You’ll remember a few days back when my daughters were discussing the possibilities for marriage in California.

Well, part of their awareness comes from the fact that we have two dear female friends tying the knot there this morning.

Our friends aren’t alone in scheduling pre-election day nuptials — in case California voters decide to make null and void the option of gay marriage. Which means that even on this day of love and tenderness, ritual and celebration, there has to be an awareness of and commitment to the political context.

They are willing — and even proud — to work within that context.
And so am I. This is a civil rights issue that we oughta tend to so our children learn about it as history rather than having to grapple with it painfully, personally and politically themselves.

Today, though, I simply lift my glass (well, okay, my coffee cup) westward and wish continued happiness and abundant love to N & A on their wedding day.

(The following is an original poem I wrote for another happy California wedding about 7 years ago…)

Invitation

Here we are:

gathered, good as a flock,

breathing so that it sounds

like a chant

putting together promises

strange and miraculous

as quills braided into

a bird’s back.

And still, we do not know —

any of us — what is to come.

Whether life will switch back

and forth tightly and parched

toward some steep peak

or tumble forward like water,

like honey or fury

gaining speed.

We gather in bodies

present and singular as trees.

Will they grow strong, tired,

lush, tender, unrecognizably old?

We do not know.

We do not know

which moments we’ll rejoice, regret,

endure or battle —

which seasons will offer

nearly impossible plenty.

All that is certain is this:

longing is like a birdcall,

prettiest and most complete

when it is answered.

This is a wild sky

and our hearts reach wide,

hinges loose

and locks undone.

There is nothing out here

we need protection from.

 — LGS, 2001

Don’t you just love good news?

It makes me cry.

In a heart-swelling-hope-incited-life-ain’t-all-off-afterall kind of way.

Well, the National Book Award nominations are in and it’s a tear-jerker, folks.

First of all, the poetry?
I adore Mark Doty and Reginald Gibbons. For very different reasons.
Also, I’m really curious about the Patricia Smith book and I think I might just see if I have a little National Book Award cash stash hidden in my wallet somewhere. In a secret pocket in my wallet. In a secret invisible pocket? Or maybe it looks an awful lot like a MasterCard?

But moving on — the Young People’s Literature category.
Bestill my heart. 
Honestly. 

Look, if you’re ready for a good cry, check out the following:

This little blurb from Emily Lockhart’s blog.

Laurie Halse Anderson’s original post and her follow up.

Cynthia Leitich Smith’s interview with Kathi Appelt.

This gush over Kathi at Through the Tollbooth.

All is not lost people, no matter what the polls say.
All is not lost…

Lately…

I’ve been chiming in on the bio development for All the World…

Nervously dipping back into revisions of Wind…

Knockin’ off Draft 361 of a new little nibble called Noodle and Lou…

Beginning the transformation of one of my picture book manuscripts into a middle grade novel..

Critiquing stacks of student work…

And, y’know, parenting and what not.

Great time to step into the murky time-suck of a swamp that is Facebook, don’t you think?

Over lunch, my girls were discussing our latest read-aloud, Dealing with Dragons.

Of particular interest was whether Cimorene (the girl) might someday marry Kazul (the dragon).

"I don’t think so," Tall One said. "They’re both girls."

(Um, nevermind that they’re different species?!?!?!?!?)

"Right, but maybe they can go to California," reasoned Small One.

"Oh, that would be nice," agreed her sister, "except I don’t think California existed in their time."

The monarchs are here, on their way to Mexico for the winter.

My friend Bernadette, who tends to keep her eye on the sky, sent an email yesterday reminding us of this bi-annual event.

I find butterfly migration rather staggering. I mean, if I were that fragile I’d be hunkered down in my hometown rather than risking life and limb… er, wing… by traveling thousands of miles through cities and over freeways and past bats and birds of prey.

It is a lovely and inspiring thing to see courage and intuition move through town in deep orange blooms of butterflies. In honor of them, this poem…

Caterpillar
— Christina Rossetti

Last spring, Ted Orland mailed me a copy of Art & Fear, his insightful little book about art and artists and the fine and messy realities of both.

He sent it to me because I admitted in public that about 35 people had recommended the book to me and I had never read it.

I guess he was trying to save me from myself.

Well, suffice it to say that he kind of did.

Art & Fear names so many of the things that go bump in the night and stop us from doing our own good work.
Honestly, it’s better than a flashlight.

I like it so much that I’ve read excerpts from it to my class this semester, and it’s going to be a required text in my two classes in the spring. Seems to me that we might as well meet the monsters head on. ‘Specially when the monster is, well… um… us.  Y’know?

Here, just to give you the idea, are a few tidbits…

On perfectionism:

"To require perfection is to invite paralysis… you find reasons to procrastinate since to not work is to not make mistakes."

On jealousy of other artists:

"Whatever they have is something needed to do their work — it wouldn’t help you in your work even if you had it."

On expectations:

"Ask your work what it needs, not what you need."

See what I mean?

My pal Kathie Sever is an mind-blowing artist.

Her mediums include paper & ink, canvas & paint, and, for the past 8 years, fabric & thread.

When her daughter was born, Kathie started a children’s clothing business (Ramonster) that has since evolved into a custom clothing business — home of the most stunning shirts you evah laid your eyes on. I promise you. They shouldn’t even be called shirts. That’s too pedestrian for what she does. They should be renamed. Torso jewels. Something like that.

And if torso jewels aren’t enough for you, she’s tackled a children’s book project (with my other pal Shannon Lowry).

And she teaches kids to sew and saves the planet, too (with my other pal Bernadette Noll!!).

Sheesh.

No wonder she’s featured in the upcoming documentary Handmade Nation. Right?

Watch the trailer and tell me you’re not dying to see this film.

It’ll debut sometime next year. In the meantime, there’s the book.
This is a beautiful, beautiful book about creativity and passion and guts and love.
Who can argue with that?

Here’s a quote to whet your whistle:

"I think that the role of ‘maker’ is very diffused and inclusive, that art-making is not only specific to drawing, painting, sewing, sculpting, etc. More people are artists or are artistic than are aware of the fact; everyone is making in some capacity. Making is something inherant to our species, it defines us as a group and as individuals…" — Sarah RaRa, Handmade Nation

Amen and Namaste…

An agent is one of those things you’re supposed to really want when you’re a writer.

Sort of like good ideas and chocolate.

An agent is supposed to turn pumpkins into stagecoaches and matchmake all sorts of happily ever afters.

Right?

I was never quite sure.

I worked with an agent briefly for my first book, but I’ve mostly been on my own these last number of years and it’s worked out okay. I’ve somehow wrangled myself into my chair (thanks to some good ideas and chocolate) and I have a pretty substantial little stack of manuscripts to show for it.

(Well, I mean, they’re picture books so I use the word "substantial" rather loosely. It’s not a tower or anything like that. More like a short, squat butte.)

Along the way, I pulled a few bits of the butte loose and, lucky for me, a delightful and insightful editor was there to receive them. I had to do my own dealmaking, which is about as appealing as a bad case of the flu, but I survived.

In the meantime, the rest of the pile on my desk had become rather, um, inert.
And the thing about inert rock, er, paper formations is they tend to stay that way for millions of years.
Which I more time than I’ve got.

Which is why I’m very, very happy and relieved and excited and ready to share the fact that I have signed with the amazingly warm, smart, productive and funny Erin Murphy.

Apparently, Erin does not get flu-like symptoms when she dealmakes!

Apparently, Erin does not get daunted by short, squat buttes of the inert variety!

Apparently, Erin is a fairy godmother!
Well, okay, maybe she doesn’t turn pumpkins into stagecoaches.

But she did say this in an interview I read:

I only sign someone new if it makes my stomach hurt to think of them working with someone else. Their work has to be so wonderful and so unlike anything else I’ve ever read that I just can’t pass it up.

Which does make me feel a little like a princess.
Thanks, Erin!

(And now I have to get back to the part of the work that is still, and always will be, mine…)
 

OK, friends.
I hate to beat a dead horse here but it is time to register to vote if you haven’t.

In Texas, this Monday is the last possible date to register.
If you have moved… if your name has changed… if you’ve never voted before…
you have to register in order to vote!

There are number of ways to check your voting status online.
Here’s one — via Google Maps — and here’s another — via Barack Obama’s web site.
(I should note, though, that registering to vote is a purely nonpartisan activity!)

People all over the world fight and cry to win the vote, line up for days and compromise time, work and safety to vote.
We are, um, slightly more complacent than that.
But I don’t think we ought to be.

Voting is an honor, a privelege and a responsibility.
Let’s exercise and fulfill it in record numbers on November 4th.

Hope is waiting for you in the voting booth.
Really.

It’s a big book round-up, folks:

First, this week is Banned Books Week, and I recommend picking up a copy of The Chocoloate War or Olive’s Ocean or Huck Finn — preferably from your local library — and reading to your heart’s content. Censorship is driven by fear, and operating by fear is not the way to grow either smarts or spirit. Both of which we need an abundance of in these challenging times.

Next, CYBILS nominations opened yesterday! The Children’s and Young Adult Bloggers’ Literary Awards (Cybils) folks are accepting nominations for your favorite book of the year in numerous categories, including Fiction and Non-fiction Picture Books, Graphic Novels and Poetry. (I’m particularly inclined toward the latter since I’m a judge for that category this year!) Please scurry, tout de suite, to leave your nominations in the comments section of the appropriate category.

I was one of the many jealous bloggers last weekend, leaning longingly toward Portland, Oregon, where a big ol’ group of writers and readers gathered for the Second Annual Kidlit Blogging Conference. For a little vicarious living though, you can go read the posts! Pour yourself a hot cup of coffee first — there are a lot of them.

Finally, I’ll be among fine friends next week at The Hill Country Book Festival in Georgetown, Texas. The festival is on Saturday, October 11th at the Georgetown Public Library, and it’s open to the public, so come by and say hi. I’ll be there with Cynthia and Greg Leitich Smith, Don Tate, PJ Hoover and Deborah Frontiera — and that’s just in the kids area!