This morning I’m just sitting at my dining room table, minding my own business, eating my hard-boiled-egg-with-salt-and-pepper in an attempt to neutralize the caramel coating in my stomach left over from Halloween, when Mr. City Road Guy knocks on the door.

Ma’am, he says, if you plan on getting out today, you’ll need to move your car. We’re working in front of your house today.

And I say, after giving him a tired and quizzical look, Today? Haven’t you been working in front of our house for months? (You’ll remember awhile ago when the little back-up beeps on the heavy equipment were kind of on my nerves.)

And he says, I mean right in front of your house.

And he doesn’t seem that amused by me or my questions or the yolk that’s sort of crumbling down the front of my shirt.

And I say, I don’t know why – you would think I would just nod and say thank you and get my keys but I say, Is it going to be extra-special loud?

And Mr. City Road Guy looks like he’s already had a long day. Thanks to me, I think.

He sighs and he starts to answer but I can’t really hear what he says because just then begins a symphony of beep beep beep beeps…

So at this point I do as I’m told.

Because I plan on, um, getting out today.

So what do a bunch of writers do for fun? 
This isn’t a walked into a bar or screw in a lightbulb joke. I’m serious. 
The answer revolves, usually, around fine food, coffee or wine, complemented by some gallows humour about the industry.

A week or so ago, I met a bunch of local authors for lunch (there’s the food part) and, although we very methodically went around the table updating each other on our current projects and crossed fingers, the conversation inevitably descended (or was it ascended?) into industry ha-ha.

And here’s what we came up with. 
Editors oughta do house calls. 

I mean, let’s get real. Writers are introverts by nature and mostly have slippers and sweatshirts in our closets and the idea that we are supposed to go to the post office — not to mention New York — for work is just preposterous. Right? Plus, we are a’feared something fierce of approaching the mighty fire-breathing folks in the big publishing palace in the sky.

So, it’s simple. 
Editors and, heck, why not agents while we’re at it, will just stop by occasionally. 

Knock, knock. You in there?
I haven’t heard from you in awhile and I just wanted to check in. 
Do you have anything you want to share with me? 
Can I help with anything — an idea, a revision, a good cry?
Can I heat up your tea?
Let’s look through your stuff and see what grabs me. 
Ah ha. This is brilliant! You were holding out on me!
How’s your calendar? When would you like to get me the finished product?
And do you need some chocolate to help with that?

Oh, and here’s the best part. You can’t tidy up first because if your house is too clean, said editors and agents won’t think you’re hard at work and will fail to take you seriously and, god forbid, may drop you from their rounds. Win win.

So — settle in. Fill that hot water bottle and write. 
Someone’ll be by to look in on you soon.

(By the way, I can’t take total credit for the utter brilliance of this new business model, so when the world as we know it is replaced by a kinder and gentler one, here’s some of the folk you can thank:
Anne Bustard, Chris Barton, Cynthia Leitich Smith, Greg Leitich Smith, 
Julie Lake, Lindsey Lane, and Sean Petrie.)

This morning my husband leaves for the third week in a row on the road. He was home for little chunks of time in between trips, and I’m pretty sure this is it for awhile so I shouldn’t whine, but boy-oh-man does it get old.

I know some of you are single parents and that others of you have spouses who actually travel all the time every week, and I am bowing down in wonder and bewilderment. Are you extra resilient and organized and clear-headed, or do y’all just drink more wine and coffee than the rest of us?

For me, the tough bits are a little bit morning (we generally sort of swap off on getting the kids to school) and a lot evening (that stretch of time from about 5-8:30 when things like piano practice, dinner, double-checking homework, walking the dog, playing cards, reading aloud, bedtime snacks, cuddling, reminding girls to turn the lights off and reminding them again all has to happen. Right when we’re at our most wrung out. There’s a reason this is oft-referred to as the sour hour.) And then, to top it all off, we just miss ‘im, the three of us.

My sister, whose husband travels a heap more than mine does (and she’s living in the bush in Tanzania so add just a tad bit of isolation in), says the key is to do something different. 

Read aloud during dinner. 
Have friends over in the middle of the week. 
Rent a movie.

I think she’s right, and lucky for us it’s Halloween week (are any holidays confined to single days anymore??) so we’ve got cotton balls to glue onto lamb costumes and pumpkins to carve and, in a pinch, a black cat cookie cutter we could press into service. Plus it’s fall in Texas — crisp and lovely — so the dog walks can be longer and more vigorous than usual. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go decide what kind of pancakes to make for supper tonight…

Unless you have just stopped by the blogosphere for the very first time today (in which case, welcome!) you probably know by now that Robert’s Snow is an online auction of little snowy works of art, benefitting the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. (Take a look at this year’s extraordinary snowflakes here). In support of this effort, many children’s literature bloggers (writers, reviewers, teachers and librarians) are highlighting the illustrators behind the snowflakes at their sites — with the intent of driving more folks to the auction.

Here’s the schedule for Week 3, which starts Monday. This schedule links to participating blogs, instead of to individual posts. You can find post-specific links and last-minute updates at 7-Imp. Jules and Eisha, the fairy godmothers of this event, also set up a special page at 7-Imp containing a comprehensive list of links to the profiles posted so far.

Monday, October 29

• Dan Santat at Writing and Ruminating
• Joanne Friar at The Longstockings
• Alissa Imre Geis at Wild Rose Reader
• Diane Greenseid at Just One More Book!!
• Sean Qualls at Brooklyn Arden

Tuesday, October 30

• Ann Koffsky at Book Buds
• Bill Carman at A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy
• Gretel Parker at Finding Wonderland
• Matt Phelan at A Year of Reading
• Stephanie Roth at Writing with a broken tusk

Wednesday, October 31

• Shawna Tenney at Kate’s Book Blog
• Adam Rex at Booktopia and Welcome to my Tweendom
• Mo Willems at MotherReader
• Rolandas Kiaulevicius at a wrung sponge

Thursday, November 1

• Karen Lee at sruble’s world
• Diana Magnuson at A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy
• Melissa Iwai at Brooklyn Arden
• Victoria Jamieson at AmoXcalli and Cuentecitos
• Molly Idle at The Shady Glade
• Meghan McCarthy at A Fuse #8 Production

Friday, November 2

• Tracy McGuinness-Kelly at Sam Riddleburger’s blog
• Sarah Kahn at Kate’s Book Blog
• Sylvia Long at Whimsy Books
• Jeremy Tankard at the excelsior file
• Holli Conger at Please Come Flying

Saturday, November 3

• Susan Miller at Your Neighborhood Librarian
• Ellen Beier at What Adrienne Thinks About That
• Hideko Takahashi at The Silver Lining
• Judith Moffat at Jo’s Journal
• Wendell Minor at Wild Rose Reader

Sunday, November 4

• Joy Allen at Check It Out
• Robin Brickman at Greetings from Nowhere
• Lauren Stringer at laurasalas
• Nancy Wallace at In the Pages . . .

Please note that not all illustrators have been (or will be featured) on a blog so be sure to visit the auction site to see them all. Please note, too, that Jen Robinson is the mind behind this well-wrought html, without which I could tell you all about the auction but not link you to a thing…

Way back in the day, I was lucky enough to be member of an amazingly talented, prolific and supportive poetry group. We met weekly to exchange work for a good long time, and then monthly for even longer. I finally emigrated to children’s writing circles, but The Brass Tacks stayed together. Every so often I bump into one or another of these old friends and, inevitably, get a little nostalgic for the times I spent writing poetry. I mean, poetry for the more mature audience.

Well, now my nostalgia’s gotten me into something deep. I’ve accepted an invitation by the Tacks to contribute to the Crown of Sonnets they’ve been working on. A Crown of Sonnets is 7 complete sonnets strung together — thematically and through the repetition of certain lines. (Each sonnet begins with the last line of the preceding sonnet.) 

I’ve agreed to do the final sonnet, which means I begin with the last line of the preceding sonnet and I close with the very first line of the very first sonnet. And by the way, the other sonnets are… well… very good. I feel like I may need to be hypnotized to access this part of me. Presuming it’s in there.

So, apparently there’s such thing as A Heroic Crown of Sonnets, too. That’s 15 linked sonnets, which admittedly does sound tough, but I have a feeling I’m gonna feel heroic even if I pull off the garden variety Crown.

But in studying up on this form, I’ve discovered — believe it or not — a children’s book written as a Heroic Crown. I remember hearing a lot about A Wreath for Emmett Till a couple of years back, but the Crown Sonnet wasn’t on my radar then. Now it is, and Marilyn Nelson’s poem is masterful. And sad. And full of love.

Here’s a short excerpt from the fourth stanza:

From A Wreath for Emmett Till

Emmett Till’s name still catches in my throat,
like syllables waylaid in a stutterer’s mouth.
A fourteen-year-old stutterer, in the South
to visit relatives and to be taught
the family’s ways. His mother had finally bought
that White Sox cap; she’d made him swear an oath
to be careful around white folks. She’d told him the truth…

What I’d love for you to do is go to this NPR page and click on the Listen button. Marilyn Nelson reads the poem in whole. It’s heroic, all right. And I’m humbled.

I’m a bit of a glutton for fun.
Actually, also for beauty, joy, excitement, comfort, love, friendship, humor, smarts and goodness.
I’m kind of famous for the line, “I only want to do fun stuff.” 
And I wish I could say I was nine when I coined that beauty, but I was actually 22. 

You know how kids wish their birthday rolled around weekly? I’m like that. 
When I say to my daughters, “Yes, but then your birthday wouldn’t be special,” I have to chew on my cheek and uncross my fingers with effort. 

I know that some people would spell this syndrome h-e-d-o-n-ism, but really, I just understand the impulse of wanting specialness more often. Like, daily.

So, one way to make this happen is through ritual. Setting a lovely table. Lighting candles at breakfast. Filling the bath with really lush bubbles. Sitting outside as the sun sets. I’m a junkie for that sort of thing. 

But  also, we just need to cultivate the taste — and the patience — for the rare, the unique, the truly exceptional. So that when we find the finest wine or fall in love or stumble upon a really great idea, we notice it with appropriate awe. 

Do you remember awhile back when I posted about reading Aldo Leopold’s Sand County Almanac?
Well, let me tell you. This guy knew a thing or two about awe. And here’s our lesson for today (humor me; I like to think I’m not the only unreformed immediate gratificationist on the planet):

“There is a peculiar virtue in the music of elusive birds. Songsters that sing from top-most boughs are easily seen and as easily forgotten; they have the mediocrity of the obvious. What one remembers is the invisible hermit thrush pouring silver chords from impenetrable shadows; the soaring crane trumpeting from behind a cloud; the prairie chicken booming from the mists of nowhere; the quail’s Ave Maria in the hush of dawn…. The hope of hearing quail is worth half a dozen risings-in-the-dark.”

Isn’t all the really good stuff worth at least that?

So Jules (who has obviously been allotted more than the average 24-hours-in-a-day since she seems to have time to organize grand philanthropic events, interview literary starlets, review books with pithy panache and toss thought-provoking queries out into the universe) wants to know what we writerly folk think about “Process”. (At a recent conference, Rosemary Wells apparently said there is no such thing as process. Hmm. Makes one want to scratch one’s noggin.)

Here’s what I think.

Process is a verb and it’s something I do every single day. (Just ask my husband.)

I need to tease and sort stuff out because one big lumpy undifferentiated world is far too much to swallow whole.

To process is to name a thing, break it down into its smallest possible components, look at those pieces from every possible angle and through a variety of lenses, and then put it back together by articulating what’s been discovered. Preferably right at bedtime. (Just ask my husband.)

But really, it’s not unlike what we do as writers – especially during revision. We sit down and think, “What in sam hill was I trying to do here? Which bits work and which bits don’t? And why? Is it the point-of-view or the voice or the pacing or the narrative flow? And then, I’ve got an idea! I’m going to move this here because of a, and cut this because of b, and tweak this because of c.” 

And then we heat up our chai, which has gotten all curdley at this point, and start over. 
I mean, right?

That other kind of process, that Rosemary Wells says doesn’t exist? I call that practice rather than process. My personal practice includes writing something new every single day – sometimes a complete and rushy draft of a new story, sometimes a comma – and always, always, always reading my own work aloud. Yep. Just sittin’ in my chair writin’ and readin’. Oh, and also, waiting very hopefully for the lightening strike.

I’ll bet that’s not much different from what the rest of ya’ll are doing. Is it?

When I woke up early this morning it was cold and rainy.

Seriously, seriously chilly.

And I’ve been getting just a tad bit tired of 90-degree days so I put the kettle on and didn’t give my running shoes another thought. 

Instead I came to my desk and began transforming my latest manuscript from a 3rd-person story into a 1st-person story.

I realized last week that this had to happen but I didn’t make the time to tackle it. Probably because I was a little disgruntled. Because I had just finished it. Sigh. 

Couldn’t I have realized this rather critical detail a few weeks back? 
Y’know, so this all could’ve happened in a more orderly and efficient fashion.
Are there people out there who really lead linear lives??? 
Nevermind. Don’t tell me. I’d rather not know.

Anyway, I walked my way into it this morning and I was right! This is what it needed!

I’m not done, but I’m so happy. 
And the weather doesn’t hurt, either.

Sometimes all you need is a little change of perspective…

Was looking at last week’s highlighted snowflakes fun, or what? I mean, I’m sort of wishing I were independently wealthy so I could go absolutely bid-crazy on these little masterpieces! But since I’m not, a bunch of you folks are going to get the chance to pick up a flake or two. So, without further ado, here’s the schedule for Week 2 (with great big ol’ thanks to Jen Robinson, the html queen). Because the posts aren’t up yet, this list links to the participating blogs, instead of to the individual posts. You can find links to the posts themselves, and any last-minute updates, each morning at 7-Imp. Jules and Eisha have also set up a special page at 7-Imp containing a comprehensive list of links to the profiles posted so far. Also not to be missed is Kris Bordessa’s post summarizing snowflake-related contests to date over at Paradise Found.

Monday, October 22

• Mark Teague at The Miss Rumphius Effect
• Sharon Vargo at Finding Wonderland
• Christopher Demarest at Writing and Ruminating
• Rose Mary Berlin at Charlotte’s Library
• David Macaulay at Here in the Bonny Glen

Tuesday, October 23

• Carin Berger at Chasing Ray
• Marion Eldridge at Chicken Spaghetti
• Sophie Blackall at not your mother’s bookclub
• Erik Brooks at Bildungsroman
• Brian Lies at Greetings from Nowhere

Wednesday, October 24

• Elisa Kleven at Rozzie Land
• Consie Powell at Becky’s Book Reviews
• Jimmy Pickering at Shaken & Stirred
• Frank Dormer at What Adrienne Thinks About That
• Sheila Bailey at Lizjonesbooks

Thursday, October 25

• Julia Denos at Interactive Reader
• Rebecca Doughty at A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy
• Brian Floca at A Fuse #8 Production
• Margaret Chodos-Irvine at readergirlz

Friday, October 26

• David Ezra Stein at HipWriterMama
• Juli Kangas at Sam Riddleburger’s blog
• Ginger Nielson at Miss O’s School Library
• Margot Apple at Jo’s Journal

Saturday, October 27

• Julie Fromme Fortenberry at Your Neighborhood Librarian
• Sarah Dillard at The Silver Lining
• John Hassett at cynthialord’s Journal
• Abigail Marble at Please Come Flying

Sunday, October 28

• Ashley Wolff at A Chair, A Fireplace & A Tea Cozy
• Barbara Garrison at Brooklyn Arden
• Kelly Murphy at ChatRabbit

Don’t see the one you’re ready to mortgage the house for yet — or worried the competition’ll be too stiff? This is only the 2nd of many weeks of snowy wonder coming your way. Plus — NOT ALL SNOWFLAKES WILL BE FEATURED ON A BLOG, so be sure to check out the whole lot of them when you go to bid! (Here’s a note on this very point from Elaine Magliaro at Wild Rose Reader).

Now, if by some cosmic time/space disconnect you have missed out on learning about the Robert’s Snow auction, check out the Robert’s Snow auction official site. In a nutshell, it’s a really powerful way to help fight cancer and bring some gorgeous, touching, whimsical art into your home at the same time.

We’re just trying to keep our wits about us over here, my six-year-old and I. 
Last night she battled the fiercest ear infection. 
Actually, we battled it but she took the harshest wounds.

Our weapons?
Warm olive oil.
Old videotapes.
A hot water bottle.
A snack.
An attempt at sleep, sitting up.

Things seem a little brighter by the light of day, but I’m so tired I’m drooling. So, here’s Shel Silverstein’s Sick. Maybe it’ll make you guys laugh. That’s beyond me now, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I descend into the giggles later. In that crazy kinda way.

Sick
by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?

Read the rest here…