Last night we went to see this summer’s musical-in-the-park.
It was The Music Man so I’ve been singing about Gary, Indiana, all day today.

The whole evening was spot-on perfect.
We laid our blanket down at 6:00, walked across the parking lot and swam in Barton Springs ’til 8:00, walked back and picnicked as the show started, and knew enough to sing along fairly frequently. The girls had that lusty look in their eyes, that "I could be up there singing" look, from start to finish.

So it should’ve been no surprise when, during the intermission, one of them said, "Plays are better than movies."

"Way," said the other.

"Way."

"Better how?" I asked.

"Well," said Tall One, "they’re real. I mean, they’re almost real. You can even see a little mistake here and there."

"Yeah," echoed her sister. "When they make mistakes in movies they just rewind and change it up. It’s kind of cheaty."

"With plays you’re right in the middle of whatever’s happening," said Tall.

"I see what you mean," I said, and then the band struck up.

Note to self: What kids want from art is to be "right in the middle of whatever’s happening."
At least some kids.
At least mine…

On the beach last week, one of my aunts gave me her Oprah magazine with a page turned down.
There are some great little essays by writers, about writing, she said.
And she wasn’t kidding.

How about this painful little gem by author Jim Shepard?
He tells students they may be cut out for the writing life if "(a) they need to do it in order to feel good about themselves, even though (b) doing it almost never makes them feel good about themselves."

Sigh.

I was thinking about this in the middle of the night last night.
I was up with an idea, which was great (in that I love a muse-driven writing session) and which was terrible (in that it was 1 a.m. and nothing but uck was actually coming out on the page).

So then I proceeded to use the time to catch up on some more back-blog-reading.
 And lo and behold, there you all are, sorting out your own stuff with writing and with life.

There is so much to negotiate, most of it in our own heads.
Thank goodness for poetry, right? 
Thank goodness for poetry and the hot, homemade Michigan-blueberry muffins I just pulled out of my oven.
Life’s pleasures.

This goes out to Tanita and Jama today.
With high hopes for confidence, joy, success and no regrets…

Autobiographia Literaria

(Read the rest here, or better yet — listen to Garrison Keillor read it!)

I am finally home after many, many hours behind the wheel.

I am home with two daughters, a bunch of duffles and a ten-pound box of the fattest Michigan blueberries ever plucked.

I am home in my own bed and my own kitchen and my own 100-plus degree weather.
(Although in the name of truth, I should say that I generously share that with the rest of the folk who live down here…)

I am home with my sweet ol’ dog who won’t let me out of her sight and my sweet ol’ husband who seems nearly as pleased.

I am home at my desk, with its stacks of mail — frequent flier updates, insurance offers, and a few very nice little surprises from my friends at Simon & Schuster and Beach Lane Books.

First came the Simon & Schuster Fall 2009 catalog, which features All the World on pages 264 and 265.
Which means that it actually exists and booksellers and librarians can actually order it and other people besides my mom might eventually have it on their shelves.

But it wasn’t pages 264 and 265 that freaked me out, friends.

It was inside the front cover.
Y’know, the stiff cardboard cover in the front of all the other pages???
Where All the World is called out in pretty colors and big bold print???

It says, "Caldecott Honor winner and New York Times bestselling illustrator Marla Frazee shows you All the World By Liz Garton Scanlon"

That is, honest to Pete, exactly what it says.
And then it says to turn to pages 264 and 265.

Blow me down.

And then, deeper down in my stack of mail was a package exactly like the ones S & S sent booksellers and reviewers:
A flat, square box with the galley of All the World nestled in shredded paper with a shell and some beach glass.
And a hand-written note from my editor.
And the new Beach Lane catalog.

The whole dang deal is so beautiful that I don’t have the heart to disassemble it.
For real, you guys.

It is as if I’ve had a baby and this great big old company has hand-knit a blanket for her and is carrying her carefully around, making introductions.

As you might imagine, it is really, really, really fine to be home…

Don’t be mislead by the title of this post.
 
No, I was not at ALA.
And I have not been blogging.
Or cleaning my house.
Or doing much laundry.

Because… I have still been on my many-state-mini-van adventure with the Small and Tall!!!

Tonight, though, I’m in a hotel room in West Memphis and tomorrow I will be HOME.
For the first time in 5 weeks.
And I am almost as ready as my daughters.

(Who are a little more ready because they will carry on not cleaning the house or doing much laundry, and I won’t.
Or will.
You get what I mean.)

Anyway.
I have a LOT of updates for you, little and big.

Like about how I cried today listening to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
When he finally got that golden ticket, nearly delirious with hunger and waning hope?
That is such a beautiful scene. Seriously, you guys.
Go back and re-read it.
And also the next scene where Grandpa Joe jumps out of bed, giddy with the luck of it all.

Oh, and another literary moment today was when the girls were reading Archie comics and discussing which one they liked more — Betty or Veronica.

"Betty," they both declared. (Thank heaven for small mercies.)

And I chimed in from the front, "Yeah, Veronica’s kind of snooty, isn’t she?"

"Snooty’s not really right, Mama," corrected Small One. "She’s just spoiled."

Oh.
Right.

So before I recount the countless enlightening moments like these that I’ve saved up over the last month or so, can I just share with you the photo that my beloved agent snapped with her cellular phone at ALA in Chicago?

My little book was there — in ARC form and on the Simon & Schuster banner.
Next to Toni Morrison (!??!?!) and a whole bunch of other incredibly daunting and amazing folk.

Oh, and also?
The illustrator of that little book accepted her Caldecott Honor for the brilliant A Couple of Boys Have the Best Week Ever at the very same conference.

Just sittin’ here at the Quality Inn, living vicariously…
At least we get free waffles in the morning…

Thank you all for your sweet notes of understanding over my going AWOL and all.
It is so nice to see your familiar names and hear your familiar voices…

So, I promised you a thing or two.
Let’s start with this.

My next book is OUT IN THE WORLD.
This is freaky scary crazy.
Of course.

Y’know how when you have a baby and you first put her in her carseat and head out for a drive you consider calling for a police escort and putting signs up in every window of of the car saying, "Please, would you maniacs slow down and take care because this situation is very, very fragile"???

Well, it’s like that.

Luckily, there are some very good, kind folks receiving this particular package so I’m not feeling too battered.

Here’s a post that’s particularly touching, from Shelly B. at Write for a Reader.

(Particularly touching in that my friends at Simon & Schuster and Beach Lane Books went so all-the-way-out to share this book with people, and touching in how much Shelly B. appreciated it…)

And then, here is an early review from Richie Partington at Richie’s Picks (and yes, I now officially love Richie…)

That’s all for today… I’m off to count my blessings…

Hello, friends.
Helloooo… hellooo… helloooo…..

I don’t know if any of you are out there since I dropped this puppy like a hot potato a month ago.
The thing is, I was going on the road and figured I’d do these post-cardy posts along the way.
So, no use signing off for a month.
Right?

Left, as the Big Friendly Giant would say.

I have been rather happily untethered from my computer, my cell phone won’t hold a charge
and my hiking boots are seriously broken in.
I’ve seen moose, elk, deer, fox, pronghorn antelope, marmot, osprey, bald eagles and red tail hawks.
I’ve seen a lot of stars.

I’ve listened to Harry Potter, Roald Dahl and David Sedaris in the car.
I’ve read some Mary Pipher, two novels and quite a few articles in Vanity Fair.

I’ve slept rather well.

In the midst of all this goodness, I have worked some, too.
I’m writing something new and revising something old.
I’ve attended to numerous tasks for this fall — setting up readings and events for All the World,
planning my next class, thinking about a new and improved web site.
I’ve corresponded with some folks I ought to be corresponding with.

But I haven’t blogged.
Or read blogs.

I’ve missed you all and am taking a little time in the next couple of days to get back up to speed.
Stay tuned for various tid-bits and updates and even a few early reviews of my upcoming book.

And, in the meantime, happy summer to you all.
Step outside and check out the stars.
They’re pretty awesome…
 

I get so excited about summer vacation that I sometimes forget to pause and reflect on the awesomeness that is my daughters’ school.

But downloading photos tonight reminded me of just a few of the myriad reasons my children are curious, inspired and thriving…

First, a few snaps of the 2nd graders’ Greek Gods and Goddesses Feast and Fashion Show:

HESTIA  — Keeping the flame alive

ATLAS — workin’ it

That’s MS. MEDUSA to you, students…

Dolmas and olives and hummus, oh my!

And then, equally as cool, the older kiddos performing scenes from Much Ado About Nothing:

Swoon….

I’m so regularly full of gratitude for their teachers that words are inevitably inadequate.

Fortunately "Silence is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much. "

(Side note: Get thee to Ms. Kelly Fineman’s fabulous Brush up on Shakespeare Month, asap.)

My publicity friends at Simon & Schuster emailed me yesterday to tell me I’m going to the
Texas Book Festival!
(Which is kind of a funny thing to get excited about since the Texas Book Festival is about 6 minutes from my house — and that includes parking.)

But this year I’ll be going as a participant — with a  new stack of picture books beside me.
(All the World will have been out for a few weeks by then…)

I don’t yet know what they’ll have me doing but I’m happy to just brush shoulders with all the big kids, smile and sign.
If you’re going to be in Austin Halloween weekend, swing on by!

So last week I posted very briefly about the sale of my next picture book, Noodle and Lou.

It was brief because the only thing more exciting than having a book sale announced in Publisher’s Marketplace is summer vacation, which commenced that very day.

(We’ve got our priorities straight over here.)

Anyway, I actually did want to say a little more about this happy development, and now that I’ve completely exhausted my children by tossing bedtimes out the window, I have some breathing room with which to do so.

Here Goes:

Noodle and Lou are a worm and a bird, respectively.

On their behalf, I wrote a story that came in at about 186 words, some of which rhymed, many of which sort of stunk.

That was about a year and many, many incarnations ago.
(I cannot admit how many because I like to keep up the illusion of being a sane and productive person.)

My agent and editor each saw it at least three times over the course of nearly six months.

It went from 186 words to 179 to 161 to 210 to 247.
(The only manuscript in the history of the world to get longer during the revision process.)

It went from partial rhyme to no rhyme to complete rhyme.

And it went from stinky to sold.

That was at the end of March.
I was happy about that, and it sure made Noodle feel better about himself…

And then I got an email saying Arthur Howard liked it and had signed on to illustrate it!
I was really, really happy about that, and it made Noodle feel just ducky!
That was on the 2nd of May.

And then, just a couple of weeks ago, I got an email saying Noodle and Lou would be on the Summer 2010 list!
(Which is like mock-speed in picture book land…)
So now Noodle and Lou are shaking their tail-feathers.
(Well, you know, figuratively speaking in Noodle’s case.)

And I am, too.
Well, you know, figuratively speaking.

It is officially summer here.
The deck is draped with drying towels.
The freezer is full of popsicles.
The kids are home, flopping around in their jammies, making collages out of the National Geographics and listening to Harry Potter on their iPods.

I love summer.
I love the sense of closure that comes with the end of a school year.
I love that bedtimes don’t matter and alarms don’t ring.
I love my kids home, flopping around in their jammies, making collages out of the National Geographics and listening to Harry Potter on their iPods.

Still, as a parent, there is always something bittersweet about the passage of time.
The teacher goodbyes ache.
The outgrown clothes stun.
The independence startles.

It is honestly hard for me to believe that when we start back to school in August, I will have a 3rd grader and a 5th grader on my hands. My breath catches when I realize how long my little ones have been around, how fast they’ve grown, how not-very-little they are.

I relish each new idea they grasp, each new step they take into themselves, I really do.
But dang, if it could just slow down, ’cause I really, really, really like having them around…

My own personal antidotes to the poignancy?
Spending lots of time together.
Taking pictures.
A good dose of humor.
Poetry.

Y’know, this sort of thing:

For a Girl I Know about to Be a Woman

by Miller Williams

(Read the rest here…)