I’ll tell you how it happens.

You just go ahead and live a little of your life and your blogging time diminishes to a little sparkly crystal of preciousness which you hold near your heart and stare at in your quiet moments.

Or something.

But we took a little family trip (to a sunny southern city) and we laughed and we hiked and we sang songs and we told funny stories and Kid 1 may have poured her coffee-machine hot cocoa into the bottom of her mug, forgetting that little detail of Turning the Mug Over. We swam and we fogged-in the hot-tub room and we ate 5 pounds of gummy worms among us. And those were a few really fun days.

But also. There was this other thing.

I’m querying, you see. And for me, querying is a mad mixture of exciting and horrible, much like cheese fondue or deep-fried anything. It feels so awesome right up until it starts feeling barf-inducing.

I’ve sent out several queries. I’ve gotten about 10% positive response. (No, Dad, that doesn’t mean offers of representation. That means people saying “That doesn’t sound too bad. Send the manuscript – or part of it – to me and I’ll have a look at it.” Which is so very, very positive. To me.) And I’ve gotten several very polite rejections.

Rejections, polite or otherwise, make me sad.

Because as much as I’d like to say I can separate myself from my work, it’s PERSONAL. You know? It is. And a tiny part of me wants to knock on the metaphorical doors of these nice people and say, “But LOOK at me. I’m nice. I’m groomed. I’m wearing accessories. And also, I know how to write a book that is Good.”

Which, naturally, I can’t say to them, because that’s not how it works.

Which, naturally, causes ulcers.

Naturally.

So I live with it. I put on a happy face and I do a few deep sighs once in a while. I send out five more queries. I eat a piece of something delicious (which was, up to yesterday, a square of almond toffee, but from now on until later, it will be something sugarless and without white flour, because also the one-pound-a-week thing isn’t working no matter how many positive thoughts I send its way. See note above re. gummy worms) and I move on.

Also, because I have had some successes (remember those positive responses?) I bought myself a book. “The Fault in our Stars” by John Green. I hope it’s glorious. I have reason to hope. Because he’s brilliant, and stuff. (But mine wasn’t signed. And I might have to do something about that. If you’re not a Nerdfighter, you may not know that JG signed like 150,000 copies of “TFIOS” for the first run. Who gets a first run printing of 150,000? John Green does.) **UPDATE: I looked it up. Only the PRE-ORDERED 150,000 books are signed. Pre-ordered. 150,000. Signed. Go, John Green. You go.

So, on we go, ulcers and rejections and smiles and carrot sticks and all.

Once I escaped from an orphanage to find Mum and Dad.

Once I saved a girl called Zelda from a burning house.

Once I made a Nazi with toothache laugh.

My name is Felix.

This is my story.

Everybody deserves to have something good in their life.

At least ONCE.

(The above, from the book, actually taken from Mr. Gleitzman’s personable and delightful website.)

Poland, WWII. A Jewish boy who prays to God, Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Adolph Hitler. All at once. A notebook full of stories. An adventurous heart. A poetic, spare, lyrical narrative. Oh, guys, just a very, very great book.

It reminds me of Spinelli’s remarkable “Milkweed” which cracks the heart wide open, but ONCE tells a smaller story in scope, and leaves the possibility of perfect-ending in the reader’s mind.

I would like to announce that for what may be the first time ever, I didn’t read the Kids’ gift books before wrapping them this year. Can I say? I’m excited for Sunday. And the following week. A steady diet of cold cereal meals and new books. Sounds perfect.

Decided to spend writing time this morning as a little devotional. I wrote my testimony. Committed it to paper. I don’t do that very often. Or maybe ever. But it felt good to do. And right, for the season and such. It’s a gift to have one, and a gift to share it.

Should I stop telling you how much I like kids? Mine, in particular? Because I maybe tell you a whole lot. But they are a whole lot awesome. All of them. Kid 1 is awesome. And Kid 2 is awesome. And Kid 3 is awesome. Also Kid 4 is awesome. See what I’m getting at? A whole lot of awesome.

And last night I read them David Sedaris’s “Six to Eight Black Men” as a little bit of Christmas cheer. I have managed difficult things in the past, like unmedicated childbirth and stuff, but I have to say, reading that out loud without laughing is a feat I am seriously proud of.

Speaking of feats. And feet.

(Look. I want. Don’t they make your feet happy? Or make you want some orange sherbet? Or something? I don’t know. But I want.)

In an effort to make the Christmas cheer last and last (and not to have a psychotic episode) I have limited my Christmas Music Intake to what happens when I’m in a store playing canned Johnny Mathis and Brenda Lee. And this is good. Because as you may recall, I have a limit to the Cheesy Songs of the Season. But we need to listen to SOMETHING in the house when we’re doing many dishes and making bread and apple pie bars and whatever. So we’ve discovered Pandora’s “PG Comedy Radio.” And it has saved me. In particular, I can put a load or three of dry, clean laundry in front of my kids as they sit on the floor laughing at Jim Gaffigan, Jeff Foxworthy, Brian Regan and BILL COSBY (“Noah, how long can you tread water?”) and they will fold it all, almost without noticing. Oh, thank you, Pandora. (Also, no commercials yet. Hours of comedy. Not a single commercial. Yet.) I know there are cool Pandora Christmas stations, but very few of the songs do it for me. (Except Barenaked Ladies and Sarah MacLaughlin’s “God Rest Ye…” and Katie Melua’s “Have Yourself A Merry…” and any of the awesome Christmas hymns that we sing around pianos or on porches.)

In the spirit of full disclosure, I should tell you this: Don’t hate me, please, if I am the only woman in the world who isn’t in love with Michael Buble. I can stand up and say it. I’m a Sinatra girl. Always have been. And I don’t know if I always will be, but I’d bet on it. I know it’s unfashionable to Not Adore MB, but I just don’t. I can do a song at a time. Then I need some hours of something else. But Kid 1, knowing this about me, made me listen to MB’s “Santa Baby” and she laughed  with me until our guts ached. Um, really? Mike, we should talk. Someone should have staged an intervention with that guy before the album was complete. Doesn’t he have an agent? Or an editor?

Attention future agent and/or editor: Please. Let me not take such a step. Thank you.

Hey, friends, I hope you have a Christmas full of cheer. I hope the food is good. I hope the family is near. If you’re still in That Stage, I hope batteries are included. I hope peace and fulfillment fill up all the corners. Merry Christmas.

XO,
B

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[1] I don’t believe in credit cards. So I transfer all our savings. Somehow that should make some financial sense. Or something.

*HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX by JK Rowling. It was the one on the shelf when I went seeking a fix to my HP need. Which is kind of funny, because I think this is the book where Harry is least likable. In fact, he’s a prat. He complains. He grumbles. He’s rude to everyone. He acts… like a grouchy teenager. (What?) I know. That’s what we call character development. I do love the story a lot. Especially love Luna. Do you love Luna? Do you think that maybe she ends up marrying Neville and staying at Hogwarts forever? Sometimes I like to think so. Also I love Ginny and the twins. But really, not so much Harry in this one. (Reread, for about the eighth time.)

*WITCH WEEK by Diana Wynne Jones. Oh, fun. Witch children (boy and girl) at school, working to escape/embrace their fates. I’ve read some of hers before — clever fantasy series / middle grade types. She’s lovely and funny. The only thing that I didn’t love about this was the POV whiplash caused by a whole lot of “change point of view with change of paragraph” — not just anyone can get away with such a thing. Most of us should Never try. But it was cute. And Kid 3 (10 years old) adored it.

*MANIAC MAGEE by Jerry Spinelli. (Reread) The boy (very nearly 8 years old) was looking for something to read over Thanksgiving break. I told him this was a great book. He shrugged. I told him to try it and if he didn’t like it by chapter 3, I’d find him something else. He finished within a week. This one came out when I was in college, and my little brother loved it and passed it to me. I’ve read it and wondered how, exactly, Spinelli manages to create and “solve” race-relations questions in such a mature manner without taking them out of the realm of pre-teen kids. It’s a stunning little book, and I love a good “boy story.” Really glad I went back to read it. And now I want a butterscotch Krimpett.

Oh, come on. I’m just kidding.

But know what? It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s fifty degrees and sunny. It feels like fall, and it IS fall, but usually at this time of year we tend more toward smaller numbers, if you know what I mean. So today I’m grateful that it’s lovely outside, and that I made it out there too. That I spent four Very Productive Hours working on my revisions. That I think the book is getting better (oh, let me stop when I get to the top of that trend, and not revise it to death…). That even with the lots of removals, my word count increased by more than a thousand today. And that I made bread so we can have sandwiches for dinner. That we can go for shakes tonight (because Why Not?) and that the Kids are enjoying each other. That I have another day (tomorrow) with nobody expecting much of anything from me, so I can continue to revise and strengthen my little book. And that I have books on the nightstand waiting for me to dive into them. See? There is much to be glad for, even on a Normal Day.

* OBSESSION by Traci Abramson. A shivery, shuddery stalker novel written by the coolest lady/former CIA ninja you’ll ever know. A little outside the box for me, and a whole lot of fun.

* PEACE LIKE A RIVER by Leif Enger. I want to get my frequent readers’ card punched. I’ve read this at least five times, and it never, ever gets old. Oh, how I love the outlaws and the miracles and especially-especially Swede. I adore Swede.

* SOLOMON SNOW AND THE SILVER SPOON by Kaye Umansky. (Reread.) This time, I read it to the Kids. It took a while, since there were very few days/evenings that we were all home and not committed to doing something else, but this is a fun Dickensian romp with very funny twists. Please read it with the accents. You’ll be glad you did.

* THE LONESOME GODS by Louis L’Amour. This was my first try at a L’Amour book. It was fun. Truly. A storyteller’s book. Gunfights and desert magic and family ties and lots and lots of horses. Thanks to my Very Dear Friend J for the birthday book.

* MY NAME IS ASHER LEV by Chaim Potok (Is it possible to be a Jewish Mormon? This book SO speaks to my soul.)

* LEAVES OF GRASS by Walt Whitman (I didn’t read it all, but I love it. Love.)

* HOTEL ON THE CORNER OF BITTER AND SWEET by Jamie Ford (If you haven’t, try it. Stick it out for the first 2 chapters. It will be sweet. Also bitter. But mostly sweet.)

* THE KISS OF A STRANGER by Sarah M. Eden (Love this. Love her. Love the parts where I laughed out loud. Lots of parts.)

* SEEKING PERSEPHONE by Sarah M. Eden (Excellent Beauty and the Beast retelling. Love the misunderstandings that Eden writes. Perfect.)

* NOT MY TYPE by Melanie Jacobson (Mel has done it again. Love Pepper and all the Spicers, love Courtney and Co, love the angst and – again – misunderstandings)

* CROSSED by Ally Condie (Shhh. It might be better than MATCHED. You only have to wait another month. Or less. Oh, love. Love. Love.)

She has a birthday. She spends this birthday doing really fun things. She finds herself inundated by happy b-day messages here, there, everywhere and SHE LOVES IT. (Fear not. I am done referring to myself in the third person. This causes instant distress in all my Kids. The 3rd person, not the stopping.)

Writing group happens. Oh, writing group, I love thee. See, sometimes we redefine ourselves as “eating/cooking/moaning at the goodness of it all” group. But other times we WORK. And work is good, remember that? And I have some great direction for revisions.

There’s also the new gig: I get to be a Private Tutor. This is second only to my lifelong goal to be a Tudor. Okay, that is a total lie. I’ve never really wanted to be a Tudor. Just to dress like one. (Tights and Wimples, rah!) I am teaching writing to the two loveliest young men, as part of their homeschooling. And people, let me tell you this: It is Fun. We write. We talk. We eat an apple. We write some more. We read. We write. We laugh. We write again. I know, right? Am I the luckiest? Yes. Yes I am.

Familyness happens. And that is good. I like my family a great deal. They are lovely. And funny. And usually very nice to each other. And — did I mention — I like them? Well, I do.

And then there’s the revision. It’s going to be a big one. That may take forever. But that’s okay. I have as long as I need.
I can do what I need to do to make it what it needs to be. <— Did that sound like song lyrics to you? Well, maybe it should be.

Meeting with friends. Eating soup. Playing. Teaching. Presentations in classrooms. Making maps of the United States (okay, only one). Planning stuff. Visiting the sick and afflicted. Exercising with the company of the 2010 BBC Sense and Sensibility (for which Edward deserves his own post). Slogging through a novel that I should just put down already, as my TBR pile grows. Laundry. Soccer games. Cooking. Cross-country meets. Dishes. Watching leaves change (that happens early up here in the mountaintops, but it sure is lovely — come and see). Talking to my parents on the phone (which I love to pieces, but is also an adventure — repeat after me “speakerphone is an invention of the Devil himself”). Watching Kid 1 get asked to Homecoming (also deserves its own post). See? These are the things that keep us from the computer, right? The things that are life. And I’m liking these things.

***And now, I really must clean out a goldfish bowl. Yes, they’re still alive. Yes, this is 7.5 weeks. Yes, they’re growing on me. ***

* WRITING DOWN THE BONES by Natalie Goldberg. This is one of the few books Husband held on to from his creative writing classes in college. I’ve read it a few times, and I love the hippie vibe with which Ms. Goldberg approaches writing. She regularly quotes Zen masters (or something), who help her get to the guts of her creative process, and the whole book is like sitting in a coffe shop just listening to her talk. That seems like a good way to spend a day. She’s a big proponent of writing with a pen (and yes, I recognize that the book was published in 1986, and she was having Mac fantasies much like my own, except she wanted a box and I want an Air) — but I’ve started writing with pen for some time almost every day, and IT IS AWESOME. Viva la pen. And writing from the heart.

* THE HELP by Kathryn Stockett. Reread. And passed it to Kid 1. Then went and saw the movie with my childhood BFF. Book is excellent. Movie, nearly as good (I think there’s an added sweetness you can get away with in a film, where everyone can turn out more “okay” than they do in the book, just to let us leave the theatre hopeful and full of popcorn). I love this book. I’m sure half the people in the country have read this, so you can trust me, it’s a good read. Strong characters, both the lovable ones and the hate-able ones. I cried (both times I read it) when the congregation gives Skeeter a book. In the movie I cried at different parts. (Not the Ugly Cry.) And was grateful for a scene that was left out of the movie.

* THE FOREST FOR THE TREES: AN EDITOR’S ADVICE TO WRITERS by Betsy Lerner. Was cool. Positive advice. Funny stories. Some strangeness (about how a “real” author needs to slice away all inhibitions, not care who he wounds, yadda yadda) but overall helpful and interesting. Talks about process in a way that is easy to understand, from querying to acceptance to edits to proofs to marketing and all the rest. If you’re looking to publish, you could find it helpful. I did.

*Every ELEPHANT AND PIGGIE book in the public library. By Mo Willems. We eat these up (not literally) [1]. None of my Kids are really picture book readers any more, but we SO LOVE MO. So we occasionally grab them all, for a week, and read out to each other. “Yes. I DO need help!”

And now I’m mid- Alexander McCall Smith. Guys, could you introduce him to me? If you’re friends? I’d really like to hang out with him for a week, eating food (he writes a great deal about food, and I love him for it) and listening to him speak. I love his style and his voice and his irony and his peacefulness and his hilarity. I’ll tell you about the book I’m currently in … in a month. But I’ll also tell you that I started several years ago with the NUMBER ONE LADIES’ DETECTIVE AGENCY and think that you can’t go wrong if you also start there. Then, Netflix the HBO show. Brilliant and gorgeous.

—

[1] Only one of my Kids ever literally ate a book. The Boy. When he was small. Bite by bite he devoured our Very Hungry Caterpillar board book. I have not yet replaced it, but my birthday is coming up here in a couple of weeks, and I might just treat myself to a new copy. It has always been one of my favorites. And the literary irony of the whole experience is not lost on me. And please don’t bother calling Child Welfare. He’s 7 and 3/4 now, so the damage is past. Long past. And he no longer eats paper. Or boards. Only food and foodlike substances.

* THE ADORATION OF JENNA FOX by Mary E. Pearson. This was a “what’s going on here” kind of book — something is not quite right with Jenna. The things she can’t remember are disturbing, but the ones she can (like her baptism at 2 weeks old) may be even more so. This reminded me of Unwind by Shusterman, a bit — similar feeling of someone else being very much in control of your future and your prospects… It was cool and creepy and kind of lovely.

* THE COLOR OF MAGIC by Terry Pratchett. DeNae had two copies, so she gave me one. I know. What a friend. I’d read Pratchett’s Tiffany Aching books and adored them. This was my first dive into Discworld for grownups. Dude can write. Language is brilliant and funny, enviably so. Rincewind and Twoflower. Perfect travel companions. Want to try it? Let me know how it works for you. (But I strongly recommend picking up Wee Free Men. Read it out loud to a clever child and soak up the hilarity.)

* A TALE DARK AND GRIMM by Adam Gidwitz. WOW. Loved this so much that I read it to the kids IN THE CAR. This is a sacrifice beyond normal ranges. I hate reading in the car. Barf. But we had a little road trip, and the book was so good, I had to share it with them. It retells a whole bunch of Brothers Grimm tales, with the boy-and-girl characters as Hansel and Gretel. Gidwitz doesn’t spare the bloody, scary, gruesome parts (he calls them “the awesome parts”) and so we got a real taste for the original Grimm. Serious creepiness. And a brilliant voice.

* MISS PEREGRINE’S SCHOOL FOR PECULIAR CHILDREN by Ransom Riggs. It’s all about the photos, really. The story is fine, but maybe breaks down for me near the end. But the photos. So cool. They’re (claimed to be) un-re-touched (is that a word?) vintage photos of bizarre kids (like the guy with his face covered with bees, and the floating girl, and the kid in the bottle, and the one with the ball of light glowing in her hands) — and the story revolves around the pages and pages of photos. So even if you’re not into the paranormal type story, take a copy off the shelf and look at the photos.

* JELLICOE ROAD by Malina Marchetta. (Re-read) I love this book. It is amazing. I haven’t pushed it into the hands of my kids, because there is some mature stuff in there that I can wait for them to deal with. But oh. Oh, I love this book. The writing is GORGEOUS. Setting, pacing, dialog, dreams, emotion, yearning, anger, concern… It’s not an easy book to read. It requires you to grow through it. And should I say it again? I love it.

* SMALL GODS by Terry Pratchett. So here’s the deal. Gods need someone to believe in them. That’s where they get their power. But what to do when you’re the Big Old God of an entire country, but there’s nobody who really believes? Well, nobody but Brother Brutha, a sweet, dopey gardener. Pratchett makes me laugh out loud. And think about things. And wish I lived in England. Or Discworld. (But not really. You know what they say. It’s a nice place to visit…)

* BIRD IN A BOX by Andrea Davis Pinkney (she’s Jerry’s wife). You know the Russell Crowe movie Cinderella Man? I love that movie. It’s the only thing I’ve ever really liked Renee Zellwegger in. Anyway… at the end, there are the epilogue-type art cards, that tell you that James J Braddock held the heavyweight boxing title until he was defeated by Joe Louis. So this book is about Joe and his rise to the title. (We’re talking about Bird in a Box. Pay attention.) It’s told in the voices of young black kids whose dreams and hopes all fall on Joe. The writing is pretty — but gritty enough to give it some punch. (Gritty in a totally middle-grade manner. Issues abound, though — death, drunken violence, abandonment… big punches, even outside the ring.) Joe Louis was (according to this book) the hope of the American black man, woman and child in the 30s. Yay, historical fiction!

* DRAW THE DARK by Ilsa J. Bick. Creepy, this one. And dark (surprise!). Don’t let Christian draw your picture. You’ll die. Scary! Also, language. But there were some great scenes, and some great characters. But I’m warning you — language, violence, and Nazis (in Wisconsin).

* NORTH AND SOUTH by Elizabeth Gaskell. I’ve heard a bit about this one here and there – a mid-19th century English novel about a young woman who lives three different lives: In the Harley Street ease of luxurious London, the country softness of her father’s parsonage in the south, and the striking (that was a pun; you’ll get it if you’ve read it) difference of a Manchester-type manufacturing city in the north. I wanted to adore it. But honestly? It was a lot of work. POV switched too fast, paragraph to paragraph. Everyone was perfectly beautiful, perfectly intelligent, perfectly controlled (most of the time). I felt Miss Jane Austen’s influence (but not quite enough, or in the right places). Took 2.5 weeks to finish (which, well, is a really long time) — but I stuck it out and I’m adding it to my list of “finished Classics” so I can say I did it.