Finding the Magic

I just returned from a truly inspiring vacation in Disney World. It wasn't the first time I'd been - in fact I think it was about the fourth time we had visited the park as a family - and since all three of my children (18, 12, and 9) have long outgrown the "magic" stage where seeing princesses and cartoon characters come to life brings stars to their eyes and a giddiness to their step, I was rather shocked when all three actually requested that the theme park be our vacation destination. I'm really glad we obliged!

Now I have heard many a critic bash Disney for the commercialization of fairy tales, the capitalistic pursuits at the child's expense, etc. etc. (all you need to mention is Jack Zipes in a children's literary criticism course and you'll get an ear full!) - and I get that, I do. Any parent does who has tried to escape the park without purchasing something, from fairy wands to mickey-shaped ice cream bars, they get a hold of that wallet. But despite all that, I have to hand it to Disney. They know how to bring the magic to everyone who visits.

Before we arrived, my 12 year old son was in a bit of a depressed funk. He has been struggling this year with school despite the fact that he is one of the most intelligent kids I know; he'll blow you away with his historical and scientific knowledge and if ever you are lost, you'll want him navigating you. He's like a human compass. But he struggles with getting the work turned in and gets overwhelmed with the amount expected of him sometimes, and he just shuts down rather than push his way through. He's one of the youngest in his class; his classmates are all turning 13, while he only just turned twelve - and he is painfully conscious of his heighth or lack thereof. Rolled all together, you get a kid who rarely smiles. By the end of out first day in the sunshine, not only was he smiling, he was laughing. Disney broke through the glum and found my son again.

My 18 year old too. About to graduate and head to college, she's usually off doing her own thing. It was fun to see her goofing around with her siblings, spinning in the Tea Cups, flying above Neverland, waving at Belle and the Beast, her and her 9 year old sister oohing-and-ahhing at every little girl dressed head to toe in their princess dresses and tiaras.

My husband and I had worried at first when we decided to go because as frequent visitors to Cedar Point, a roller coaster park in Ohio, we knew that the rides at Disney would not compete in thrill-value to those the kids were used to. But they actually had more fun because as my son pointed out, "it's the experience more than the ride." He was right. At Disney, it is about the stories behind each ride; and just like a really good book, the rides let you become a part of that story. You become a part of the magic.

So thank you Disney for helping my family return to those parts of themselves that make them children, for helping them find the magic and the fun, and for reminding me that as I sit down to get back to writing - it is  the experience, the magic, the story that makes a reader love a book. It is what keeps them coming back to it again and again and again no matter how old they are.

To the Love of Story

One of my most favorite things about being a writer and reader of children's books is being able to share and discuss books with my children. I love when they come to my 'library' - the wall-to-wall bookshelves in my home office - looking for a book to read. I love when one of them discovers a book I haven't read yet and tells me I should read it. I love when one of them has a book report to do or simply is looking for a book and asks for my help in finding one - and love even more when they, in turn, recommend that book to a friend. I love that, when I see one of them reading something I know has some issues they may struggle with, that I can facilitate a discussion because I have read the book. But most of all, I love that all three of my children love reading; they love the story that a book promises.

Of all three of my children, my youngest is the most voracious reader. She is also quite a talented writer and I have no doubt she will be a published author someday. The love of story that she and I share is something I cherish. We can spend hours coming up with plots and characters and settings. This past summer we took a family vacation to Boyne Mountain in Northern Michigan. My husband and other two children did a three-hour zip line hike while my youngest and I spent those three hours sitting deep in the woods, writing. My husband thought I was crazy when I suggested it. He suggested swimming at the water park instead because writing in the woods, in his mind, did not rival a three-hour zip line event. When he asked her though, she was adamant about going on our 'retreat'. And I am so glad we did. We both wrote pages and pages of stuff and had an amazing, imaginative time that I will never forget.

At age 9, she amazes me with her perceptive insight into books. She was reading The Witch of Black Bird Pond the other day and commented that "instead of starting in the action like most books" the author took the time to "introduce the main character first." My daughter liked that about the book. Another time she complained that the book she was reading "didn't really have a plot, just random stuff happened." My favorite though was the day she came to breakfast in tears because "Blue Fur said she'd never leave her kittens and then she just took them into the forest and left them!" (from one of the Warriors books.)

She recently told me that she is glad that she has a Mom that is a writer because it helps her be a good writer. :) I love that she said that, but I know I am only a small part of the equation. It is her absolute love of story and the bazillions of authors out there that also share that love of story that has made her and will continue to make her an awesome, perceptive, insightful writer and reader. The love of story is a cyclical thing that has been around for ages. Authors inspire authors who in turn, inspire authors.

So a toast and a thank you to all the authors out there who have inspired us through their love of story!

You Can't Hide Those Writer-eyes

My 16 (and a half) year old daughter left this week for a ten day CSI:Forensic Science seminar at John Hopkins University. The ten day camp is her first experience with college life - living in a dorm, sharing a bathroom with three roommates she doesn't know, on her own with meal cards and room keys to keep track of, a schedule to keep, etc.

We flew with her to Baltimore to help her settle in to her dorm. I saw her excitement as she unpacked her things into her wardrobe closet and desk. I saw the apprehension when she realized there was only one toilet and shower to share between four girls. I saw the nervous fear as we kissed her good-bye and left her on her own. And, I hear the homesick, lonely edge in her voice when she calls. She's experiencing the social and emotional woes of a college freshman as a high school junior, and I can't do anything but tell her it will all be okay. It breaks my heart to know that I can't be there to help her or give her a hug.

But I am so using this in a future novel. What a great set-up for a mystery or coming-of-age plot, don't you think?

My writer-eyes see potential everywhere I go. I can't help it. So often I hear people say they have nothing to write about, and I can honestly say that is not a problem for me. Everyday life puts us into situations that can become part of a great plot later down the line. These experiences don't make a plot by themselves necessarily, but they can inspire a storyline, enhance a character or drive a plot in a new direction. All you have to do is take the time to observe them - and as an added bonus, observing them through your writer-eyes can also save your sanity - something I realized on my way to Baltimore.

While sitting in the Detroit airport waiting for our flight, I found myself getting very annoyed with my kids. We'd arrived way early, like two hours early (I wasn't sure how many people would be in that security line so I thought early was better) and they were already stir crazy from weeks of being together at home, let alone *TRYING* to behave in an airport terminal. As I sat there getting increasingly irritated by their behavior, I decided to take off that mom-hat and put on my writer-hat. This is how that hat-switch saved my sanity:

When my ten year old shoved three pieces of Hubba Bubba bubble gum into his mouth and then blew a bubble so big that when it popped, it connected his mouth to the food container he was holding with a thick pink string at least six inches long - I laughed rather than yelled.

And when he played the *Random game with me every time I asked him a question, I made random statements too. (*he and his younger sister play this by stating random things either in answer to a question or as an ongoing conversation. The point is to sound the most sincere, as if you actually make sense, while, saying some ludicrous, nonsensical thing, like "The elephant is pink." "Yeah, but I ate the frog." "Run to the hills." "Jack Frost is an amoeba", etc, etc.) As I played along, I started thinking, "I could use this . . . "

When I visited the restroom with my seven year old twenty-two times in 45 minutes (I assure you, that is no exaggeration) I tried to note things about the bathroom and those using it each time I visited. Like the five year old who informed his mother he would not eat any salad today because it gives him gas, or the woman who slid on a wet section of the floor and went careening, head first, into the toilet. That was rather scary, I have to admit, and as we made sure she was okay, I couldn't help thinking, "What if she had hit her head?" Which then led to "What if she'd hit her head and passed out and while she was passed out someone stole her purse and her boarding pass? And when she came to she had no memory of who she was or where she was going?" That scenario actually kept me going for quite a while.

As did the dark hotel we arrived at when we finally got to Baltimore. We arrived around seven that night in the middle of a thunderstorm. After trying to contact the hotel's free airport shuttle by phone for almost an hour while standing outside in the rain with very agitated, restless children, I decided to scratch the shuttle and grab a cab. I was glad I did. The power was out at the hotel. Ever check into a pitch dark hotel? It's a very eerie feeling.

The staff was standing around with glow-sticks and flashlights. Several patrons stood huddled in the lobby. Since it was now almost nine pm, I asked if there was any way we could check in. I was told they could put us in a room, but we would have no keys until the electricity came back on (the van driver let us in with a master key) and would have to take the stairs (very dark, service stairwell, led by the key master aka van driver). So armed only with a glow-stick to light the way, we did just that. I sat in the pitch black hotel room with my three kids and our little glow-stick (my husband was meeting us the next day) for the next hour, waiting for the power to be restored. It was a freaky, scary hour, but the whole time my mind was spinning with ways to make that part of a story.

The point I am hoping to make here is: when you are in need of inspiration or are stuck with an area of your plot and unsure how to proceed - drop your hat, arm yourself with the question, "What if?" and step out of your box. You may be surprised what you find lurking around you when you let yourself view life through your writer-eyes.

Musings of Second Graders

Often at conferences, I hear writers say that if you want to make your characters' dialogue authentic, you should eavesdrop on conversations of kids and teens. I have also heard writers complain that they don't have access to kids and teens and find this hard to do. I guess I am lucky in that regard; I have a constant feed from three distinct age groups: 16, 10, and 7.

So, for those less fortunate than I, I thought I'd share some random things I heard yesterday while traveling to and from Jackson on a field trip with my second grade daughter's class:

**Please note, they were studying colonial times and were all dressed in 1800 garb, so keep that in mind if some does not make sense.

BOY 1: I would not be a girl, that bonnet would mess up my hair.
BOY 2: My hair would be CRAZY! (messes up hair)
BOY 1: (giggles) No, like this. (messes up his hair)
BOY1: If both my arms were cut off, I could get robot arms.
BOY 2: Robot, Robot.
BOY 1: And I would have lollipops come out of my elbows.
BOY 2: I'd have water guns in mine. (Burps then giggles)
BOY 1: (giggles at burp also)
BOY2: I like to burp.
BOY 1: I like to fart.
(giggles from both)
BOY 2: I'd have fart gas come out of my arms.
GIRL 1: Gross! Did you hear what he said? He wants farts to come out of his arms!
GIRL 2: Ewww!
BOY 1: (annoyed, corrective tone) Out of his robot arms!
BOY 2: Yeah, so I could stink you up!
GIRLS: Ewww!

BOY 1: My stomach is eating itself! Are we there? (looks in lunch) Mmm, beef jerky. (to BOY 2) Do you have Dragon Ball-Z? Or Ben 10?
BOY 2: For DS?
BOY 1: PSP is way better than DS. You can download movies, go on the internet, wi-fi.
BOY 2: DS can do wi-fi.
BOY 1: But it can't download movies.
BOY 2: What movies?
BOY 1: Any.
BOY 2: Which ones?
BOY 1: Any I want.
BOY 2: Like what?
BOY 1: I don't know. I'm not allowed. Ugh, my stomach is eating itself again! When will we be there?

GIRL 1: Hey, **(Boy 1 name withheld) are you in love with **(name of girl withheld)?
BOY 1: No! Why do you help her chase me?
GIRL 1 (ignores Boy 1 and says to Girl 2): He is in love with her.

BOY 1: My stomach ate itself five times. I will die! This museum will kill me. Why can't we go fishing?

That concludes my quick peak into the dialogue of second graders for now. This is only a ten minute snip-it of the non-stop conversation that occurred in the 45 minutes it took to drive there. I could write the entire thing, but I won't! And I assure you, Boy 1 did not die, nor was his stomach actually eating itself!

Ode to Sisterhood

I've had one of those weeks - you know the type - when everyone is telling you what to do and what you're doing wrong? Except, I'm an adult, so I'm supposed to be thinking for myself. Anyway, I was about ready to retreat into a hole, when my younger sister Michele emailed me. She'd read my blog bio and was commenting on how she too loves Don McLean's American Pie, and shares that impressive party skill of knowing lyrics and artists of any song that comes on the radio.

It got me thinking about all the things we used to do as kids, and I was lifted from my reality for a while. I decided to share a few of those memories here as a sort of Ode to My Sisters (only without the lyrical poetic format that Keats would write.)

We grew up way out in the rural outskirts of Fairbanks, Alaska in Musk Ox subdivision (seriously, that 's what it was called). Now it is sprawling with houses, but then it was sparsely populated. We had nothing but wilderness and a few neighbors for miles. So, what could three girls possibly do to keep busy out in the boonies?

We:
- took turns being Wonder Woman, pushing down the dead but still standing trees with our awesome super hero strength. We did the same when we played "Oh Mighty Isis" with an old silver Buddha medallion my mom had in her jewelry box.

- searched for fairies and gnomes under the big orange toadstools that grew wild all over our property. One of us always spotted a gnome or pixie, but we could never quite catch it!
- played Little House On The Prairie for hours outside. My sister Marianne was Mary, and I of course with the appropriate name and birth order was always Laura. Michele was Carrie.
- would try to scare each other by making up things we'd seen. We fooled Michele once into believing we'd gone through a time warp while walking along the power line. We actually had just turned our watches ahead, but she believed us and freaked. Another time I soaked a ripped rag in red food coloring and got everyone thinking there was a mass murderer in the woods somewhere. That mystery lasted for weeks!
- played chemist, mixing any liquids we could find. Luckily for us, we never actually mixed anything that caused a chemical reaction!
- played astronauts (well Michele and I did anyway) with our big winter 'moon' boots every morning while waiting for the school bus.
- played radio station. We would record ourselves being the DJ and playing records. We even recorded our own music. My niece Nikki (Michele's daughter) still has a recording of my infamous original "Here Come the Mosquitoes" - one of these days I will confiscate that tape!
- made sno-cones, or I should say, 'snow' cones, with snow and Coke, sometimes maple syrup. It was good.
- dug a pool for our Barbies. It didn't work though. The dolls ended up taking mud baths.
- used to sled using a huge piece of clear plastic from the top of our property where our house was, down the cliff, across the road, and into the deep ditch on the other side. It's a really good thing there were few cars around!
- somersaulted off the top of the kitchen counter onto our bean bag - well until Marianne missed and smacked her head.
- played jail in the unfinished workroom next to Marianne's bedroom. There was a hole at the top of the ceiling where we could fit a pail attached to a rope. We locked Michele in the room and lowered food and dolls and such down to her - the game ended when she had to go to the bathroom and we discovered the lock was broken. We couldn't unlock the door. A friend of my mom's had to come all the way out and take the door off just to get her out. OOOPS! (I think she had to pee in that bucket too while she waited)
- pretended we were Olympic badminton players. That actually carried over to several years later when we sold the house and moved into the city. There was an annoying girl that MIchele tried to avoid, so when we heard her coming down the street, we'd pick up our racquets and say we were practicing for the Olympics.
I could go on and on - but I won't. I just wanted to say that it wasn't just books and radio that kept me occupied and fueled my imagination growing up - my sisters had a huge hand in that as well. And someday, when I do get published, readers will see a lot of these things in the books I write - sorry Michele and Marianne, there's just too much good stuff to let it go to waste!

Sweet 16 and Gothics

I spent last week planning my daughter's Sweet Sixteen party while also trying to immerse myself in Gothic horror for the novel I am currently writing. Thinking purple, lace, and roses on the one hand and dark, gloom, and mystery on the other seemed at first to contradict each other. As the week wore on, however, I found that the Gothic novel and the sixteen year old girl are actually very similar.

In the classic Gothic horror book you have the young heroine who after somehow being orphaned goes off to some old, Victorian style manor where she has either been employed at or has been offered residence at by some unknown benefactor. When she arrives, she is usually courted by the nice, clean-cut guy, while being tormented and seemingly stalked by the dark, mysterious stranger. Often, paranormal, frightening things take place while she is alone in the dark, scary manor, and while Mr. Clean Cut seems like the best bet for safety, she cannot help but be intrigued by Mr. Dark and Stormy.

The sixteen year old girl, while not orphaned, would sometimes like to think she is, especially when her family is not as exciting as, say, the Cullen family. She would gladly leave her safe, boring home to hang with Jacob on the reservation or flirt with Edward behind Bella's back. She would trade in her leggings and Converse tennies for a Victorian gown and heels if it meant sitting at a long table with Gargoyles overhead sharing a meal with a brooding, mysterious stranger.

When I came to this conclusion, I realized that giving her that Gothic experience may be my answer to the perfect Sweet Sixteen party- one that would be memorable, yet not cost $100,000 and a Ferrari. I decided to give her a little mystery and intrigue by throwing a Mystery Dinner party for her and her friends.

I found a company called My Mystery Party that sells mysteries for the party attendees to act out and solve as the night wears on. While I won't be making her an orphan or holding the party in a haunted manor, and Edward won't be coming to dinner (although he is more than welcome if Bella can spare him), my daughter will get to dress up in a semi-Victorian gown and pretend for the evening that she and her friends are stuck in the middle of a dark and gloomy mystery they must solve.

I'll let you know how it goes, but it should be fun. Now if I could just find some Gargoyles . . .