we want to feel the heat on the runner's back and the pebbles on the road. We want to be close enough to smell the sweat.

We went back to the Adirondack chairs in the shed the next day. No spider and no caterpillar. They had taken their drama to a different place. But I will think of them whenever I go into the carriage shed, and whenever I'm thinking about plot and character.

Saving and keeping

2010-09-17T13:24:00.001-07:00

Last weekend we made a road trip to Decorah to walk the grounds and look at the gardens at Seed Savers Exchange. Seed Savers Exchange is devoted to saving the seeds of heirloom vegetables. According to their website, "Their collection started when Diane Ott Whealy's terminally-ill grandfather gave them the seeds of two garden plants, Grandpa Ott's Morning Glory and German Pink Tomato, that his parents brought from Bavaria when they immigrated to St. Lucas, Iowa in the 1870s."

The Whealys decided to develop a repository of seeds that individuals had saved for generations. Most seed companies had narrowed their offerings to only a few varieties and the couple was worried that crop diversity would soon be lost. Seed Savers has thousands of varieties of vegetable seeds now and has also expanded from that original mission to establish a herd of White Park cattle, some poultry, and an orchard of heritage apple trees.

As we walked the grounds and looked at the once endangered White Park Cattle and the beans and squash, tomatoes, corn, and other vegetables and flowers grown from seeds carefully tended, saved in envelopes and jars, I began to think about saving, keeping intact.

Of course "saving" reminded me of George Schaller's, Rick Ridgeway's and others' efforts to save the chiru. We have an urge to wholeness, to keep our world whole, to go against the current of loss and destruction that seems so frequent a part of modern life.

In the middle of the woods at Seed Savers I began to dream up some discussion questions for kids. Questions about losing things. What have they lost? What have I lost that I regret losing? A book of poems that my daughter Sarah wrote and made and gave to me. (She only made three and I lost one. I feel its loss often); one of a pair of hand knit mittens made by a friend no longer living, an old six quart kettle that my mother used to pick raspberries.

And I thought I would like to try doing some writing with students about losing and saving. Could we write something about those lost things? What they stand for? Why we remember that we lost them? Can we think of anything we have saved from being lost or tossed? An old toy? A cherished piece of furniture?

Sometimes what is lost gets found. And those are the happy occasions. Things are looking up for the chiru. A recent note from George Schaller tells me "chiru are now on the increase." But sometimes lost is lost--like passenger pigeons. Perhaps that's why saving feels so good.

International Literacy Day: Reading al fresco

2010-09-08T09:26:00.000-07:00

September 8. International Literacy Day--a good day to mention a creative way to remind people of all ages of the fun of reading.

Here in Iowa this week the weather makes me want to set up tables on our porch and invite neighbors and dog-walkers, kids and mail carriers to stop and read for a bit. Reading outside on mild September day sounds just about perfect.

This reading al fresco notion is not new with me. On a recent trip to New York City we happened to be in Bryant Park, which abuts the main branch of the New York Public Library. In the park, next to the Library, is the Bryant Park Reading Room--outdoors! And there were plenty of people reading. If I lived near Bryant Park, I'd make a habit of the outdoor reading room. The September air had just enough breeze to be comfortable. The sounds were park sounds, laughing, playing, chatting. Reading outdoors in the park I would be "alone" with my book but accompanied by a summer soundtrack.

What would it take for my hometown library--or any library--to set up an outdoor reading room? a couple of awnings, a couple of book carts, a few tables and chairs, and a volunteer to keep track of the books.

I'd like to know if other libraries have tried this and how it has worked. It seems so user friendly-- a great way to remind people that reading is fun--every day.

A Good Place...Gone

2010-08-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

Few things are sadder for writers and readers than empty bookshelves, especially bookshelves that used to be packed full.

This week I was looking for the new picture book biography on Fibonacci-- Blockhead: The Life of Fibonacci, written by Joseph D'Agnese and illustrated by John O'Brien (Henry Holt, 2010). I knew just where to go--one of my favorite spots--the University of Iowa Curriculum Library.

This library has a wide-ranging collection of the best, most ground-breaking, most interesting, most enjoyable books for children and young adults. Teachers, student teachers, writers go there with questions about what has been written for children and how it has been written. I have stopped by many times just to get caught up on the new books and to have good conversations about children's literature.

But Fibonacci, though in the catalog, was not at the Curriculum Library. There are no longer any fiction or non-fiction books at the Curriculum Library, only a few reference books. And they will be moved out soon.

The books are now stored in the basement of the Iowa City Public Library, a wonderful library, but a library that has a different mission than the Curriculum Library. That place is gone--and won't come back. Our lives here in Iowa are diminished by its loss.

Today I'm wondering what it says about our society's, regard for reading/books/literature that the University would close a facility like the Curriculum Library. The Library's main purpose was to help people who work with children (and some who write for children) become better informed about children's literature so they could better introduce their students to the joys of reading (or write better books). Is the closing of this library one more sign that our culture is devaluing books and reading? Recently in my home town there was serious (yes, serious) talk about not hiring an elementary school librarian to fill the position of one who retired.

Can this train be stopped? I don't know. Can we do more? I think so. I took for granted that the Curriculum Library would always be there so I never sent a letter to anyone saying what a wonderful place it was, never said, "This is important to Iowa children, Iowa teachers, Iowa writers and readers." I should have. If everyone who had used the library had written to the decision makers occasionally, maybe they would have had a different sense of its importance. I'm going to start letting people know what's important to me, saying thanks, saying this is why we need this place.

Every place we care about is vulnerable to budget cuts, bottom line considerations. How many books stores have we watched close? How many libraries now keep shorter hours, or no hours?

I walked past the empty shelves, past the dark offices, waved good-bye to the lone librarian, and went out the door, straight to Prairie Lights Bookstore to buy the Fibonacci book--along with Summer Birds: The Butterflies of Maria Merian, written by Margarita Engle and illustrated by Julie Paschkis (Henry Holt, 2010)--two remarkable biographies. The good news is that people are writing wonderful books for kids--books about Medieval mathematicians and 17th century woman botanists!

Wallets and pens. We must do what we can with wallets and pens to be sure we have places to buy and places to read these books.

Speaking about voice, writing voice

2010-08-12T07:47:00.000-07:00

What are these dogs doing on a blog about writing and chiru and endangered species?

All will be revealed. And it's all related to writing and chiru.

Today's writers of non-fiction use many of the tools of fiction to make their stories compelling and accessible to readers. One of the strongest tools we have is voice. If we can find a quote from a real character, if we can let our real characters "speak" in our books, these characters become more alive and more interesting to readers. That's why I was so pleased when my research revealed the quote from Wilson Bentley, which in some ways came to symbolize his life for me: "I can't afford to miss a single snowstorm. I never know when I will find some wonderful surprise." Bentley didn't say that because he was getting rich from his snow crystal photographs. He regularly spent more than he took in. It was his personal account book, his "beauty in the world" account book that he needed to keep a balance in. And the quote, the voice, told us that.

When writing the chiru story, I wanted to give voice to the people who worked to rescue the chiru. I wanted readers to hear the desperation in George Schaller's voice when he said, "Wearing a shahtoosh shawl is the same as wearing three to five dead chiru."

Voice sets one character apart from another, helps us to distinguish and remember characters. For example, I am visiting my sister Laura and her husband Bruce these days. Laura and Bruce have a dog Izzie. Izzie has a couple of friends--Geordie and Maisie. They are all Border Terriers. But they are so different. Geordie (top) is a worrier. Izzie (bottom) is exuberent and always hungry. Maisie (middle) is alert for the chance to do the work of terriers (she has had several unhappy encounters with skunks).

If I were writing about these dogs, of course I would write about how each spends a morning: Geordie, watching from someone's lap--and worrying; Izzie prowling the kitchen floor for scraps and wildly greeting all who come to the door; and Maisie chasing squirrels outside. And I would give them a voice:
Geordie: Is everything going to be ok? Can you be sure?
Izzie: Yum, yum, raw carrots. I'll be your friend, friend friend.
Maisie: The squirrel ran around a tree and I ran around a tree then the squirrel ran across the back yard and I followed and we were both running, running I was barking barking barking and then the squirrel ran up the tree. Next time, I know I know I'll get that squirrel.

A good exercise for students, or any of us who want to write better, is to find a few photos of distinctly different characters--people or other animals--and invent a voice for each. What would each be worried about? What kinds of words would they use, big words, little words, verbs, lots of flowery adjectives? Would they repeat certain words? Ask a lot of questions? I have had the experience many times of finding a story when I found the voice of one of the important characters.

Playing with voice is useful for non-fiction writers, too, even though we can't invent a voice for a real character (unless we speculate based on the best information we have and say "maybe she said...." or "He might have said..." ).

The more we know about voice, voices and what they convey,the better able we are to choose the quotes from our research into a character that will help us to tell his or her story.

(dog portraits by my friend, Liz Wiesen, co-parent, with my brother David, to Geordie and Maisie)

Turtles and chiru--and stories of hope

2010-08-06T08:07:00.000-07:00

Our environment is under stress from so many sides it can be discouraging for students to think about. What can individuals do about global warming? Endangered species? Water shortages? Oil spills? Some may say just give up and go to the mall. Yet, we all need to think about these environmental problems and what hard decisions we will need to make.

Sometimes it helps to read a story about something going right. In THE CHIRU OF HIGH TIBET we get the story of one species. Because Rick Ridgeway and the other trekkers identified the chiru birthing ground, and the Chinese government designated this space as a preserve, because Patagonia Clothing company helped with funding for guards for this area, chiru numbers are growing. Human action does make a difference.

And now humans are acting to help save turtles in the Gulf Coast. These turtles are wrapped in towels, transported in Tupperware (!) to the Florida Aquarium where they can eat zucchini, broccoli, frozen fish, and grow strong.

Read the next chapter of the turtle story here:
The Florida Aquarium got a special delivery from the Gulf Coast

I like to think of a discussion that students might have after reading THE CHIRU OF HIGH TIBET, Kathryn Lasky's INTERRUPTED JOURNEY: SAVING ENDANGERED SEA TURTLES (Candlewick, 2006) and some news articles about these current efforts to save sea turtles. These stories of hope may make us all more inclined to look around our own lives, our own places, and think what can we do.

While we have to be aware of environmental threats, we can also share stories of hope. Let's.

2010-08-04T09:49:00.001-07:00

Ten days of intense focus on writing and story leave all of us who attend the Hamline MFA in writing for children and young adults residency with much to think about.

Recently, I have been remembering the wonderful presentation by Lauren Stringer (on the left in the photo) and Wendy Orr . They told us the stories behind the story of their new book--THE PRINCESS AND THE PANTHER (Beach Lane Books, July, 2010). I especially enjoyed hearing that Wendy first thought about writing a story of kids sleeping outside about twenty-five years ago. The idea evolved--a boy was dropped, maybesaved for another story, a cat was added. Sometimes it takes a while for us to realize where the story is. But if we love the story enough we stay with it. Wendy did love the story of a child being brave and sleeping outside. When the manuscript was bought Lauren came on the scene. Her "panther" was the crowning touch. This is a true collaborative effort and a lovely book.

THE CHIRU OF HIGH TIBET was not twenty five years a-borning but it certainly did evolve in the writing. Even with non-fiction, a writer chooses how to tell the story, where to begin, what must be included, what can be dropped to move the story along. (Some major cutting, from my original telling, was required so I did not keep readers too long in the "gorge of despair.") So much of writing is revising, especially for picture books. We don't have many words, so each word has to be just right, has to sound just right and carry just the right meaning. Much of my revision is about cutting. For example, here's a first-draft description of chiru wool:

Chiru wool is the finest and warmest in the world.
There's a rough outer layer and an undercoat.
The hairs on the chiru undercoat
are thinner than human hair and mean
chiru can survive at termperatures
so cold a potato would freeze in minutes.

That eventually became:

Chiru have special wool--the warmest and finest in the world--
called shahtoosh, king of wools.

In picture book texts, less is often more.

And this book, like THE PRINCESS AND HER PANTHER, was a true collaborative effort. Linda Wingerter has always been fascinated with Tibet. It shows in her wonderful illustrations, beautiful paintings that bring to the book the feeling of mystery that is so much a part of Tibet. Her book jacket illustration (from inside the book) is a visual summary of the story.

Chiru links

2010-08-04T08:06:00.000-07:00

Oh frabjous day! I've seen an advance copy of THE CHIRU OF HIGH TIBET (due out in October) and I'm so excited I want to fill a wagon with copies and carry them to my favorite libraries, to my friends' favorite libraries, to libraries I don't even know.

I hope THE CHIRU OF HIGH TIBET will spark an interest in readers about the trek to find the birthing place as well as a more general interest in Tibet. For those who would like additional information about the trek this link to an article in National Geographic Magazine may be useful. I read this article many times as I was researching and getting ready to write the book.

National Geographic writers have prepared a lesson plan for grades 6 through 8 relating to the efforts to save the chiru. Included in this lesson plan are links to other National Geographic articles about chiru. Whether one uses all the activities in the lesson plan or selects from the possibilities, some activities based on this lesson plan would make good follow-ups to reading the book.

Watch this space for art connections, cooking connections, social studies connections to this book.

Choosing the details

2010-07-27T12:32:00.000-07:00

When Phyllis Root and I were working on our presentation for the Hamline University MFA residency earlier this month I realized how much I love old cookbooks, the ones that have little stories or recollections to go with the recipes.

Now comes a book, a history, based on the eating habits of people who lived in New York's tenements. 97 Orchard (Smithsonian Books HarperCollins) by Jane Ziegelman. The New York Times reviewer,Dwight Garner, says:

"'Ms. Ziegelman writes well about the types of culinary workers, once popular in and around these tenements, whose trades have vanished. These included “the German krauthobblers, or ‘cabbage-shavers,’ itinerant tradesmen who went door to door slicing cabbage for homemade sauerkraut,” she notes. There were also “the Italian dandelion pickers, women who scoured New York’s vacant lots for wild salad greens,” as well as urban goose farmers who raised poultry in basements and hallways."

Who could not be interested in a book that tells us about ininerant cabbage shavers or farmers who raised poultry in basements and hallways? Ms. Ziegelman has chosen details well.

When I was writing THE CHIRU OF HIGH TIBET the challenge was to choose details that would make a trek in a faraway place real for children who may not yet have traveled further than Grandma's house. I wanted to choose the kinds of details that children notice: details of weather and climate("so cold it takes the fleece of five sheep to keep one person warm"; "so dry the tallest tree is a shrub that would not reach a grown man's knee"). We all have to eat. I have long been a "foodie" and know that details of food take me straight to the place, so I also wanted to include in the book details of the food that the trekkers ate during their long walk.

But perhaps the most gripping detail--the reason why the story was so compelling to me--is at the center of the story. It's the detail of the secret place, the place where the chiru go to have their babies. We want to know where this is. We want to know if the trekkers will find it.

Some details we choose. Some details choose us--grab us by the arm, the writing arm, and say write me.

2010-07-16T02:54:00.000-07:00

July on the Mississippi.
Students and faculty took a night off and went out on the river. I was not speedy enough with my camera to photograph the two herons that I saw, but they were there on the river, in the heart of the city. We had banjo music,a nice breeze, and even one red kayak. A lovely evening.

Every word

2010-07-11T20:15:00.000-07:00

I am away from home, teaching at the Hamline University MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults. There's a wonderful energy here when so many people get together who are just going to dig in and live writing for children and young adults. We think about writing, critique writing, talking about writing, and write.

And today in the "talk about writing" category we were privileged to listen to Elizabeth Partridge talk about her work. She's a wonderful writer, author of many award-winning books--Restless Spirit, a biography of Dorothea Lange; Marching for Freedom: Walk Together and Don't You Grow Weary (a Boston Globe Horn Book award winner, as well as winner of the LA Times Book Prize); John Lennon: All I Want is the Truth: This Land Was Made for You and Me, a biography of Woody Guthrie.

In addition to being a starred-reviewed, award-winning writer,
Elizabeth is a wonderful, inspiring speaker. She filled the room with commitment to, enthusiasm for, and just plain love of writing for children and young adults. I wish everyone interested in writing, books and stories could have been there.

But here are a few of Elizabeth Partridge's comments I'd like to share:

Every word has a spiritual energy.
Every word carries a primordial energy.
We're hard wired for story. Look for story in your subject.
Imbue your writing with meaning and emotion.
Honor the spirit of every word you write.
Words are a way to bear witness.
Be courageous.

Be courageous.

Another species, another rescue

2010-06-30T13:19:00.000-07:00

When I was working on The Chiru of High Tibet, I began to think that there may be a need in us, one that we are only partly aware of, to keep our entire world intact. That wholeness is so important to us that four trekkers would risk their lives and health to save a species they might not see again. They had no plan to use their wool, no plan to put them in zoos. They just wanted to keep them in their place in the world.

More evidence: in the New York Times is a story of an effort to rescue sea turtle eggs, so that they will not hatch in an area where the only food is oil soaked seaweed.

Here's part of the story:

Eggs will be allowed to incubate at Gulf beaches until day 51, 52 or 53 of incubation. Collecting the eggs at a late point in the incubation cycle, which lasts on average 60 days, means that transporting them is less likely to harm them.
The eggs will be excavated by hand by a designated sea turtle permit holder or permitted contractor, put into Styrofoam boxes and flown to Florida's Atlantic Coast. There, they will be held in a "secure facility" at an off-beach location for the remainder of incubation.
As the hatchlings emerge, they will be collected each night and released on Atlantic Coast beaches, with the exact locations still to be determined, and allowed to make their way to the ocean.
The agencies chose Florida's eastern coast in part because some of the Gulf hatchlings will end up being transported to the Atlantic Ocean anyway by the Gulf Stream, so they do not expect a one-time move to upset the genetic identities of the sea turtle populations. And given the uncertainty about how much oil will remain in the Gulf of Mexico, a release anywhere in the Gulf might put the hatchlings in harm's way, they said.
The agencies said they have sufficient resources to carry out the plan. "However, the implementation of this plan requires a significant coordinated effort by all agencies and partners over an approximately four month period that must be sustained to accomplish the goals," they said.
Nests from southwestern Florida beaches will not be moved. Based on the projected path of the oil spill and the movement of hatchlings from nests in southwestern Florida, the crude is not likely to result in the loss of all hatchlings this year, the agencies said. And the loggerhead turtles that hatch on southwestern Florida beaches are part of a larger subpopulation that also nests on Florida's Atlantic Coast, they said.
The relocation won't be done in future years or in other areas, the plan says.
Click here (pdf) to read the sea turtle plan.
Click here (pdf)to read frequently asked questions about the plan.
Copyright 2010 E&E Publishing. All Rights Reserved.

For more news on energy and the environment, visit www.greenwire.com.
Greenwire is published by Environment & Energy Publishing.

Read the whole story at

http://www.nytimes.com/gwire/2010/06/28/28greenwire-us-plans-extraordinary-measures-to-rescue-turt-39883.html?scp=1&sq=sea%20turtle%20egg%20rescue%20effort&st=cse

Good luck turtles! Good luck rescuers!

What is home

2010-06-30T09:45:00.000-07:00

When I was in Tibet, home was my little orange tent. It contained all I needed--my journal, a pen or two, my "bedroom" (sleeping bag), my library (Parting the Waters by Taylor Branch), my bathroom (don't ask), my cupboard, which contained a few crackers and a bottle of water. Our group cooking tent was sort of a summer kitchen.

My tent was my personal space and, when I needed time to myself, it was the space where I thought about the people I was missing. I called them to me, often by writing letters to them in my journal, visited with them. Wherever we are, the home we are looking for is perhaps a place we can go to be warm, to be nourished, to be restored.

Recently, here in Iowa, we had our two grand kids from Wisconsin for a few days. As we were driving back to Wisconsin, I mentioned to our five year old granddaughter how great it had been to have her and her brother, but that I knew they would be glad to be home. "Yes," she said, "home is where they know how to do things."

That's the more succinct way of putting it.

Getting Started

2010-06-22T09:33:00.000-07:00

When I went to Tibet a few years ago I kept a journal, to help me see and remember such an unusual experience.

And it has: on our first day in the Chang Tang reserve I wrote: “We are in the Change Tang Reserve!! The wind is blowing so hard it moves my tennis shoes inside the tent, which is rather dicey because I have a can of pop sitting in one shoe…We are camped right next to a nomad enclave. When our land cruiser got stuck they all turned out to help. Then they stayed to help put up tents.”

The next morning one of these Tibetans arrived on his motorcycle, wearing his chuba—a long robe made of sheepskin—and a helmet. He was our guide to the Aru Basin, where we hoped to see chiru.

Without the journal, my Tibetan memories would be a hash of tenting, chiru, long drives, quiet, loneliness, nomad enclaves, and excitement at seeing chiru.

At home, too, a journal helps me sort things out, save what might be lost, remember the quiet times. I’m hoping this blog will also help sort things out, comment on what might be lost, savor what should be saved, perhaps even start a conversation about what we love, what we share, what we wouldn’t want to lose.