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September 29, 2008

Kidlitosphere Reflections

I'm working on figuring out how to post multiple photos to my blog -- because I have some very darn cute ones from my recent Portland excursion, including behind the scenes photos of the making of "Zombies: The New Vampires," a action-packed screenplay by that dynamic duo, Jaime Temairik and Betsy Bird.

In the meantime, some musings. On my 3-hour drive north on I-5, I had ample time to muse. One of my brain burbles got me to thinking about blogging, a topic that comprised a rather large chunk of the conference presentations. Combine that with the fact that I was listening to an old favorite CD from Reilly and Maloney which made me think about the last concert I'd heard of theirs which made me think about Ginny Reilly introducing a song she'd written by saying it was triggered by meeting her ex at the grocery store.

(There will be a point).

That was a pretty personal confession, on her part, right? So about the time I hit Chehalis, it hit me: bloggers are 21st century bards. What is the stuff of songs? Personal histories. Stories about people with a universal bent. And what is the stuff of blogs? Personal histories with a universal bent. Stories about people. Okay, so someone's post about their parakeet won't be on par with Handel's Hallelujah Chorus or the Beatles' Let it Be or even Ginny Reilly's incredibly poignant, He's a Fool, but doesn't it all come back to trying to make sense of our human experience? Love, loss, joy, beauty: it's the stuff of epic poems, ballads and now blogs.

We're all trying to sing of the body electric. . .and eccentric and many other e words.

That is the kind of mulling over one does on a three-hour ride home from a Kidlitosphere conference. At least this "one."

I also wondered why there were so many ruffled, quilted kleenex containers propped in so many car rear windows.

But that's a topic for another post.

Posted by kirby at 06:28 PM | Comments (3)

September 25, 2008

Skip that Latte

My extra hot tall non-fat latte at Starbuck's costs me $2.79. I don't buy them very often but often enough. Let's say I buy one per week. In a month, that's $12 (so I rounded up; sue me!). If I made coffee at home 4 extra times a month for a whole year, that would mean I could send $144 to Jane Kurtz for her Ethiopian library project. (I am really, really bad at math. If this is wrong, forgive me. Just go with the flow.) And if twenty other people did the same, Jane's organization would have enough money to move one step closer to their wonderful goal.

Here is an excerpt from an email Jane recently sent me:

Ethiopia Reads, a nonprofit started by Yohannes Gebregeorgis (then a children's librarian at San Francisco Public Library) and Jane Kurtz, children's author, has used donations from individuals and groups to plant 16 new libraries in places where Ethiopian children have never held books before--schools, rented houses, even a donkey mobile library. Yohannes was recently named a CNN hero for his efforts.

This fall, the international office of the International Reading Association offered to help design a baseline survey to see what additional training the Ethiopians running the libraries need to have, especially given that none of them grew up with books in their houses or libraries in their communities. A librarian and teacher have offered to volunteer their time--but gas prices have made airplane tickets soar and the project is short $3000.

Anyone interested in helping out can email Jane Kurtz at jane@janekurtz.com and see more about the project at www.ethiopiareads.org

Wouldn't it be cool if everyone who read my blog sent $10? Ten bucks is what it costs to see a movie these days. And unless the script was written by my brilliant and adorable son, it isn't worth ten bucks. So send the money to Jane and feel really, really good about yourself.

I have donated in the past but in hopes of my readers' generosity, I donated $50 via PayPal just tonight. Somebody out there match me.

Can you imagine growing up without books? I can't. That's why this project is so important.

Hats off to Jane. Hats off to Johannes. Hats off to each one of you who sends $$. Forget the hat. I never wear one anyway. If you donate some bucks, I'll buy you a latte.

Deal? Deal.

Posted by kirby at 09:59 PM | Comments (0)

September 18, 2008

Grantia

Neil took the list I'd written to the grocery store a bit ago. He had been gone about 20 minutes when the phone rang. "What's grantia?" he asked.

"Grantia?"

"Yeah. It's item 3 on the list. After plain yogurt."

I have no idea. I try to visualize the grocery list in my mind but I have been deep in my novel today and nothing really slides into place. "We need eggs," I add, unhelpfully, knowing "eggs" was a pretty far cry from "grantia."

Neil tries spelling the letters out to me. "G -r -a" as if that will help.

I'm tired. It's been a long day at the computer. "Honey, I really have no idea. Just get everything else."

The other end of the line is quiet. Then I hear a laugh. "Green tea!"

"That's it." I laugh, too, now remembering using the last tea bag at breakfast.

Okay, so why am I sharing this domestic moment with you? Because I'm finding revising to be a lot like deciphering a hastily written grocery list! I know I put the basics on the page: a character I care about, a problem, a bit of a mystery, conflict, humor, dialogue. But as I go back over this draft, I feel like I'm puzzling out chicken scratches on the back of an envelope. What was this thing, here on page 14, supposed to be? Is that a funny line there, on page 53, or a redundancy? And for heaven's sake, what on earth is that grantia on page 92?

This is part of the process, too. Taking those scribblings and making sense of them. That's what I've been doing all day today.

So now, I'm going to make myself a nice cup of grantia. As soon as Neil gets back from the store.

Posted by kirby at 06:14 PM | Comments (1)

September 11, 2008

September 11, Seven Years Later

Please indulge me. Seven years ago today, we woke up to horrific, unbelievable news. Our son, a sophomore at NYU, had left for his early Tuesday morning class. After he left his apartment, the world turned upside down and we had no idea where he was.

I wasn't going to say anything but no one is talking about September 11th today. The front pages of the Seattle papers touch on the latest Boeing tanker news, a local school district strike and a lame plan to curb youth violence.

There is not one mention of that nightmare of 7 years ago.

I take that day very personally. Our son, our only son, was climbing up out of the West Fourth Street station when the second plane hit the World Trade Towers. We were not able to connect with him until the early afternoon when we found an IM message saying he was okay. We weren't able to speak with him until late that night. I will never, ever forget his phone call. What was said is his story. But let me say: is there any way a 20 year old heals from that kind of experience? Is there any way loving caring parents can forgive themselves for such a thing happening to their only son?

You have your own stories of September 11th. It is not a day to forget. It is a day to remember, as long as we live. Neil and I will remember it forever as a day we could not keep our child safe.

If you want a copy of the articles Tyler and I wrote after September 11, 2001, just email me.

Otherwise, please say a prayer, light a candle, meditate -- do whatever you do to honor the lives lost on that wretched day.

Inshallah.

Posted by kirby at 09:56 PM | Comments (0)

Room for One's Readers

I spent a great evening in Olympia on Tuesday, with good friends Bonny Becker and Deb Lund at a fundraiser for the South Sound Reading Foundation. When you've got people coming together to figure out ways to get books in the hands of kids, how could you not have fun? I almost got my photo op with Frog and Toad but missed my chance.

Also there was Jim Lynch, author of The Highest Tide, a book I've been meaning to read. No longer! I bought it that night and devoured it, finishing it up last night. It's an honest, sweet book with lots of sea creatures and mysteries of life stirred in.

Jim said something that night, right before he read a segment of the story, that I just had to write down: "Writing is a collaborative art between reader and writer." I've heard that said other ways before, but those words spoke to my heart at that moment. They were a reminder to leave room for the reader's participation and involvement in a story, as Linda Urban so brilliantly did in her A Crooked Kind of Perfect and Barbara O'Connor does in all of her books and. . well, when I come to think of it, all the books I especially admire give the reader room to jump in and play along.

So now I have to grab a tape measure and go through the latest revision to make sure I left enough space for a reader to wiggle under the words and get comfy.

Back to work!

Posted by kirby at 05:38 PM | Comments (1)

September 02, 2008

Hunting for Heart Rocks

A good friend sent me this photo, taken on the beach at Shangri Lar. It captures the essence of this past weekend when we were gifted with the presence of our 9 year-old friend, Emma. She helped Neil assemble two cedar benches for our front porch, appropriating one box which --with a little help from her marker set -- became the World's Smartest Robot. ("Ask. . me. . any. .question.") Later, she and I picked blackberries which we washed, simmered and sieved (is that a word?) before pouring the mixture into our new ice cream maker. The resultant blackberry sorbet immediately made us forget all the scratches we got from the berries' thorns.

While we were berry picking, Neil's desk arrived so that box became a back deck fort, with a sun roof so someone my size could fit inside. Within the cozy confines of four cardboard walls, Emma and I played a dice game called Phase 10. I won't say who won, but let's just say Emma would clean up in Vegas! While we were in the fort, I couldn't help but be reminded of Antoinette Portis' brilliant book, Not a Box.

At low tide, we braved sea grass and cold water to hunt for crab and shells and seastars. Neil tried to convince Emma that there were octopi under the seagrass, waiting to grab her. She didn't bite but she also didn't mind when I offered to carry her through the deepest parts!

Sunday night, we ate Emma's favorite cereal right out of the box while playing a rousing game of Apples to Apples Junior. Monday, we sadly wandered the house, gathering up all the essentials -- stuffed animals, books, shells, bits of ribbon -- that Emma had brought with her or collected over the weekend. She needed to get home for her first day of 4th grade today and we were pretty sure her parents wouldn't let us keep her forever. Sigh. This weekend with Emma made me realize that, even at the bay, I am far too task-oriented. She reminded me that play is just as critical as work in creating a meaningful life.

Neil and I are headed back up to Shangri Lar this weekend, just the two of us, for our 33rd anniversary. As much as we're looking forward to it, I suspect we'll miss Emma and her sense of wonder and imagination.

Maybe I can convince Neil to help me build another cardboard fort.

Posted by kirby at 10:23 AM | Comments (0)