Today I spent the day at UVSC for the Children’s Literature Forum.

Book signing frenzy.

I’d been looking forward to it for weeks. I was so going to be be in my element. I’d be surrounded by others with similar interests. It would be a melting pot of creative juices and well-wishing mojo. Or this is what I thought. And it was sort of like that… kinda.

I spent the day actively listening to the speakers, taking copious notes, nodding when someone said something that I could identify with. I went solo, though, and it seemed as if I was the only “single” soul in the building. Everyone else had a posse, a group of creative cohorts with whom to share the experience. I made a few fruitless attempts to break into the conversations of other groups, but everyone seemed tight-knit. So instead I just sat back and observed. And what I observed was a hundred people all trying to do the same thing I want to do. A hundred people who all thought they could write, just like me. A hundred people who think they’ll be the next big author, just like me. I was adrift in a sea of me’s.

I sat in on a few really great sessions. The first was led by Kirby Larson , who is a Newbery Honor author. She gave a few pointers on collecting research and finding your character’s voice. Her pep talk made me think that maybe finishing a novel and eventually being published was something I could almost do.

The second session was led by Anne Bowen, a picture book author and retired teacher. She gave fantastic insight into the structure of a picture book (something I knew nothing about before today), and also touched on pacing and text. It was great stuff. I was taking notes at a furious pace. My mind was going over how I could apply all of these things to my fledgling picture book. My rhyming fledgling picture book. It was at this point she pulled out the old quote about how it is rarely a good idea to try to rhyme, which took a significant amount of wind from my sails. Because I so love my rhyming story. It’s precious. I love that it rhymes. It has meter and rhythm. But now I’m not so sure about it…

The third session was led by Sara Zarr, the author of the award winning YA novel “Story of a Girl”. She talked about writing authentic YA material, telling us it was good to be “gritty” and “raw” when it lent itself to realistic teen fiction. There was more furious note-taking. It was also good stuff. Then there was some discussion among the people in the room — some writers, some educators — that mentioned “fantasy” was on it’s way out. Fantasy is waning. Apparently teens don’t want to read so much of that anymore. They want something more realistic. Which is great… because my fledgling YA novel is fantasy. So it was good to hear up front that teens probably won’t want to read it.

I know, I was totally throwing a pity party for one. There was an imp on my shoulder playing the world’s tiniest violin, just for me. I walked out of the last session thinking that I would have to scrap everything I’ve been working on for years. Start all over. *sigh* And no doubt the new stuff would be crap as well… (more violin).

I walked to the campus bookstore and licked my wounds by buying bags full of paperbacks.

Paperbacks are soothing to the soul, the smell of new paper and the smoothness of the cover… paperbacks are like a massage in book-form. I picked up the Sara Zarr book and a few non-kid books, as well. I also picked up “My Friend is Sad” by Mo Willems, because Mo is the man. If I ever met him, I just know that he’d somehow be like a long lost brother I never knew I had. (I imagine that we would have a secret handshake and inside jokes.) I came home and immediately read it to my kids, and it was met with truck loads of belly laughs. Like I said, Mo is the man. If only I could write like Mo…

Tomorrow I go back for another day of sessions and schmoozing. Except that I really need to learn to schmooze better. My networking skills are lacking. But tomorrow I will try to jump in more and let the imp play the violin a little less. And I’ll try to stay out of the book store.

I mentioned that last night I was on a roll with my YA novel (which I’ve been working on for 5 years). One thing about the story that has eluded me these 5 long years is the name of my magical world. For five, friggin years I’ve been writing and stewing, desperately trying to figure out the name for my fantastic setting. This morning, in the car on the way to school, I took my problem to the kids. I gave them a summery of my story:

“So guys, there is a princess from another world. It’s a magical world. There is a war raging between the races. Blah, blah, blah…”

(I didn’t really say the “blah, blah, blah”, I’m just trying to cut to the chase.)

Then I said, “I can’t figure out the name of the magical world, though. CS Lewis has “Narnia”, Tolkien has “Middle Earth”, the kids from “Bridge to Tarabithia” had Tarabithia… I can’t figure out the name for mine. What should it be?”

There was a pause from the backseat for a few moments. Then Jachin spoke up.

“What about ‘Baghdad’?”

I tried not to laugh. “Baghdad is a real place.”

“I know,” he said.

“And it’s not very magical,” I added.

“But there’s a real war going on there, and you said your story has a war in it.”

“True. Good point.”

Then Zoe spoke up. “What about ‘West Coast’? Is there a real West Coast?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s California.”

“Oh.”

“What about ‘Art Class’?” Jachin threw in.

“Art class?” I asked.

“Art class is magical…”

Then we passed Cortland Ridge Condominiums.

“What about ‘Cortland’?” Jachin asked.

We passed the drugstore.

“What about ‘Walgreen’s’?”

So….. I’m still sitting here thinking about it. It’s already been 5 years. No rush.

Earlier today (it was a beautiful day) the kids played “pirate’s lair” in the backyard with a couple of the neighbor kids. I snapped a few pictures to illustrate what it looks like when kids play pirates in the ghetto, with no real toys when using their imaginations.

Zoe and fellow “good” pirate, Sean, used the deck for a lookout:

Items needed for pirate look-out:

*A barstool for makeshift eagle’s nest.

*Old viewmaster = pirate binoculars.

*The hammer (which they had just finished using during a rousing game of “break rocks on the sidewalk”…) was the pirate weapon of choice for their team. I stressed that the hammer was for display and intimidation only. No “bad” pirates were to be chased with the hammer.

*A flower, to spruce up the joint. Pirate lookouts can tend to be drab.

Next, the passageway to the pirate lookout must be riddled with booby traps, to throw off the opposing pirate crew:

Good items for booby traps: an old glove that was finally uncovered after months of being buried under snow, an old kitchen rug, a pink Barbie garden trowel, and an orange soccer cone. Gets the bad guys every time…

And for the main event, the “bad” team’s pirate ship!!

Because in the ghetto when using your imagination,

rusty wheelbarrow + soccer goal = kick ass pirate ship.

Arrr, mateys… that’s how we roll…

Bad Mom tagged me for this meme. The idea is to write something significant about yourself in six words. Or something. The rules aren’t super clear to me. But it reminds me of that sweet contest I did last year, when you guys had to submit a story containing only seven words. That was fun. I need to do another one of those, only with better prizes… but I digress. Back to the meme. Six words. Okey doke. Here we go:

 Hey face: stop breaking out, already!

Often write about having writer’s block.

Does that come in green, perchance?

Jason Statham doesn’t know I exist.

Neither does James McAvoy, the cutie.

Me, Bike, Car, equals love triangle.

Can you put cheese on that?

Wanna hit a movie? With nachos? 

I’m tired and a little punchy. I can probably do better, and I could probably keep going all night. But — mercifully — I won’t. As a side note: Yay for me, I wrote 1,800 words to my novel today. So needless to say, six more good words are just eluding me at the moment. I’ve had my allotment of good words today. And, sadly for you, you won’t find them here on my blog.

I’m tagging Leslie and Sam, if you guys want to play along!

Today Zoe and I spent a little time creating soap recipes. We made oatmeal/shea butter soap, apricot scrub/honey soap, and — the prettiest of all — eucalyptus/peppermint soap.

Looks kinda like a blarney stone, huh?

We also made one lavender bar just for Zoe,  because she wanted something purple and calm smelling.

The kitchen was temporarily turned into a lovely little alchemy lab, with pretty scents and swirling colors. It was a nice break from the usual burnt lasagna smells and the swirling, choking black smoke of forgotten-pot-on-the-burner. For once there was something right going on in my kitchen…

(completely unrelated: all of the pics from the Red Cross run are up on flickr.)

Jachin is home sick today. He has a cold/sunburn combo compliments of Friday’s family skiing adventure. But we wore green anyway… and stayed inside today, organizing and cleaning, iPod playing peppy music throughout the house. He worked a little on his new animation program. I helped him with his first video blog. It’s up over at Jachin’s blog… go take a look-see. And now that he knows how to take video of himself and upload it, well… there’s no telling what family footage could turn up on YouTube. (But our chances of running for government office may have just gone out the window.)

And now, giving in to the odd, anal-retentive organization sensation that has struck me today, I’m off to organize the books in the playroom by reading level…

…what?

It’s a party around here. Here in our house we celebrate Suz’s “Semi-Annual Ugly Days”. (Those of you who know me in real life know exactly what I’m talking about.) Twice a year (early spring and early fall) my body goes through some sort of horrific flux. I don’t know if it’s climate, allergies, hormones, or a combination of all, but my whole self turns all decrepit and yucky looking. My face and scalp are plagued by seborrheic dermatitis, which makes the skin both scaly/dry and oily at the same time. It’s impossible to cover it with makeup, and it frickin hurts. I get red rashes in the corners of my eyes. My scalp itches and bleeds. Plus, I break out. Big time. Zits spread out like mountain ranges across my jaw line and chin. It’s even more fantastic than it sounds…

This year, to accompany the usual array of maladies for my Semi-Annual Ugly Days, I was also hit with the cold sore from hell. It set up residence in the corner of my bottom lip and slowly took over like it owned the joint. Jon looked at me this morning and said, “Did you have Botox injections in your lips?” I said, “It’s not Botox, it’s collagen… and no. It’s the frickin cold sore.” I have what looks like the “trout pout” that celebrities get when collagen goes horribly wrong. Today, I stood in front of 30 kids, teaching them about Easter, and watched two-thirds of them staring at my lip while I talked. (The other third were staring at the scales, rashes, and zits.) The celebration really seems to be stretching itself out this time around. What usually only lasts a week or two is stretching into three… and there is no end in sight.

I’m planning ahead for this fall. My idea is to expand the festivities for the “Semi-Annual Ugly Days” to include pony rides, funnel cakes, and possibly a 5k. Also, there may be t-shirts and a live band doing 80’s rock covers. Tickets will go on sale starting in early September. Buy early, they go quickly!

(no pictures on flickr, for obvious reasons.)

In the hopes of hurrying the warm weather our way, I’ve been browsing online for new swimsuits. Every site I’ve been on has showcased the same disgusting new swim trend:

The “Monokini”. 

No, I didn’t just make that up. That’s what it’s called. The Monokini is what happens when you take an otherwise standard one-piece swimsuit, fold it up a few times, and then hand scissors to a small child, instructing them to fashion the swimsuit into a snowflake pattern.  Voila…

… The Monokini. This is Target’s horizontal stripe version. Horizontal stripes aren’t for you? No worries, they also have it in slimming plaid:

Now you’re thinking (or hoping) that this is just an isolated case of Target making really gross fashion choices… but no. Here’s what Victoria’s Secret had to offer:

Yeah, you saw it. Zebra.  A little too rumble in the jungle for ya? They also have something in all black. But what it lacks in grotesque pattern, it more than makes up for in grotesque cut:

The winning swimsuit, though, comes to us from Venus Swimwear:

…because at least it’s green. If I’m resigned to wear something that actually showcases my love handles, it should at least come in my favorite color. Green brings out my eyes. And when I wear this, I want people looking nowhere else but the eyes. And here I was really hoping that tankinis and capris could somehow stay in style forever…

Zoe loves to make drawings for people. She is constantly handing me her homemade cards and pictures and paintings. They almost always have “To: Mom, From: Zoe” written somewhere on them. Here is one she gave me the other day. It’s of the Mystery Inc. Gang.

It’s a good likeness, right? I mean, right down to Velma’s sweet orange knee highs. There are several things about this picture that I love:

1) Daphne is more “apple” shaped than Velma, which is refreshing. Velma was always getting the shaft, being the “brainy” one instead of the “hot” one. Velma’s even showing a little more leg than usual in this picture. You go, girl.

2) There is no denying the “stoned” look in Shaggy’s eyes… I mean, they actually look like groovy disco balls. After thirty-five years, there is no longer any question about why he always had the munchies. And it even looks like after several decades of this sort of bodily abuse, his metabolism is finally slowing down. I see an intervention in his future, and it may involve Dr. Drew.

3) Scooby looks surprisingly happy and excited about the current creepy mystery, instead of looking like a frightened pansy. And there aren’t even any Scooby-Snacks in sight! Way to grow a pair, Scoob.

4) Fred looks kind of tiny and wimpy, without a trace of barrel-chested manliness. In fact, it looks like Daphne could crush him with one large, puffy, orange hand. Maybe Daphne can save Fred this time around, because — honestly — I was really getting sick of his know-it-all, macho crap.

It’s the children of today who will continue fixing the crap we poorly threw together yesterday. Constantly making things better. And I’ll continue blogging it for posterity.

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