(exactly what all readerly/writerly girls look like, in case you’ve ever wondered)

THIS MONDAY!!!!  I’ll be speaking alongside a bunch of fabulous women, at the New York debut of WILLA: Women in Letters and Literary Arts. About the “state of the genres.” I’ll also be reading for about 13 seconds…

You should really come! If you don’t have the five dollars I will loan it to you.  Really, it’s going to be great.  Challenging and smart and racy and loud and new.

Here: Details: Which I stole from Amy King!

Riggio Forum: Women in Letters and Literary Arts

Monday, March 1, 2010 @ 6:30 p.m.
Alvin Johnson/J. M. Kaplan Hall, 66 West 12th Street — Room 510 New York, NY

WILLA (Women in Letters and Literary Arts) presents readings along with a panel discussion on the state of women’s literature today. Participants, all of whom are integrally involved in the organization, include poets Cate Marvin and Erin Belieu, co-directors of WILLA; poets Anne Townsend, Amy King, and Natalie Bryant Rizzieri; creative nonfiction writer Barrie Jean Borich; children’s authors Laurel Snyder and Kekla Magoon; and fiction writer Susan Steinberg.

Poet and New School Writing Program faculty member Mark Bibbins moderates.

Sponsored by the New School Writing Program.

By TwitterButtons.com

Probably you should do what that cute little bird says!

I can post pictures again! YAY!  So here you go, Mom… Lucy and the boys!

Introducing PENNY DREADFUL! Coming to a bookstore or library near you in fall, 2010.

About a bookish little girl who moves from “The City” to a little palce called “Thrush Junction, TN.”

Which is NOT Chattanooga. No, definitely not.

AND…

Baxter, also coming in fall, 2010. About a little dude who only wants to “be part of Shabbat dinner.”

And is baffled by the world, until he meets up with the lovely Rabbi Rosen.

I am feeling very very very lucky to have worked with Abigail Halpin and David Goldin on these books.  VERY LUCKY!

Gearing up for a slew of spring travel. I’ll be in Los Angeles, and Seaside, FL, and NYC, and Baltimore and DC.  Also Charlotte and Asheville.

And somewhere in all of that madness, if my husband finds a new job, we might be moving.

To wherever that job happens to be…  whatever it is.  ACK!

So of course it only seemed very sensible to GET A DOG!  Because we needed more mess and trouble.

So now we have Lucy (though I can’t figure out how to post a picture of her, because Wordpress won’t let me)

I can’t find an image link for him yet, so you’ll have to actually visit the site to see.

I love him. I LOVE him. David Goldin did NOT pluck him right out of my brain.  He went somewhere way better!

Ain’t he adorable? (or “adububble” as Lew might say)

But they are all out of print, I think.

So I wondered what it would take to harass the right people, see if we could maybe bring them back.  Do you think it might be possible?

Let’s start with  A Candle in Her Room. Remember Dido?  I still shiver when I think of her.

I have no idea how to go about this. Arthur died in 1979.  I don’t know who controls her estate, or even if Macmillan was the last edition.  (on Worldcat it looks like this is the last edition) But it seems crazy to me that a dark weird magical novel like this is out of print. I’m pretty sure it would sell.

Wouldn’t it?

Anyone have any ideas on where to begin? Or know anything?  Since as I’ve already admitted, I haven’t the first clue.

But I’m superexcited.  I’ve never been blurbed before, and I just found out that…

Penny Dreadful is being blurbed by Rebecca Stead and Jennifer Holm!

AND

Baxter, the Pig Who Wanted to Be Kosher is being blurbed by Lemony Snicket!!!

Des that make you want to add them to your Goodreads list? Does it? Huh? Huh?

(in other news, it is cold and gray and Lew refuses to potty-train and my house is still a mess. BUT SO WHAT!)

Today, I’m thrilled to be part of the Sydney Taylor Book Award Blog Tour.  Joining me is Elka Weber, author of the THE YANKEE AT THE SEDER, which was published by (my own darling) Tricycle, and is an Honor Award Winner for 2010.

Everyone… welcome Elka, and enjoy the interview…

Hey, Elka! Lovely to have you here, and huge congrats on your honor!  To begin with, I wonder if you can tell us how/why you struck upon the idea for this book. I think you grew up in Canada, right? Why’d you choose  the American Civil War as the backdrop for a Passover story?

Thanks, great to have landed in such a lovely part of cyberspace.

The idea for The Yankee at the Seder had actually been buzzing around in my head for about thirty years. I did grow up in Montreal, Canada, but my father, who was a rabbi, was originally from the US. One year at the Seder he told us the small true story that is the historical basis for The Yankee at the Seder. I remember thinking, Boy, that must have been an awkward meal. The book grew from there.

In any case, the American Civil War is a perfect setting for a Passover story. People at the time regularly used the imagery of the enslavement of the Jewish people in Egypt when they talked politics. The Passover story is THE story of slavery and redemption.

For American Jews celebrating Passover, looking back to the Civil War makes perfect sense. In every generation, we are supposed to imagine that we ourselves were liberated from Egypt. Not that easy, is it?  Just close your eyes and think “slavery”. For most of us, the first image that comes to mind is not ancient Egypt but the antebellum south. So I wanted to use that connection to understand the Passover story and make it real.

Not unrelated, as an author and a mom, I have particular interest in books that help us expand– as yours does–our idea of “Jewish books for kids”, and our understanding of “The Jewish Experience” more generally.  I wonder what a “Jewish story” was growing up at your house? And what a “Jewish story” is like for your own kids?

I think there are two kinds of Jewish stories. One is the overtly Jewish story – like Yankee at the Seder – that has Jewish themes and Jewish characters. Every year, more and more quality Jewish books are published (a shout out to all the other Sidney Taylor winners and to Baxter!), and I think it’s amazing to be a part of that trend. But I think it’s a mistake to restrict our understanding of a “Jewish story” to those books that deal with Jewish themes.

There is definitely another kind of Jewish story, and that’s just good literature. The Jewishness there isn’t in the content of the book. It’s in the mindset of the reader. Every time you open a book, you bring your values and experiences to what you read. Children who’ve been exposed to Jewish values naturally approach literature through a Jewish lens.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a house filled with good books, and I’ve tried to do the same for my children. I’ve got five of them, ranging in age from 9 to 18, so I’ve done my share of reading aloud and buying kids’ books. And I think over the years I’ve come to see that the classics endure because they speak to children’s better natures.

Charlotte’s Web is about fighting for life in the face of adversity. Alice in Wonderland is about self-awareness. The Magic Tollbooth is about not letting the little stuff get in the way of living. Goodnight Moon is about love and security. The Harry Potter books are about finding your own strength and standing up for goodness in a complicated world. These are values that shape a Jewish life.

Wow. Good answer.

Now, I’d love to know how you felt about the art in the book, as you watched it take shape. Did it match up to the images in your head? If not, how was it different?

I consider myself really lucky to have worked with Adam Gustavson. Tricycle Press did a great bit of matchmaking in pairing my words with his illustrations. Here’s how I know: as I wrote the book I had absolutely no idea what the narrator would look like. Then I got Adam’s illustrations and said, “Yup, that’s Jacob.” I recognized him without even knowing why.

Adam’s illustrations actually made the book better than the one I wrote. The Yankee at the Seder is about seeing the world from a different point of view, and Adam managed to express that by painting from unexpected perspectives.

Adam’s also a stickler for historical accuracy (and you have to be when you’re dealing with the Civil War because there are an awful lot of Civil War buffs out there). He bought period clothing to see how it would look on a character. The pattern on the rug in the hall is authentic. There is nothing in the book that couldn’t be found in Virginia in 1865. Even the readers who don’t pay much attention to historical accuracy will tell you there’s a sort of magical quality to the illustrations. It’s because they transport you to a different time.

(I do think the book can stand on its own without illustrations. In fact, I’m really gratified to know that it’s just been rendered into Braille.)

Braille!

I’m excited about all the new things happening in Jewish kidlit right now. I wonder if– as part of that trend– you you’d be willing to share a few ideas for things you’re working on, or works in progress. What’s the wackiest Jewish pickture book you can imagine wanting to write?  They book you’d liketo write, but have a hard time imagining anyone would publish?

As you say, this is an exciting time in Jewish kidlit. The Jewish community in the US has always been diverse, but we’ve gotten better at reflecting that reality. Children’s literature in general grows more sophisticated and Jewish literature is part of that larger trend. I just hope we don’t get too sophisticated to have fun.

My next book (One Little Chicken, June 2011) is a retelling of a story in the Talmud, but with a slight twist. It’s about a rabbi who was so committed to returning a lost chicken that he sells the eggs, invests the proceeds and ends up with a houseful of animals before the original owner shows up to claim his one little chicken.  In my telling, the story gets a little antic toward the end.

The wackiest Jewish picture book I’d love to write would be What Do You Mean, You Don’t Want Seconds? starring feisty Jewish grandmothers from different times and places defending their traditional cooking. Naturally, it would be narrated by a piece of gefilte fish and end up in an all-out food fight at the central bus station in Jerusalem.

I am also writing for adults. I’ve finished a book about the last voyage of Henry Hudson. His men mutinied and set him adrift in the Arctic in 1611 and he was never heard from again. There’s nothing explicitly Jewish in the book but the question of what drives good men to evil deeds is most definitely a religious issue.

I was really impressed with the end of Yankee at the Seder. I was surprised and delighted at your ability to resist a pat ending.  I wondered if you could talk about that choice. Did it just come out that way? Or did you work to end it in a slightly unresolved manner?

Some stories don’t lend themselves to pat endings.

The Civil War left hundreds of thousands dead and devastated the South. The resentment didn’t go away overnight just because the war ended. Ask any southerner.

It’s wonderful when people try to bond over what they’ve got in common, but it doesn’t mean they’re going to agree about everything. I’m living with my family in Israel this year, so all I have to do is look around the neighborhood to realize that some issues are too big to get resolved by sitting down to a meal together.

I also know, as a mother and as a writer, that you don’t do children any favors by ignoring the complexities in this world. What helps is discussing them in a safe and loving way. In Yankee at the Seder, the narrator Jacob is ten years old. He’s just old enough to notice that not all the grownups in his life see the world in the same way. After all, here on his doorstep is a Jew who fought for the Yankees! Jacob’s mother invited the Union soldier into their house; his father might not have done the same. That’s an unsettling realization but it paves the way for a very important step. Soon Jacob will be able to interpret events on his own, and sometimes his conclusions will be different from those of his parents. That’s called growing up, and it’s kind of complicated.

So the short answer is – yes, I wanted to be as honest as I could and I wanted to leave room for everyone in the story to move on. My favorite books are the ones that leave me wondering what’s next for the characters.

Elka, I can’t tell you how interesting and real and honest this has been for me as an interviewer. Thanks so much!

And CONGRATS!

Mrs. Piggle Wigggle sipped her glass of chardonnay. She stared through her upside down window, and out into the empty street beyond.  Then she glanced at the clock over the mantle.   Only 3:16?

Well, she figured, surely it’s five oclock somewhere…

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle  polished off the glass and reached for the bottle with a sigh.  It had been a good ten years since anyone—any lonely kids or harried parents—had come knocking at her door. So really, what difference could it possibly make if she had one more teensy tiny glass?

Next morning, still wearing her daytime apron and one lonely little black highheeled shoe, her hair a fright, she sat up from the hearthrug where she’d spent the night, and remembered.   With a groan she sat up and massaged her temples.  “Oh, my!” she said.  “Oooch!”

Then, being an efficient sort of woman, she showered, changed her clothes, put the kettle on, brewed herself a cup of strong tea, and reached into her spice cupboard for an old yellowed packet that read, “The naughty-mommy tipsy-topsy cure.”

She shook the silvery lilac powder into her mug and took a deep gulp of the elixir. Then, as the pain in her head began to subside, as  the world jumped into focus, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle resolved to fix things.     She resolved to take the bull by the horns!  She decided that today, she would do something she had never done before.  She would make some calls.

Right after she took a bubble  bath, and maybe a little nap.

**

That afternoon, refreshed and renewed, in a nice clean apron, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle picked up the phone to call some of her old regulars.

“Hello?”  she said  on her first try.  “Mrs. Harroway? This is Mrs. Piggle Wiggle!”

“Mrs. Piggle Wiggle!” cried Mrs. Harroway.  “How lovely to hear from you. It’s been years, dahling—simply years!”

“Yes, well,” said Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.  “That’s what I’m calling about.  “You see, business has been rather slow over here, and I wondered if you might have any problems to be solved? Any interrupters? Any dawdlers? Any issues I could help you with”

Mrs. Harroway laughed.  “Goodness, no!” she said.  “Of course, Fetlock is all grown up now, so we’re done worrying about him.  And Bloom, his little girl, has never given us the littlest bit of trouble.”

“No trouble at all?” asked Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, puzzled.  What child on earth, she wondered, has never been a bit of trouble?

“Not one whit,” tittered Mrs. Harroway.  “When she started biting her nails, Fetlock just took her to the doctor and he prescribed a lovely medication that made her into a perfect doll. We’ve never had a problem since! She’s so good. Extremely docile. Like nothing you’ve seen.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.   “Oh.”

“You know, though,” added Mrs. Harroway, “Now that I think about it, you might call my neighbor, Mrs. Muskrat!  Her son Chard is a holy  terror He’s been kicked out of four schools. For biting! And language!”

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle perked right up when she heard that.  “Oh, thank you,” she said.  “The information is much appreciated. I’ll call her right away!”

But when she did, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. She’d never cold-called a customer before.  She’d never had to.

“Hello?” she tried. “Mrs. Muskrat?  This is Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.  I heard that you might have a problem I could help you with?”

“A problem?” said the tired-sounding woman.   “Are you an exterminator? A landscaper?  Has the yard grown too high? What exactly do you mean by problem?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, trying to be tactful. “You see, I specialize in helping children with their more, ahh, difficult traits.  Their more challenging aspects…”

“Why on earth would I need help with my children?” asked Mrs. Muskrat. She sounded as  baffled as she sounded worn-down.

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle wasn’t quite sure how best to proceed.  “Well. I, ahh, I heard that your son has had some  recent trouble. In school?”

“Oh that,” said Mrs. Muskrat with a sigh.  “People just don’t understand my little Chard.  He’s got a ton of creative energy. He’s not an in-the-box thinker.  He’s a real boy, and schools can be so closedminded, don’t you think? The other children can be so oversensitive!  And people can be so limiting with their silly personal boundaries.”

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but it didn’t matter, because just as she opened her mouth to speak, she heard a terrible noise through the phone—a sound of screaming, followed by a loud bang.

“I should be going,” said Mrs. Muskrat breathlessly, moments before slamming down the phone.

And one by one, call after call, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle hit dead ends.

Mrs. Coffeecake said that her twins, Tippy and Tappy, had been diagnosed by an expert for their sensitivity to certain colors, and she didn’t think a babysitter like Mrs. Piggle Wiggle should meddle, in case her methods weren’t the same as those of the esteemed medical professional.

Mrs. Macaroon said that her son, Marmite, had indeed a recent incident with a knife, but it wasn’t really his fault, because he was a Capricorn, and anyway that they were addressing that problem with a dietary regimen that required he not leave the house.

Mrs. Ballbearing informed Mrs. Piggle Wiggle  that her daughter, Josiepie, had been dealing with some self-esteem issues last year, but that they’d fixed the problem easily.

“Really? How?” asked Mirs. Piggle Wiggle.

“It was the simplest thing!” chortled Mrs. Ballbearing.  “We discovered that as long as we don’t ask Josiepie to do anything she doesn’t already do well, she’s as confident as anyone! Provided, of course, that she remains surrounded only by family and close reliable friends and there are no loud noises.”

And so it was at every house she called.  Plenty of children were gifted and special, requiring special tutoring and extracurricular classes.   Other children had very  specific medical diagnoses that required trained professionals and medications.  But most of the parents she spoke with swore up and down that their own children were quite perfect, though sometimes misunderstood by the world at large, on account of their delightful quirks and intense personalities.  With each call, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle grew more frustrated.  It seemed that bad behavior had simply disappeared.

On her seventeenth and final call, Mrs. Piggle at last cried out in frustration, “But Mrs. Sassafras, surely there’s something that could be improved about your little Sunshine!  Perhaps I could help her work on a small thing like her table manners?”

To which Mrs. Sassafras responded in a condescending tone, “Oh, Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. We do not embrace the idea of table manners in our house.  This is an important part of our parenting philosophy.”  Then she hung up.

Parenting philosophies?  Mrs. Piggle Wiggle knew she was in over her head. So she sadly hung the old rotary phone in its cradle, crossed the room, rooted through Mr. Piggle Wiggle’s old sea chest, and  emerged with what appeared to be a pack of cigarettes in her hand.  Then she stepped out onto the porch and sat down in an old wicker chair.  She drew out what looked like an ordinary cigarette, struck a match, and inhaled deeply, staring up at the sky.

But then, she heard a voice.  A teeny tiny voice, coming from the tree above her porch roof.

“Jeex! You shouldn’t smoke cigarettes,” said the voice.  “They will kill you dead.”  A moment later, a small girl climbed down from the tree.”

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle blew a smoke ring.  “They aren’t cigarettes,” said Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, holding up the pack.  “They’re prescribed. See!”

The girl walked over towards the porch and peered curiously at the pack, which read, “Relaxo-sticks: In case of absolute-despair-itis.”

“They look ‘zactly like cigarettes to me,” said the girl, squinting at Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.  “I think you’re just taking something you don’t like to fess up to, and renaming it, to make yourself feel better.”

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle laughed and drew on her Relaxo-stick again.   “Smart kid,” she said, adding, “Who are you, and where did you come from?”

“I’m Jenny,” said the girl. “I ran away from home. My parents suck.”

“I don’t doubt it, my dear,” said Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.  “I do not doubt it one bit.   She stubbed out her Relaxo-stick, and stood up.  “I don’t suppose, Jenny, you’d like to join me for a tea party? With cookies?”

“I’m not supposed to drink tea,” said Jenny, shaking her head and disappointing Mrs. Piggle Wiggle to no end.  “Or eat sugar.”  But then she added, “However, I’m also not supposed to talk to strangers, and I’m already doing that, so sure! Why not? What the hell!”

Mrs. Piggle Wiggle opened the door and ushered Jenny inside, not even bothering to correct the child’s foul language.  Times had changed. Her day was done. And anyway, she’d probably be arrested if she gave the child a dose of “cuss-be-gone” or even a stern talking-to.

But more than that, she found that she didn’t want to fix Jenny. Not at all.  Jenny might well be the only plain-old-badly-behaved child  left in the world.  The final inheritor of a grand old tradition.   The last of a dying breed.

It was enough—just to have her to tea.