deborah wiles: field notes

mid-month check-in

2012-01-17T15:45:00.001-05:00

Whew. I'm almost three weeks in to this year of being mostly home and I'm realizing lots of things:

:: Helpers are fun. Abby is digesting The Good Earth so I don't have to. Sunny is reading The Good Earth in book two, as well as 16 Magazine.

:: Juicing is not my thing. I miss cooking too much. I felt good when following a whole foods, plant-based diet and have gone back to it.

:: I want to write something for young readers that includes cooking.

:: Music *is* my thing. I'm enjoying the playlist that's coming together for book two. I'm enjoying watching the piano "lessons" with Grandpa Jim and Abby.

:: While routines *are* my thing, schedules are not. Does that make sense? I don't know what that means yet, just noticing. It's as if I set a schedule and immediately try to figure out how to circumvent it.

:: Last year I committed to more handwork. I'm doing that again this year. I like doing handwork in front of the television, always have, so now I'm watching (if you can call it that) while I knit, after many years' absence from teevee. Once Upon A Time and Downton Abbey. And Pan Am. I know, I know. And the Golden Globes, a tradition with me'n'Hannah. Aside: Mad Men returns March 25! We'll be planning a premiere dinner just as we did last season and the one before. Hmmm... actually, those two links should be swapped. Julia Child was two seasons ago, and the fun but ridiculous processed foods dinner was last season (1964).

:: I may talk less here about writing and more about finding balance. It was hard to find on the road, but it's an art to find at home, too.

:: I need to pull out my battered copy of The Writer's Journey by Chris Vogler and use it to figure out the structure of this current novel. I have a timeline, but that's not the same as plot. How do I get Sunny from event to event, and what happens to her in between? Who are her mentors, who are her enemies, and what is the treasure she seeks? What does she want?

:: I know these things, but I need to know them on a more tangible level now, instead of that gut level I tend to write from. This is such a big story -- so many characters and so much happening. I get mixed up and then stalled. I haven't used The Writer's Journey since I plotted my first novel, Love, Ruby Lavender. It's time to take another look at that mythic structure for storytellers.

:: Structure and framework interests me so much right now. I look at these photos of Abby at the piano with her grandpa and I can practically see her mind putting together the if-then thinking that goes with structuring: How does this work? Oh, I see! I touch (bang) these keys and a sound comes out of this rectangular box!

:: I like being home. I stay inside for days at a time, working on the novel, creating routines, skittering around the schedule, stoking the fire, not wearing makeup or planning a trip. I don't know where my wireless remote is, the one I use for PowerPoint presentations. I do know where my knitting row-counter is, where the Thai curry paste is, and where my favorite leggings are.

:: I'm thinking about measuring success. What does that mean? Is it enough to have gone through the day with mindfulness and kindness? Is it enough to have love and sustenance and music and some well-chosen words as requisites for the day's journey? Sometimes I think so. This year I want to slow down and think about just what success means, what a day needs, and what my heart is trying to tell me.

Abby has no intention of slowing down. Her world is all about discovery these days. Even at the piano, at some point, she's ready to move on and see what else is out there in the big world.

:: I'm enjoying my own version of seeing what's next.

1 down, 51 to go

2012-01-06T12:48:00.004-05:00

I woke at 4am, wide awake, worried about my IRS appeal. hahahaha. Well, it's true. I've been hit with a penalty for late filing, but I filed an extension before my tax deadline. The IRS evidently didn't receive the extension, and my accountant didn't send the paperwork by return receipt or delivery confirmation. So I called the IRS last month, and we are working it out, and all will be well, but I have this paperwork to do, you see.

And I didn't do it this week. I wrote, every day, twice a day. Hooray! But I need dedicated time to do paperwork, time when I'm not chomping to get back to the writing (or dreading it, as the case may be and has been some this week).

So I'm going to shift the schedule some. I'll write on Friday mornings, break for lunch, and dedicate Friday afternoons to administrative tasks and errands that need tending. Then, I'll slip in a block of writing time on Saturday morning (hmmm... maybe) before the day gets away, Sunday off, begin again Monday.

Week One is almost done. 51 weeks to go, in this year I've bought myself off the road. What did I do with this week? That comes next. I've got to answer the IRS first.

And yeah, there's a reason for the food photos. I'll explain later. It has to do with a story. Actually, a couple of stories that have been brewing for some time. Stick with me...

new year, new routines

2012-01-04T10:16:00.002-05:00

This year I am home more than away for the first time in ten years. I have four gigs (as Jim calls them) in 2012, each purposely chosen for certain reasons we'll get to during the year when I actually do travel. I can't tell you how strange it feels to be looking into January and not planning for travel. Frees and lets loose all kinds of energy.

Other than those four working travels, I am home this year to write. I have big plans. I'll parse them out over the year, here, so let me start by saying I'm working on book two of the sixties trilogy now, trying to get the draft to where I can send it to my editor, so he can do his thing and they can do their thing at Scholastic, so we can get permissions for the scrapbook elements, so design can get going, so the revision notes can come, and so the book really begins to take shape.

I hate to admit how much is not done yet. Conversely, I love knowing how much is known; it's just not pulled together in a linear narrative. This book will have a huge cast of characters and an enormous task: to bring Freedom Summer, 1964 Mississippi, alive for its readers.

Not only that; there's more, but that's a start, and it's the heart of the work just ahead.

I have a year to see what it's like to be a full-time writer who is not on the road over 100 days a year to make her living. I bought myself this year. And I hope to use it well.

To that end, things will change. I've got new routines and new schedules. I've put together a ten-hour weekday for myself and it's working nicely so far. I've got a solid block of writing time in the morning, and another in the afternoon. I've got a fat block of time in the middle to do the things that need doing in the middle. I've got time available after those ten-hour days (they start early) and on weekends for friends and family and other pursuits. Sounds like a real job, doesn't it? It is, and I intend to treat it as such.

I work right here, in my own office, in my own home. I have no commuting time to factor in. I have my own gym (more or less). I have my own health care plan (expensive). I have an on-site, fully stocked kitchen where I can eat what's good for me. It's a simple set-up, and I'm ready to work.

I need to be my own best employer this year in order to make this year count, which is why I'm writing about it here, in order to be accountable to myself. I'll use this space and my facebook page to share what I'm working on, to house some of my working notes, and to tweak and shape and catalog this gift of one year to write. I may not get another one, and I'm aware of that.

It's a new day in a new year. How will I define success? Success is a strange word; it means lots of different things to me. I won't worry right now about what it looks like. I know what happens this year will largely depend on how and where I focus.

So let's do this thing. I'm ready.

all kinds of progress

2011-12-14T14:17:00.001-05:00

And (ab0ve and below) preparing for long days in the writing chair after Christmas. This is progress, too.

preparing for the work ahead

2011-12-08T15:15:00.000-05:00

Just home from three days on the road, my last travel of the year. Thanks so much to everyone at Ridgeview School and Rock Springs School in Tennessee. I saw students in grades K through 8, spoke at a family literacy night, and worked a half-day with teachers. Whew. We had fun and did good work together.

Today is for re-entry.

So I'm not going to write every day in December. I might not write any days in December. I know people who write rings around me and accomplish more in a day than I do in a week. But I also know that I will soon be in the pink chair with the laptop for hours upon hours each day... and like a warrior preparing for battle, this is part of how I prepare. And so. Patting myself back together and putting systems in place, here I sit on a cold December day, preparing for the work ahead.

seized by the day

2011-12-08T14:20:00.001-05:00

Well, it's December. The month I declared I would write a bit each day. Instead (and I don't think this is avoidance), I've been seized by.... something.

A sense of well-being. A je ne sais quoi. A que sera sera, as Franny might say in Countdown. I'm following my nose, my gut, my sensibilities as life presents itself. I'm going with it, slip-sliding in the stream of well-being, listening to what it tells me. These times in my life have been rare, and this feeling is perhaps fleeting; I don't want to dictate to it.

I want to listen.

I wanted a project to complete over the Thanksgiving weekend. I decided to finally paint the family room walls molasses. That's the color; molasses. I ignored my feeling of well-being that said I could do anything I wanted. I told it to stand back! I had work to do that weekend, for I was preparing to write a bit every day in December and wouldn't have time for this painting then, and I've been wanting to do this for months and months. The chalkboard wall gave me the audacity to do it.

It did not turn out well.

We tried to love it. We sat there without speaking but knowing each other's thoughts. Finally, Jim said, "I feel like I'm sitting inside a UPS truck." ha! I did, too.

So the very next day I Kilzed it.

Better. I don't know what color we'll end up painting the room (which now has a name: Libby (Irene was lonely)), but at least we're not sitting inside a UPS truck awaiting delivery.

And the split pea soup is good.

::grateful for::

2011-11-28T15:49:00.001-05:00

:: walls to paint.

Remember that wall I painted orange for my birthday a year and a half ago?

It's not orange anymore. I covered it with chalkboard paint and it became an integral part of Thanksgiving dinner this year. I envision it holding all kinds of messages and lists and sayings over the years. I think I've got it just right now.

:: family.

Look closely and you'll find a gratitude list in photographs and even in words, high above the window... love that addition. Thank you, Jim.

:: those who pitch in.

Those who eat. Those who clean up. Those who appreciate. Thank you, my baker.

::good work to do.

I know it's almost December and we'll be racing headfirst into the holidays, I know I have one more trip this year, to two elementary schools in East Tennessee next week, but I am still going to try to write every day in December. Okay, maybe not Christmas Day, we'll see how it goes.

For the first time in ten years, I plan to be home more than away next year -- home almost all year long. I've been planning and scheming for this year, and I think finally I can swing it.

I'm grateful for this coming year of writing -- a writing intensive. I want to get a head start on that year in December. So on December 1, I will tiptoe back into my novel. I'll write about that process, here.

I'm also going to use December to set up next year's writing year. I'll chronicle that here, too. I don't exactly know how it will work, but I have ideas. I may never have another year like this one to write and write and write in, and I want to use it wisely. I have lots and lots... and lots... of ideas, and stories I want to write.

I also have lots of living I want to do. Lots of learning to love Atlanta. Lots of exploring with my sweetheart, lots of staying put and venturing forth. Lots of family time. Lots of memories to make. Lots of becoming. Lots of letting go.

I feel rawther pregnant with possibility. ha!

So I'm nesting now. Getting ready. And very grateful. For everything. In advance. Yep, everything. All the messy glory. Come on in, I say... let the year of possibility begin.

let us love one another

2011-11-23T14:59:00.003-05:00

It's not possible to tell you all I am thankful for this year. I'm choked up just thinking about it. It has been an amazing year full of ups... and downs.

Thank goodness for ALL of it. As Uncle Edisto says, "Open your arms to life! Let it strut into your heart in all its messy glory!" Yessir. Wise man.

I have learned so much about the messy glory this year. And so, as I prepare for tomorrow's feast -- I am about to start all the cooking prep -- I want to say thank you. I am grateful to the crazymakers and the peacemakers. Grateful to the hapless, the hopeless, the helpless, and the helpers. Grateful to be alive in this time and place. Grateful to be able to do good work in the world. Grateful to those who labor beside me.

I want to be ready for tomorrow's feast, which I'm dedicating to those who will not have a feast but want one; those who will not be surrounded by family and friends but want to be. Those who are fallible. Those who are human. Those who love even when they are not loved back. I want to be ready to honor them.

So I spent some of yesterday bringing the outside in, which I always do when I know those I love will come celebrate with me.

Into the yard with my clippers. Into Irene with my bounty.

Then I washed the dishes. Hannah and I found these beautiful old dishes at Kudzu last week. They called to me, whispered, cajoled, fairly begged to be taken home, so I adopted them, brought them to my kitchen, and started their new life by giving them a good bath.

Then I set the table.

And organized what I brought in from outside.

I moved the furniture in my office, and created a dining room.

And I created a gratitude collage on one wall. I'm almost done adding the photographs of those I am grateful to this year. If you look carefully, you can see the Beatles peeking out from behind a photo of me in that top left corner. You can see my mother-in-law's wedding photo, you can see my children, my family, my heart.

2011 is almost gone. I have dreams for the future, even in these troubled times, these sometimes desperate days, these also-amazing days, and I say:

Let us not worry about who is right. Let us not care about who's ahead. Let us always see the best in one another. Let us feed and care for and nurture one another and see who we really are. Let us tend to one another's wounds and adopt one another and bathe one another in the light of our understanding. Let us understand what brotherhood means. And let us love one another. Always.

around atlanta: smack into the city

2011-11-15T11:24:00.003-05:00

Downtown and South Downtown (SoDo), into Grant Park. It was a Sunday afternoon and I had questions. Where are all the people who live here, dine here, shop here, raise their families here?

They aren't here. They have moved to Midtown and other neighborhoods. People may work in downtown Atlanta, but they surely don't live here anymore (for the most part), although there is a large homeless population. We got out and walked, and we drove through, in late afternoon, and watched men and women making ready their beds for the night with pieces of cardboard, with shopping carts, a blanket perhaps, under ramps and in parking lots, on steps.

We also got caught up in the traffic leaving the Georgia Dome after a Falcons game. The population swelled for a moment, but all cars were heading out of the city.

This article, in Creative Loafing, addressed some of my questions. It's titled "South Downtown Must be Fixed for Atlanta to Thrive" followed by this subhead: "The area south of Five Points was once bustling. What the hell happened?" It's enlightening and opinionated. The comments are... interesting.

What a contrast from our last Sunday drive! I want some books about Atlanta's history. Preferably with lots of photos. Anybody know where I should start?

I'm in D.C. today, working with 4th graders at The Potomac School. We're talking about how to create unforgettable characters. These kids are teaching me a lot. They're fabulous. I'm on my lunch break. Back to it. I'll be home -- home to my new home town -- on Wednesday night.

good garden of peas: a writing prompt

2011-11-13T15:29:00.006-05:00

{a writing prompt. If you feel so inclined, link to your own good-garden prompt in the comments, so we can all be inspired!}
<p>&amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Th&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;gt;</p>

"I don't want to be an Emperor, that's not my business. I don't want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone if possible... We all want to help one another, human beings are like that.... In this world there is room for everyone and the earth is rich and can provide for everyone."
(Full text of the speech is here.)

recent reading

2011-11-11T11:41:00.003-05:00

I'm catching my breath between three fabulous days at Brookstone School in Columbus, Georgia (where I was lucky enough to see every student in grades preK through 5, work with a lovely smattering of students in middle school writing workshops, and even an Honors English class for a fascinating hour) , and my trip to the D.C. area on Monday, where I'll work with all fourth graders and teachers at The Potomac School as they create characters with me. I'm looking forward to it.

In the meantime, I'm staring at the wall and gathering some energy back to me. I'm knitting. I'm eating good food. I'm sleeping like the dead. I'm listening to Jim's amazing new music -- he's composing like a fiend on fire right now -- and I'm catching up on all manner of things, including reading.

I've started reading again, really reading, which must mean I'm getting set to start writing in earnest again, day after day, which is true, I am. But I have not read like this in years... it means something. I'm trying to figure out what. Remember when you used to read so much you couldn't put down your book to even come to the table for supper? You brought your book to supper. You had to put it down in order to eat. It was torture. Like that. Reading like that.

You can see what I'm currently reading in the blog sidebar, and you can see my 2011 reading list here. I started this reading and listing only a few months ago. It's changing me, making new inroads in my mind and heart, and it delights me more than I can say.

Quick notes: Loving Pulphead, just started it today and already am hooked. I opened it at random and read the piece on Michael Jackson. Well-written, thoughtful, compassionate, provocative. I buy a book a month from a favorite indie, Turnrow Books in Greenwood, Mississippi (where book 2 of the sixties trilogy takes place) and this is November's selection. Thank you, thank you!

I'm listening to Middlesex on CDs from my library, which is how I read both Kate Atkinson novels. Henrietta Lacks I read on hardcover loan from my library, which is how I started Fire and Rain, but I've now purchased this book for a friend, and am listening to it on CD, also on loan from my library.

Libraries and independent bookstores: great good things in the world. As are books. As are schools. As are a few days off. It's really fall here now, and it's beautiful. I am being spoiled these few days home: Jim makes me a fire every morning. I sit in the pink chair next to the fire, with my quilts and my coffee and a story. Maybe a little knitting. Maybe a little cooking. Maybe a bath later and a little more Middlesex while I soak.

There's business to attend to and I'm doing that as well. There are chores to do and I'm doing them as well, but there's nothing like finding my way back to the pink chair and the book in progress and the reward of the next chapter.

I crave good stories right now. Non-fiction, memoir, essay, fiction, it doesn't matter, as you can see. They feed me.

I crave the sound of stories, the heft of the book in my hand, the turn of the page near the fire, the reading of a passage out loud over supper, the amazement of what happens next, and the constant wonder of how an accomplished writer can gather a gaggle of seemingly unconnected words, add moments and memory into the mix, infuse the mix with meaning, and construct a glorious castle of story, a story I never would have known if I had not opened that book, been introduced to it through someone else's recommendation (Thank you, UES in Moorestown, NJ, for the Middlesex recommend! Thank you, Cousin Carol for our Masterpiece Mystery nights that led me to Kate Atkinson!) or stumbled across it in the stacks (which look suspiciously like my Google Reader these days) on my own.

I think this is what's happening: I'm settled enough in my life, finally, to welcome back story. I'm off the roller coaster. I've stepped out of the first car and I've got my feet under me, solid, steady, grounded again. I know who I am.

Suddenly I always have an audio book for the car, an audio book for the bath, and a stack of bedtime reading, fireside reading, reading in between the cracks, or late into the night. I soak up good writing like a sponge. I need it like I need water, food, sleep, coffee... chocolate. hee.

Reading is sustenance. It calls to me. It says, "Come spend some time with good writing, with good story, with thoughts you never had, people you have yet to meet, and places your heart has not yet visited. Come be filled."

So that's what I'm up to this fall, in addition to the travel and teaching and speaking and all the good work in schools and at conferences. It's a bit like being reshaped, reborn, retooled. It's like being opened up again to the world and its mysteries. It's becoming larger than myself.

And so, y'all.... got any recommends? I've had these white-heat reading times in my life before -- they turned me into a writer. I want to be a better writer. I'm making a list of Good Books. I'm holding on to this white-heat feeling as long as I can. Maybe it will last forever.

good garden of peas: a writing prompt

2011-11-06T06:44:00.004-05:00

{a writing prompt. If you feel so inclined, link to your own good-garden prompt in the comments, so we can all be inspired!}

Boone, N.C.

overdue thanks

2011-11-04T07:43:00.002-04:00

I sit this early morning in a hotel room in Boone, North Carolina. I will work here for the next two days. Today is a day in schools and a public library event. Tomorrow I will keynote the Appalachian State University Children's Literature Symposium and work with teachers throughout the day -- exciting!

This fall has been full of travels, and I am overdue on some October thanks. Thanks so much to Mikey Jones at Powhatan Elementary in Boyce, Virginia; Kathy Crane and Joy Simpkins and all those who brought me to W.G. Coleman Elementary in The Plains, Virginia; Carole Butler and her intrepid team at Moorestown Middle School; and Bev Grazioli, Carol Herb, and the Home & School team that brought me to Moorestown, New Jersey's Upper Elementary School -- amazing, insightful days of teaching and learning.

Here you'll see teachers modeling for their students in assembly, teachers telling their own stories in workshop, students writing away in assembly, and projects using Deborah Wiles' books as a jumping off point, and more.

Every school has its own flavor, needs, goals, and atmosphere. Every journey has its distinct differences as well. Yesterday I drove into the Blue Ridge Mountains as the falling leaves swirled in masses all around me. I took the winding mountain roads as the rain began to fall and the fog crept in, and the dark seeped into the day.

Today I go out into the sunlight to meet new people, see new faces, work with new students and teachers, and discover new stories. And, as always, it's about the stories. Always about the stories.

good garden of peas: a writing prompt

2011-10-30T12:59:00.001-04:00

{a writing prompt. If you feel so inclined, link to your own good garden creation in the comments, so we can all be inspired!}

a little light housekeeping

2011-10-25T19:55:00.003-04:00

Quick fyi notes:

:: It has been pointed out to me (such a passive voice!) that email is a difficult carrier for this blog when I post so many photos, as I did earlier today. I'm going to truncate the email feed from now on so I don't crash your computers when I send you a blog post that's a large file.

:: I believe this setting will also truncate the post in your google reader, although I'm not sure. I'm not even sure I'm using the word "truncate" correctly here. Let's see how it works.

:: In order to see the entire post (either in email or a reader), just click on the post title within your email or reader, and it will take you to the blog on the web, where you can read the entire post. The good news here is that you can also see what I'm up to on the blog.

:: I've started posting my current reading and research in the sidebar, so you can read along with me, or share my research finds and notes if you are also writing about the sixties (and other topics); or, if you are teaching Countdown, you can refer to the books listed on that page. See the sidebar links to guide you.

:: I've continued to redesign, following my decision to end the blog and then not. Ahem. At any rate, how do you like the new banner? It will change from time to time, and the rethinking and redesign will go on. Me and social networking. Not a match made in heaven. But I do love the storytelling. Of course. And always.

:: Chicken and potatoes and asparagus for supper. I'm off to it!

around atlanta: discovering home

2011-10-25T12:36:00.005-04:00

Mostly photos today, and a lot of them, all taken on Sunday when Jim and I drove around Atlanta, my new adopted home town -- I'm finally willing to admit it. Jim has lived here for over 30 years. I have been here seven. We have been married four. I now have grown children living in Atlanta, and a six-month-old grandgirl, too. I am once again grounded. It takes time. I know y'all know that.

But I don't know my city well, and I want to change that. So I rode shotgun on Sunday, my camera at the ready, and documented what I saw on our quest for pumpkins and hometown.

Atlanta is a city of neighborhoods. It's not laid out on a grid like Washington, D.C. or NYC; it is defined by its neighborhoods all kitty-cornered to one another. Here are some of them.

I know it's not as brilliant as New England (where I was just working) or Frederick (where I waited for it all year), but we do have a fall season in Atlanta.

And we do love Halloween, my favorite holiday. This house is in Virginia Highlands.

(You have to look closely for the hanging skulls. I love the fences. Cabbagetown.)

(More Cabbagetown.)

This Halloween I want to go back to my fire in the driveway, my chili and hot dogs and cider by the fire, and my ghost on the light pole... if I can find my bucket. If I can find a light post. Or, I can find some new traditions, too. I'm finally ready.

( Old Fourth Ward.)

I lived in Frederick, Maryland for 25 years, in the same house, where I raised a family and became a writer. I was so homesick when I moved to Atlanta, I thought I couldn't stay here, couldn't put down new roots, couldn't be happy here, away from there.

(More Cabbagetown, Reynoldstown.)

(Waterfall feature at the beautiful new Beltline Park at the Old Fourth Ward neighborhood site.)

(It was "Multicultural Day.")

(Old City Hall East will be turned into mega shopping, dining, working, and living places. It backs up to the Beltline.)

But I am happy. I am learning to love Atlanta. I want to get to know it as well as I knew Frederick. I have many years ahead of me to discover this place. Lots of Sunday drives ahead. (Old Fourth Ward and Sweet Auburn, below.)

When I was a kid growing up in Prince George's County, Maryland -- Camp Springs, where Franny lives in Countdown -- we used to go on Sunday drives after church. We'd stop and go through model homes in all those new neighborhoods that were built in the sixties. My dad got ideas for things he wanted to try at our house. I'll never forget the tiled mirror wall in the entryway -- all the tiles had gold swirls through them. Very sixties.

(This is my D.J. son Zach's old neighborhood in East Atlanta.)

I still love Sunday drives. I want to get to know Atlanta as well as I knew Frederick and Camp Springs. As well as I know Mississippi -- like the back of my hand.

Time and family have been great healers and beckoners. Resistance is futile, thank goodness. So. Dear Atlanta: after seven years living here, I am ready to fall in love. Be good to me: when I fall, I fall hard. Here we go.

learning from my mistakes

2011-10-22T15:27:00.012-04:00

At one point yesterday, an hour into the second session of what was supposed to be three 90-minute writing workshops with middle school kids in auditorium-seating chairs, I looked at the 250 eighth graders sitting in long, deep rows in metal folding chairs in the school's library, without their notebooks, staring at me, challenging me (in the best way) to entertain them on this exciting day of all-day-long Countdown projects, and thought, I give up.

I know you've been there as a teacher, a parent, a writer, a maker-of-things, a long-distance traveler of any sort on the convoluted highway of your work- or home-life.

I saw 750 kids yesterday in three 90-minute sessions. After talking with their principal long weeks ago about how to best make use of an author-visit day, I had prepared a personal narrative writing workshop for these students centered around their summer reading of Countdown, just one of several culminating events in their "One Book, One School" project.

Somehow wires got crossed, as they sometimes do, and I ended up punting all day long, expending every last drop of energy, presence, and voice I had, using every scrap of classroom management skills at my disposal, trying to figure out how to work with these kids and give them -- and their teachers -- something of value to take away from the day.

I was trying too hard. I know you've been there, too. The room was too light; the projector bulb was not bright; the round walls of the library were mostly glass (and the screen was in front of that), so students en mass who were moved from station to station all day distracted us; dueling microphones squealed; kids bounced; I sometimes shouted to be heard (I know better) and the whole thing felt terribly disjointed.

When teachers asked "What happened to the writing workshops?" I took every vindicating opportunity to say, "We were supposed to be workshopping; I'd never have kept your kids for a 90-minute assembly." Which, with this many captured kids squeezed together, who have no other creative outlet for an hour and a half, is like, I promise, performing a 90-minute concert. Three times. In one day. Only I'm not Justin Bieber or Taylor Swift.

At lunchtime, when the principal asked how it was going and I replied fine, she said, "I was in there, near the end of your second session; it looked like you were having some trouble...". I replied, lickety- split, in my justified defense, "If they had had notebooks..." and thought further ...IF THEY HAD HAD NOTEBOOKS, LIKE WE AGREED THEY WOULD HAVE, THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN WRITING, DOODLING, SCRIBBLING, DRAWING, WHILE FOLLOWING ME; THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN TOTALLY ENGAGED; I KNOW HOW TO DO THIS; IT'S WHAT I DO WELL....

But I stopped myself. I'm sure she did, too.

Where did we get our wires crossed? I make notes on every phone conversation, I send out a detailed confirmation that lists everything we're doing and how we're going to do it, I always have a trail of email a mile long... what had happened?

Confirmations and expectations aside, it became clear to me that work of any kind on this celebratory day was not going to work... something I think the principal already knew.

I could not compete with my own book's button-making station, tee-shirt stamping station, sixties dance-moves station, and I certainly couldn't hold a candle to the evening's Countdown-themed dance a mere hours away -- the excitement was building like a fire about to combust.

And then it hit me: I was hired to be a station, one of six stations on a student rotation schedule for the day, all stations relating to Countdown, and I somehow misunderstood my assigned role in all the back-and-forth communication. I wasn't a star of any show; I wasn't the piece de resistance brought in for this Countdown celebration. The kids who had read the book over the summer were the stars -- actually, Countdown was the star -- and I was a worker bee, just like everyone else manning their stations, and I had a job to do. And I had stuck myself in a hole.

Months earlier, when this station idea had been proffered, I said no to six 45-minute talks. ("I will lose my voice and stamina, and that won't be fair to your students, teachers, or me.") I had instead worked out an arrangement for three 90-minute writing workshops which would have stretched my energies, of course, with 250 kids per session, but I would have their teachers to help me, the sessions would be interactive, I would incorporate time for actual writing, and I would not talk non-stop all day.

But there were other options. I might have stuck with six 45-minute sessions but made them (instead of presentations, which take an inordinate energy) Q&A's about Countdown with a workable number of students. Or. I could have politely declined altogether, if this, too, felt like too much.

That 45-minute station, structured in a workable format, was -- at core -- what my client needed. And that's what I didn't deliver.

The first two sessions were back-to-back mayhem (that's too strong a word; to be fair, I did a good job, it was just too long to hold onto a group of 250 kids in those circumstances). I punted while using my prepared slides for a writing workshop.

When I got to my midday break, I broke down my presentation, restructured it, and then did a much better job in the third session -- work smarter, not harder -- by making it all about Countdown, and by starting off with a no-nonsense Q&A that set the tone, interspersing it with slides that expanded my answers and also provided more background.

It worked like the proverbial charm, for an hour and ten minutes. I was astonished and grateful. But now it was the end of the day, kids were restless, and I was done.

When I motioned a nearby teacher and told her that I was going to let the kids go ten minutes early, she balked. "NO." That's exactly what she said. "We can't let them leave here until 2:20. You've got to keep them another 15 minutes. I know that sounds inhospitable, but you have to keep them in here. What about that summer freedom book you used in the last two sessions?"

I seethed. I was spent. My voice was shot, my feet were swollen, my patience was thinner than thin. I could toss this back at the classroom teacher and make it her problem, or I could make another choice.

As the jostling and noise crescendoed, I slipped to the computer and pulled up the slides that tell the story behind Freedom Summer. I pulled the group together again and began to tell them the story of Annie Mae who worked for my grandmother in Mississippi in the sixties. I had the luxury of time to spin it out the way I like to do... the way I rarely have time to do.

I set the stage, I compared this Freedom Summer with the Freedom Summer I was writing about in book two of the Sixties Trilogy, and then I recited the story from memory as I showed Jerome LaGarrigue's fabulous art on slides.

The room was stone silent. It is always so, with Freedom Summer. I silently thanked this teacher (whom I never saw again) for the inspiration and connection. I promised my voice I would not talk for the rest of the day. Week. I drank some water, I signed some books, and I dashed for the car waiting to take me to the airport.

As I grabbed my luggage in the main office, I shook the principal's hand and thanked her for the day. She thanked me for coming: "I'm sorry it wasn't what you expected; we did our best." I couldn't manage a smile. "It was fine," I said. "We did well." Which we did. But I could barely contain my disappointment.

On the way to the airport my adrenalin was still running away with me, and I was so ragged out, I began to bitch to the driver, who of course knew nothing of what I do or what the situation was, but I couldn't stop myself, which is how I realized what I was doing.

Which is how I was able to stop. I gathered up my own poor, morose little spirit and said enough, Debbie. You are just blowing off the steam from your own impending meltdown from your own surprising failure. You did the best you could, given what you did not know, and given what you came to understand. Next time will be better.

And it will be.

I'm still sifting what I learned from this, but some of what I've learned is that I want to listen better up front. I want to ask better questions. I want to understand better the concept or situation or goals for the day. I want to be able to offer ideas ("how about a 45-minute Q&A with each group instead of a presentation?") that can slide seamlessly into a school's needs and goals while preserving my own energies and brain cells. I want to say no when I need to. And I want to always remember: I am in a school to be of service. I'll work on it.

The days in schools that go like clockwork are days I love like a sister. Those are most days in schools for me. The days that beat me up are few, and they are almost always my fault. I want to learn to be grateful for them, for they teach me to be a better teacher, a better learner, a better listener. They give me something of value to share with someone else.

and so it goes

2011-10-19T22:11:00.000-04:00

Bad weather and travel snafus stuck me in the Providence, Rhode Island airport for hours today. I left this:

And came to this:

This is fall travel... a combination of school visits, conferences, teaching, and retreating with the group I've been writing with for fifteen years. Yesterday, Plymouth; today, Philadelphia. And so it goes.

I'll be home Friday night. For now, thanks so much to Baldwin School in Quincy, Illinois; to The Rhode Island Festival of Children's Books and Authors in Providence, to my writer buddies on annual retreat with me -- thanks for the laughter and good food, company, stories, critiques; and hellooo to Moorestown Upper Elementary School and William Allen Middle School students in Moorestown, New Jersey! I'll see you in the morning.

Someone has obviously been reading my blog. There are brown-sugar-cinnamon frosted Pop-Tarts in this fabulous basket. ha!

Sleeeeeeeeep. Goodnight!

62

2011-09-28T16:01:00.002-04:00

The lights were low, the cake was chocolate, the musicians were in top form, the singers were like angels, and the love was all around.

I think this is what happens when friends become family. I think these are the gifts of time spent together, years blending each into the next, good times and bad times shared. Gifts of music and birthdays and time to savor one another's company.

Happy Birthday, old man. We love you.

almost ready to go

2011-09-25T11:59:00.002-04:00

I've been busy this morning. All the important things, dontcha know. Breakfast. Baaaaath. Tidying up and packing. And a little reading, too, of course.

Remember when the bathtub first arrived? It was some of the best money I ever spent. I can sink down deep into that tub and let all cares float away, be immersed in another world for just a little while... or a long while. Soaking meditation. hee.

(In looking for a post about my bathtub, I turned up so many posts wherein I mention soaking in the tub. hmmmm.... !)

The dresser and bed photos are a mystery for you. Where are they taken? In my house, but where? Long-time readers here can probably guess. More next week.

Quick trip to Alexandria, Louisiana -- I'm almost ready to go to the airport. Hello, Rapides Parish Library system! I can't wait to meet my new librarian friends later this afternoon, have some supper tonight, and do good work together tomorrow. I've got my li'l silver camera with me. Let's see if I can remember to take pictures.

You know, I hadn't stepped on a plane in over 20 years, when I began this traveling gig ten years ago (this, from an Air Force kid who had grown up all over the world... I think I wanted to Stay Put and raise a family... which I did). Now I can't count the number of planes I've been on in the past ten years. It's all good.

Hello, world! It's fall. Here I come!

xoxoxo Debbie

preparing to go

2011-09-22T16:19:00.005-04:00

I've been working all week. On what?

1. Administrivia. Confirmation letters, email, phone meetings, W9s, faxing, airfare reimbursement, car rentals, dinner plans, scheduling changes, equipment needs, teacher goals, coordinators' needs and expectations, PowerPoint presentations, workshop flow, questions answered, lessons learned.

2. This book. In researching the sixties, I came across Fire and Rain: The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, James Taylor, CSNY and the Lost Story of 1970. I spent two hours reading it in the bathtub last night. I'm still a prune. And I'm loving this story. I may have to do a whole blog entry on it at some point. It's due back at the library today, and I hate to return it, but I will, and I'll get right back on the hold list.

3. This manuscript. It's not for the sixties trilogy, but it is. It started out as research, six years ago, and has morphed into a story of its own. I think it's going to end up an opinionated biography in book two, that's what I think. We'll see.

4. This food. Simple and homespun. I know I'm going to miss it, on the road.

Fall travel is about to begin in earnest. I leave Sunday for Alexandria, Louisiana, where, on Monday, I'll work with students in schools served by the Rapides Parish Library system.

Then I'm home again, and then -- boom! -- I'm on the road more than I'm home, until Thanksgiving.

Working writers make their livings in a myriad of interesting ways. Some have full- or part-time jobs that have nothing to do with writing. Some are supported by spouses, or parents or other benefactors. Some -- a few, really -- make a living entirely from their writing.

Once, my good friend and fellow writer Tana Fletcher told me that there were three secrets to viable self-employment:

-- have one or two permanent paying gigs.
-- diversify.
-- create passive income.

She was right. As long as I have remembered these three guidelines and have worked toward them steadily, I have done just fine on my own. I let go of a permanent paying gig when I moved to Atlanta and left my Towson teaching job, and when I decided not to teach in low-res MFA programs anymore. I haven't figured out what to do to replace that "one or two permanent paying gigs" part of the self-employment equation, but I'm diversified to Kingdom Come.

Part of my diversification is teaching and speaking. To speak and teach, I travel.

Fall travel is always like this -- a grind and a blessing. I try to prepare as best I can by being very, very quiet in the weeks leading up to fall (and spring) travels. I get still. I eat well, sleep well, read, write, soak up home, and try to make progress on the next book.

I try to make sure all my administrative ducks are in rows before I set out, because I know, once I'm on the road, it is too hard to do much else but be on the road then home again, on the road then home again, repeat.

Home is for catching my breath in these next couple of months. But this week! This week is for working steadily away on feeling at home and in my most-beloved element, working away and working well. I love these early fall days.

What are you working on this week?

my hero

2011-09-17T19:49:00.006-04:00

If you only knew. We are a writer and a musician respectively. We are deck-staining virgins. We've been at this project since July. Pressure wash it, strip it, wash it again, bang in errant nails, tighten renegade screws, sand in certain places, wash again. Read directions a hundred times. Now it's too hot, it's raining, it's hot again, let's keep it swept and agonize over stain (which color?) vs seal (which shade?) vs paint (really?). Water or oil based? Let's sleep on it. Repeat.

I gave in once again and took a nap. He sealed the deck. I woke up and snapped his picture. "A rare sighting!" he said. Then he made himself a gigantic pimento cheese sandwich. We never know what we're capable of, do we? We just keep plugging away... even if it takes us months -- or years -- to figure it out.

Thank you, Jim.

How is *your* weekend taking shape?

friday link love

2011-09-16T11:49:00.001-04:00

Where I've drifted this week, deliberately and by chance:

This ten-minute video about the life of street photographer Vivian Maier. I've been following this project for about a year now, right here, and am fascinated by Maier's largely unknown life, and by the amazing shots she captured.

I was captured by E.M. Forster this week. I watched A Passage to India years ago and hated it, tried to read the book instead, hated it, and thought there must be something wrong with me. I was just too young, I think. I needed context. Context is something I work with all the time, with this '60s trilogy -- trying to give young readers context and framework and foundation. It matters.

This week I was led to a quote (you'll see it in the sidebar) from A Room With A View (a movie (lovely montage here) I loved and watched over and over again), which led me to thinking about trying to read Forster again. So I watched Howard's End this week (which made me want to re-watch Educating Rita!), then downloaded the novel from Project Gutenberg. It's great. It's more than great.

The class struggles Forster writes about in 1910 England are the same class struggles I am trying to delineate in book two of the '60s trilogy, which takes place in 1964 Mississippi. Who knew. Kismet. Synchronicity. I'm expecting it now, looking for it everywhere. I know it will come.

Onward. I loved this link from the kitch'n: Nourish Short Films: 54 Bite-Sized Videos about the Story of Your Food. Here's one, from Michael Pollan.

I'm in the midst of making another tiramisu blanket for our family's newest babe (I am now a great-aunt! hooray!). I want to make this next. Remember those chevron blankets from the '70s? I haven't made one in decades. Thanks to this reminder from the purl bee, it's time. I have lots of that blue sky cotton sitting around, waiting to take me back to the '60s.

It's cool this morning. I'm having trouble putting away the stuff of summer, the beach paraphernalia, the memories of a wonderful week away. Instead, my thoughts turn toward firewood and pumpkins. Funny how fall just *arrives* here in Atlanta. Time for some recipes with pumpkin, especially that pumpkin soup with bacon, which I will savor in front of the season's first crackling fire. Avec Howard's End. With my book two manuscript close by.

Hello, happy autumn.

xoxoxoxo, Debbie

PeeEss: If you are at SIBA this weekend in Charleston, come say hello! I'm there on Sunday, as SIBA has named Countdown its YA book of the year. Thank you, Southern Independent Booksellers! xoxo

farewell

2011-09-13T08:52:00.000-04:00

windy

2011-09-12T13:57:00.000-04:00