I’m at my favorite hotel, trying to organize a novel that’s been haunting me for a couple of years, and I just heard the news that my second picture book, Mitchell Goes Bowling, is an ALA Notable Book. Some tears came out when I heard that because sometimes you just need a signal from the universe to keep going. Cause sometimes the going is hard. For me the bowling book’s about being seen, being met where you are, being understood by your parents. But it’s all disguised in a very funny story, with even funnier illustrations, featuring a steamin’ hot potato dance, with salsa, plus a lot of STRIKES! I am so grateful that the ALA Notable Committee, the very people who put books into the hands of our kids, found my collaboration with Tony Fucile worthy of their list. Having three kids myself, and knowing what it took (just as parents) to help our kids get hooked on reading, librarians are like religious leaders to me. There isn’t much that makes me happier than seeing my 8 year old son lying on his bed with Big Nate, or Tintin, or Farmer Boy (yes, Farmer Boy rocks!).  The ALA Notable Honor is a first for me.

And as it goes, right now I’m at the very same hotel where I wrote Mitchell Goes Bowling. I remember being here two years ago, wondering how I could find tension in the bowling story, long after the thrill of getting to write a bowling book had worn off. What could I do to make readers want to turn the pages? I had no idea!  And I was cranky about that. I went to sleep in this good-luck hotel with the problem in my brain, hoping that I would wake up with an answer (cause I didn’t have that many days at the hotel for one thing).  I’d heard on NPR that your brain works on your problems while you sleep and I was hoping that was true. And if you can believe it, I did wake up with an answer, Mitchell would try to beat his dad. It seems so simple now, but it was an elusive solution.

I hope to finish the book I’ve started here sometime this fall.  This one’s longer, and no matter what happens, I have to get the words out. One of my close friends told me not to quit. She said, “you might only be an exit from the Emerald City.” That’s kept me going—that, and the knowledge that I have to let the words move through me and out into the world. That’s what it’s really all about.

Sometimes, a favorite memory comes like a wave.  This happened to me yesterday at the Metropolitan Garden Center in New Jersey, on Mount Pleasant Avenue.  My middle child, just turned eleven, needed a new pot for her prayer plant (also called a Maranta, this plant curls up its leaves at nighttime and looks like it’s praying).  We went on our field trip and while she began debating the size of the new pot to be purchased, I was drawn to the holiday discount section, eyes peeled for a one-of-a-kind bargain.  I grew up in farm country on a limited budget, and my dad taught me early on the joy in a good deal.  My eyes lit on a strand of grape clusters . . . at once one of my childhood memories came flooding back and I wanted those grapes for my own.

The childhood memory is this: in our family eating out was a much-appreciated and infrequent event.  We had dined at Alfredo’s, an upstate NY restaurant with an “arbor” for a ceiling.  The arbor was decorated with bunches of plastic grapes, and to us, dining there was like dining in a vineyard in France.  My sister Laurel, with whom I shared a room, and I were captivated.  We wanted our bedroom to look just like that.  So we pooled our money and headed to Grants, which was kind of like a Kohl’s.  We entered with our heads held high—but alas, all we could afford was a single bunch of grapes . . . It’ll come as no surprise that we couldn’t recreate the Alfredo’s arbor with our small offering. However, we were not thwarted—we hung our singular bunch of grapes on the outside of our bedroom door.

Remembering this back at the Metropolitan Garden Center, I bought the strand of grapes, with a big smile on my face.  Now they hang in clusters in my dining room, and they light up too!  My grapes hang for me and my sister Laurel, in our own upstairs world, where we always seemed able to work out our differences in a 200-square foot room.  What magic that a little field trip to the garden store could bring such a surprising memory, full of love and laughter, full of gratitude that even though I don’t share a room with her, I still get to cackle with Laurel.

Happy New Year!

November was the month of NaNoWriMo, the amazing organization that simply demands that you try to write a novel in a month.  Hundreds of thousands of people around the world  attempt this feat, and I was honored to be asked to write a pep talk for them, from my perspective as both literary agent Holly McGhee and author Hallie Durand.  As I put together this blog post, I find myself in need of the very words I wrote for all Nanos because I am a little stuck.  So here are my words, and I plan to take them to heart; for all the writers who find me here, I hope they help you, too.

 WRITE FOR YOUR LIFE 

Of everything I have ever learned as a literary agent and as a writer, there is one lesson that I think is more important than any other: you must write for your life.

And so this is for those of you who have always known that you wanted to be a writer, and this is for those of you who do write every day.  It’s for those of you who have yet to put a single word on paper, too.  It’s for those of you who are lonely, hopeless, and depressed, to those of you who have had a terrible experience beyond your worst imaginings, and to those of you who have never suffered a day in your life.  Mostly, I’m writing to everyone who has ever made the mistake of leaving his imagination behind, if only for a day.

This is what I know:  Sometimes if you haven’t touched your laptop (or whatever you use to write) in a while, you begin to fear it.  You’re afraid to start typing and you’re afraid not to start typing.  Writing becomes a stranger—and without realizing it, you’ve closed the door on your closest friend, your imagination.

You’ve got to honor your imagination, for it’s your best ally.

The good news is that the simple act of getting words down again instantly un-sticks you—you are not afraid anymore!   Writing moves your thoughts and feelings through you and out into the world, and the doors of possibility and wonder open before you again.  Just like magic, you are free.

I learned this the hard way.

There was a time in my life, not too long ago, of utter darkness.  We had moved from New York City to the suburbs so that our children could have a backyard to play in.  It was a catastrophic move for me.  I craved the anonymity and solitude of the city, but found myself surrounded by neighbors—I didn’t know how to be in this new world.  I did not fit in.  I felt trapped.   And I lost faith in the very essence of who I was, and I began to stop believing in myself.  After some time, I didn’t see the world in color anymore either, only grey, and after more time, I didn’t want to get up in the morning.

And then a character, Dessert Schneider, came charging into my life.  I didn’t know that my white knight, the one who would save my life, would appear to me in the form of a conniving, confident, bossy third grade character who demanded I write her story.  I opened the door a crack—and then eventually I opened the door all the way, and I wrote her novel, in her voice—my fingers were on fire.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I was writing for my life—I was writing my way out of the darkness and into the light—into believing in myself again, reacquainting myself with my imagination.

The world is at your fingertips, literally.  Just as you need to breathe, just as you need sunlight, just as you need water—if you’re a word person, you need to write.  Sometimes you may know where you are going, and other times you may be embarking on the long road to possibly nowhere—it doesn’t matter—you’re getting the words out.

Writing fuels your imagination, which makes you want to write more.  And your imagination is always loyal, and it will save your life if necessary, as it did for me.  Your imagination is there in the loneliest of times, and in the joyful times, too.

Write for your life.

I didn’t know there was such a thing as a bowling blog tour until my publisher sent me on one, and I had so much fun.  I answered lots of questions about Mitchell Goes Bowling, and once I even had to answer in Mitchell’s voice.  This was my biggest challenge, because I didn’t write the book in Mitchell’s voice—ruh ro.  I’m including all the “stops” on my tour here because I loved every single one of them.  Thanks also to the amazing women at Blue Slip Media—my own personal Julie McCoys!!  http://www.blueslipmedia.com/

Here are the ten stops we made:

http://www.bookingmama.net/2013/10/kid-konnection-mitchell-goes-bowling.html

http://kid-lit-reviews.com/2013/09/25/review411-mitchell-goes-bowling-by-hallie-durand/

http://www.thechildrensbookreview.com/weblog/2013/10/hallie-durand-discusses-the-creative-process-for-mitchell-goes-bowling.html

http://susanheim.blogspot.com/

http://www.iabowling.com/

http://sharpread.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/10-minute-review-mitchell-goes-bowling/

http://www.justalittlecreativity.com/2013/10/mitchell-goes-bowling-by-hallie-durand.html

http://www.novalibrarymom.com/

http://www.astheygrowup.com/2013/10/mitchell-goes-bowling-book-review.html

http://www.kidlitfrenzy.com/2013/10/mitchell-goes-bowling-blog-tour-and.html

There were lots of book giveaways too, and this is my favorite fan letter ever!

It’s from “Laura J” via Susan Heim’s Parenting blog:

“OH my gosh . . . we received our book so quickly and it is Carter’s FAVORITE book!  We read it the first night . . . and he LOVED it.  Now I have to read it two times every night!  It is such a cute book and for little Carter who lives at the bowling alley . . . oh he LOVES it so much!   He is so nuts about bowling . . . basically everything turns into a bowling pin around our home.  Right now, he has all the chapsticks lined up and they are bowling pins!  LOL . . so funny!  Oh I cannot thank you enough for reviewing this book so I knew it was out there.  So glad I won!  It will be a favorite of ours for a long time!!!!!” 

It was the chapstick line that got me—I guess that’s my favorite kind of playing too, look around and make stuff happen, the idea that any household object can be “anything!”  It reminds me of blanket houses and pillow forts—and the tv show my sister used to host, in front of a tv that wasn’t even turned on—her reflection was enough for her to run her own talk show, with me as the guest named Tweet-zer.  Carter is so cool and he’s so lucky—he is never going to be bored because he knows how to use his imagination.

And that’s what writing does for me, it makes me pay attention to my imagination, which is also my best friend. When my imagination is carefully tended, I feel like I can do anything!

PS:  These “bowling pets” have nothing to do with this blog—I was digging around in the basement and I came across them—aren’t they the cutest?

A friend of mine was reading my brand-new picture book, Mitchell Goes Bowling,yesterday.  She looked up halfway through and asked me what my average was.  “80,” I said.  I could kind of tell she was horrified, even though she tried to be diplomatic.  It turns out that she’s a serious bowler.  She and her husband go on Sunday mornings in the winter, when there’s a discount.  They have their own bowling shoes and balls.  My family and I aren’t serious bowlers, but we are bowlers, nevertheless.  We go on rainy weekend days just for fun, for the satisfaction of throwing the ball down the lane, watching it ricochet from bumper guard to bumper guard, and the once-in-a-great-while STRIKE.   We go for the mozzarella sticks and the pizza too.  Sometimes we even go on sunny days.

I guess we just like the lanes. Typing names in the scoreboards, watching the pins go down (or not), the thrill of a strike, stomping around when no pins go down.  That’s why I wanted to make this book, because we love the lanes, even though I stink at the game.

I loved learning about the mechanics, too.  It was Larry at Hanover Lanes in NJ who gave me my tour.  He showed me the machine that “dresses” the lanes—the dressing is that shiny oil coat that makes the balls move fast.  (The same dressing Mitchell wipes out on in the book.)  Larry showed me the “ball elevator,” which is the coolest elevator I’ve ever seen, and the “pinwheel” that dumps the balls into the elevator.   I even got to see how the “driller” works—that’s the machine that drills the holes in the balls.  Larry told me how often the grown-up bowlers next to the kid bowlers ask for a new lane (I had to use that!).  Those guys at Hanover Lanes on Route 10 are swell.

My collaborator, Tony Fucile, also loves to bowl.  It was his daughter Eleanor who inspired the scene where Mitchell prays for a strike.  And the hand-drier gag came straight from Tony too.  I can’t imagine any artist drawing a cooler Dad and son and their steamin’ hot potato dance more perfectly than Tony—his art makes me laugh every single time I read the book.  I love working with him.

And Mitchell’s not the only one who likes to knock things down.  There are seventy million bowlers in America of all shapes and sizes—I sure hope Mitchell Goes Bowling inspires bowlers everywhere to bust a move . . .  Battle on!

And PS:  If you aren’t yet a bowler, have no fear:  October is National Learn to Bowl Month!

And PPS:  here’s an interview I did on the Go Bowling show recently:  lots of fun!  http://www.gobowlingshow.com/listen/100213_lgb.mp3

I was fired from piano lessons at age 7.  I may not have been a gifted pianist, but I was compared (unfavorably) to my older sister, who was 10 and clearly had more talent.  The piano teacher felt it was wasteful for my parents to spend money on piano lessons for me.  This would not prove to be my last rejection, but it was one that hit me in the heart.

And so several decades later, when we moved to Maplewood, I set about buying a piano, because we had room for one, and because I wanted to play one.  I went to the Lincoln Center sale in New York City, and I chose a beautiful black Kawai piano, not only did it sound gorgeous, but there was a red stripe against the black wood, just behind the white keys, a very thin red stripe, which pleased me enormously.  That may not have been the best reason to purchase the piano, but I am a visual person, and I just loved the way that piano looked.  And I started lessons again.  I’d like to say that I became a glorious player, but that would be fiction, and this blog is real.

But . . . the wonderful piano with the red stripe is played everyday now!  And it is very happy.  My two daughters, one fourteen and one ten, have been playing for years . . . and the music that fills our house is out of this world.  In part, I have my husband to thank—because he was a stay-at-home dad for seven years, and instead of keeping the house clean and tidy, he taught himself seven musical instruments, including piano, and he practiced with our girls every day.  (Among his other instruments are ukulele, which you can even take to the beach, piccolo, mandolin, accordion, guitar, and violin.)  His love of music became part of the house, and it’s no surprise that the girls fell in love with music too.

And our teacher, Pam Viscardo, who has been coming to play piano with us for six years, played a major role.  Pam says that children are what we tell them they are, and she has always told the girls how fabulously they play.  And they do.

khachaturian

It’s enough for me to hear the joy of the piano—once in a great while I play a few songs, but knowing how much that big triumphant percussion instrument has given my family makes me incredibly happy.  My red-striped friend, who sits in the living room, has a generous spirit, and I adore her.  The video above features one of my daughters, making a piano stand up and walk!  Sometimes, when met with rejection, we overcome it by watching  someone we love succeed.  That’s more than the case with my two pianists (well, three, actually, including my husband).

PLAY ON!