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January 25, 2007
Early Morning Phone Calls
I guess your average person of normal intelligence would have tumbled to something being up upon receiving a 6:30 am phone call on January 22, 2007, the day the BIG awards would be announced.
Now you know where that puts me. Picture this: me drooling on my pillow. Hair a complete mess. Phone rings: "Is this Kirby Larson?' (me: intelligently) "Yes."
"The Kirby Larson who wrote Hattie Big Sky?"
(me: even more intelligently) "Yes."
"blurble blurble blurble. . . Newbery Honor . . . blurble blurble blurble."
Heart stops. Breath stops. Husband grabs his phone to dial 911, calling for aid all the while envisioning potential trophy wife. Clicks off phone. Un-trophy wife begins breathing again, babbles something -- we hope it was thank you -- and off we both go to fight godawful Seattle traffic to be present for THE announcement (after 25 years of commuting to downtown Seattle, Neil knows quite a few short cuts).
Had I dreamed about this moment? Heck, yeah. Had I ever thought it possible? Heck, no.
We live in an earthquake zone so I should be prepared. But I was not prepared for the jolt this particular phone call would deliver. By the time I arrived home from the press conference at the Seattle Convention Center on Monday morning, I had over 100 congratulatory emails.
I am still waiting for the call to tell me it was all a huge mistake.
While I was awake on the night/morning of Jan. 21/22 (overly spiced Italian food for dinner), I composed a potential post to this blog. Here's the opening line I created in those early morning hours: "While it is wonderful to be considered for so many awards (i.e., BBYA, the Cybils, etc), the real prize for any writer is touching readers."
Okay, so I won the big prize. But the thing is, I win prizes every single day in the form of emails and letters, from all over this great country, from people who have read Hattie's story and been touched by it somehow.
I will get a lovely silver medal in June (at least, I think I will!) but, honestly, nothing beats the fact that three years of lonely, lonely work got me countless readers. And my kids -- busy folks that they are -- are scrambling to figure out how to get to D.C. for the awards ceremony. My Write Sisters are also trying to figure out how to get there. Same for my parents. Ditto for many other darling friends. I am so blessed.
I haven't been able to sleep the last few nights. There has been too much noise coming from heaven - my grandmother and great-grandmother are throwing one heck of a party. They may get kicked out. And I don't think it's because of my grandma's devilled eggs.
I am humbled beyond belief at this honor. And I owe this whole wonderful, exciting ride to two women: Hattie Inez Brooks Wright and Lois Thomas Wright Brown.
I wish you'd known them. I wish they were still here.
Oh, wait. I won the Newbery! That must mean they still are.
Posted by kirby at 08:13 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 17, 2007
In the Lace Leaf Maple
While it's clear I don't have a future as a photographer for National Geographic, I was able to capture "my" hummingbird this morning. As soon as I find my bird book, I'll tell you what kind of hummer he (she?) is. For now, I call him Fred Astaire, because he is so light on his feet.
Posted by kirby at 11:19 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
My New Mentor
Posted by kirby at 11:18 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 16, 2007
Snow Place like Home
I've just returned from teaching for ten days at the Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA program residency where not even a power outage could dim the light of learning. (I do have to say that the recent power outages I've gone through have made me realize I much prefer writing about pioneers to being one).
There is the sweetest little hummingbird who's adopted us. He sat patiently in our lace-leaf maple this morning while I got him fresh food (the feeder was frozen). After getting his fill of the new nectar, he's adjourned again to the maple where he is most un-hummer-like in his stillness. I worried that he might be too cold but then it occurred to me that he's modeling for me what I need to do: just sit for awhile, myself, with all the new and tasty information I've dined on over the past ten days.
From Brian Doyle, editor of Portland, the magazine of the University of Portland alumni publication (this is not your average alumni mag), I was reminded that there are stories all around me. I simply need to extend my antenna. John Calderazzo, nonfiction writer and professor at Colorado State University, challenged me to write up the presentation I gave on finding the story in history for The Writer or Writer's Digest. His thoughts on writing from our memories led me to fill several pages in my journal. Former editor at Rodale and Running Press, Deborah Grandinetti, made me laugh out loud when she reminded us that "we writers send our thought children out, expecting they'll be welcomed with a warm blanket not knowing we're sending them out to dysfunctional families." As always, my permanent faculty colleagues -- Lisa Dale Norton, Bruce Holland Rogers (winner of a World Fantasy Award!), David Wagoner, Carolyne Wright and Susan Zwinger-- took me to a new place in my writing. I'm still glowing from David's compliment about my reading of the first chapter of my NaNoWriMo project.
Visiting agent, Regina Brooks, wins the "best sport" award for suffering through the power outage and a rotten cold. Seattle agent, Elizabeth Wales, is a fine and thoughtful human being who described agents as "benevolent parasites" and left us with this thought: "If you aren't failing, you aren't interesting." Joining us for the last few days was Rita Rosenkranz, who reminded us that "rejection won't go away if we're doing our jobs" as writers. All three of these agents were so warm and generous, I'm worried they may get kicked out of the agent club!
So, now that I've shared the highlights with you, I'm going to play hummingbird and give myself a day or so of rest to absorb all the rich, challenging, and thought-provoking nourishment of the residency.
Right after I go out and make a snow angel.
Posted by kirby at 02:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
January 05, 2007
Hattie Big Time
Hattie's good friends have been emailing me daily to update me on her awards status. This reduces me to a mass of quivering buffalo berry jelly but no one seems to mind except me.
Her latest honor is that she is a finalist for a Cybil Award, young adult fiction. On the same list as The Book Thief -- can you believe it? My hope is that she'll get Miss Congeniality and that The Donald will overlook the fact that she's been square-dancing after hours in NYC.
In the Hattie frame of mind, MotherReader challenged her readers about the "God" issue. It seems she's noticed that no reviewer has commented on the faith references in Hattie. Aunt Ivy forced me to post a reply on MotherReader's blog but it's left my insides all wobbly. The Pope is the one who writes about such things; not me.
In the meantime, I am wrestling with whether or not I should join the team from my church to return to the South to help with Katrina clean-up. Does it boggle anyone else's mind that in the good old US of A we are STILL rebuilding, two years after the fact?
The logical part of me says - you have got to be kidding. You don't have time to go to Houma, Louisiana. My heart, of course, asks when do we leave?
February 13th, in case you want to know. If you want to make a donation, you can send it to our church, Inglewood Presbyterian. Any amount will help.
Re: MotherReader's discussion: what does it mean to be human without faith? I, for one, have absolutely no idea.
Posted by kirby at 09:12 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack