Betsy Bird shout out?

I'm a kid's book nerd. Did you know that? Yeah, I like writing. A lot.

Love to read about kid's book writing stuff, love to talk about it, love to roll around in manuscript pages (right Jolie?).

So, when none other than the great Elizabeth Bird of School Library Journal's A Fuse #8 Production, gives me a shout out...

My little kid-book-loving heart melts. Because I'm a big nerdy fan.

Now if you're Martha Brockenbrough, this is old hat. Just another day at the office. But if you're still-pretty-new blogger Benjamin Watson, you get dang excited. And she likes my blog name.

The post she was linking to was Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues, where I recount my sordid past as a children's book model.

Please go check out Betsy's post. And thank you so much for reading my blog. I do sure enjoy this. And also appreciated all the nice comments about this post when I first published it.

I'm headed today to the Secret Garden Books in Ballard (seattle) to do a reading with my dad for The Boy Who Went Ape, so I'd love to see you if you're in the area. I'm going to be gone for a few days too, and since my pictures are on my computer here, I may not be able to do my posts. But there may be a way around that, we'll see.

Country mouse visits the nuclear reactor Part Three

Did I mention that I'm a huge fan of this conference? Just to catch anyone up who's missed the previous posts, that would be the 10th annual Northwest Children's Book Conference at Reed College in Portland, Oregon.

My first time at this conference, when it was at Lewis and Clark College, the dorm crew were wild. We stayed up late every night, played poker, had a rowdy critique group, and finished it off with a party to remember. We even got Marla Frazee to attend because it was the happening place. (there's marla on the right with that Caldecott Honor award glow, more to come on that)

My second time attending, the dorm folks were ghosts and disappeared after dinner. Meanwhile, the faculty were living it up downstairs and every night I could hear them howling and having a great time. This year I was determined that wouldn't happen again.

So, right away we had a meeting in the hallway where we agreed that we'd hang out in the lounges at night and make some noise. And noise we did make. There were only me and two other guys who were staying at the dorm. We became known as the Dead End Gang. But eventually, the whole upstairs joined.

This is Del.

Illustrator, writer, crazy son of a... gun. Del looks like a mild mannered gent but he's not. He's originally from Alaska, which should tell you something. Every day Del had a shirt that got people talking. Del has had more adventures in life than you would believe. In fact, we grilled him to make sure he wasn't full of it. He has a scar on his cheek from a disagreement with three knife-wielding Moroccans. Pretty good chance Del will end up as a character in a story one day. He was the one who coined us the Dead End Gang. One last bit about Del, he shared a surprisingly touching piece of writing about his love affair with a bridge that fascinated him.

Del's bridge.

Two of the original Dead End Gang. The character on the right is Rich, a fine writer with a heart for rivers. Rich lives RIGHT on the border of Glacier National park in Montana, where he teaches and co-owns a river rafting company with his wife. Rich actually gets bears hanging out in his yard. I was the boring one in this gang.

Is it time to bring out the big guns? I'd say so.

BONNY BECKER!

Yes, Bonny Becker, you know, New York Times Bestseller, this year's Golden Kite Award Winner, EB White Read Aloud Award, all for her brilliant picture book, Visitor For Bear, superbly illustrated by Kady MacDonald Denton. Have you heard my Visitor For Bear rant yet? What a masterpiece. If you haven't heard it, I'll save it for later. But the longshot is that as a picture book writer, I am extremely jealous of how skillfully crafted Visitor For Bear is. Seamless. Brilliant. You just don't know how difficult it is to write a picture book until you've tried. I study her book. Really, I do.

Bonny gave an amazing talk on Story Structure. The funny thing was that we were in the chemistry building, yeah THE ONE WITH THE NUCLEAR REACTOR! Anyways, I couldn't resist asking Bonny to show us how she concocts a story. She's a really good sport. Did I mention that?

And really cool and totally approachable. I've already referred back to my story structure notes many times. One day I walked back from a meal or class with Bonny and told her how solid Visitor For Bear is. I gave her my whole rant and told her that I believed that book is one of the most solid contemporary story structures I've read. It just is. She was very humble but gave me a ton of great insight, including how she would actually copy, or type, stories that she really admired. Just to get the feel and rhythm of it. Great advice. Bonny has written many other books, including novels, and I am going to eventually try to read every one. Big geeky fan.

Don't believe me about the nuclear reactor? Here's proof. In the lobby of the chemistry building. Thought those showers seemed hot.

Am happy to report that besides now being sterile and losing my sense of smell, and thus taste, there have been no real lasting side-effects.

Here's the clever, witty genius, Susan Blackaby, getting pitched a story on the way to eat by some newbie. Just kidding. Suz is a good friend of mine, who, with her husband, used to be a writer for THE Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion. Susan's new book, Cleopatra, Egypt's Last and Greatest Queen, is out and excellent. Suz has published only about a billion books to date and is one of the more prolific and hard-working writers I know. And FUNNY. So is your hubby.

Who doesn't know of the elegant, wonderful Ann Whitford Paul? Ann is such an incredible writer and teacher/speaker. Whew. Years ago, I attender her talk on Picture Books that blew my mind. Lucky for all of us, Ann has a book on writing out, called, Writing Picture Books, A Hands-On Guide From Story Creation to Publication. This is published by the Writer's Digest Books, known for some incredible books on writing, including Characters and Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card.

If you write picture books, I highly recommend Ann's book. Ann has published many books and is a very generous writer who is so encouraging to us "newbies." Above is Ann, with some new "pupils" and nice writers.

David Gifaldi! Yeah that's right, HIM. I had the incredible honor to be in David's small critique group. He and the group were really insightful. I love getting a chance to read other writer's work in projects and hear about their process. Our group was really talented and impressed the socks off me. David is a writer, school teacher and on the faculty of the MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adult Program at Vermont College.

Here's David cracking up Illustrator Elsa Warnick.

And David sharing a new piece of work at the Faculty readings.

I just finished David's Listening For Crickets. What an amazing writer. Really talented.

Linda Urban is AWESOME. This is my first time meeting her and I love her already. Hilarious, smart, and a great writer. I'm in the middle of her new book, A Crooked Kind of Perfect. Linda gave two great talks, one on dialogue and the other on battling perfectionism and finding your story's spine.

Her talk on the story's spine and perfectionism absolutely coincided with other excellent advice I got from none other than Arthur Levine and just hit a chord with my own struggles with writing a novel. Inspiring, enlightening, I am very grateful I got to hear Linda's talk. Man.

The beautiful, the delightful, Susan Goldman Rubin. What a babe!

I love Susan. She has always loved art and that passion and her talent for writing merged into a wonderful career as an author. Susan's groovy non-fiction approach is incredibly addictive. I don't particularly want to write non-fiction, but after a dose of Susan I sure do. She has done some amazing books about many artists, in a way that is really fun and interesting. She is the Sherlock Holmes of research and once she gets on a scent, she is tenacious. Such a spunky nice writer.

I'm sorry this is so long. I'm trying to figure out how to cram a life-changing week into a few blogs, but this deserves some length. But I'm gonna wrap it up here, and immediately start on the concluding two posts. Congratulations if you've made it this far!

Country mouse visits the nuclear reactor Part Deuce

<-- dad taking a picture of me as hundreds of thousands of tons of angry metal whiz past me from behind. do I look nervous?


I believe I left you last, breathlessly wondering if there is any more to my trip than a ferry and car ride. In other words, get on with the bloody story already. "Come Watson, the game is afoot." (sidenote, Sherlock Holmes movie previews)

Early the next morning, I awoke on American soil to a surprise visit from my baby nephew. All my morning travel preparation plans went right out the window and we had some too-rare Uncle Ben time. Nothing better. (grandpa's post with nephew cameo)

Dad drove me to the train station in Tacoma (about an hour and a half drive) so of course we talked about writing and books the whole way.

Author, illustrator brainstorm session at the Tacoma train station.

Dad clearly violating the stay behind the yellow line rule. That's actually a rule I believe in.

I haven't been on a longer train ride since I was in seventh grade and my family went to the middle east and Europe. And I was really looking forward to it.

The train goes from Tacoma, down right along the Puget Sound, then heads straight down to Vancouver, WA and then Portland. Beautiful scenery.

This isn't the Puget Sound, this is some lake on the left side of the train.

No, this is the Puget Sound. Which, I might add, isn't too far from where all you lucky writer dogs get to have your WWA SCBWI Retreat on the Water with Cheryl Klein, Jolie Stekly and company.

Did you guys know that you can write on a train? Yeah. Imagine that. What a cool way to travel. Very romantic and gives you an extra boost of inspiration. I think I even found my muse on the train, albeit briefly. Or it could have been a ghost.

World's biggest egg, apparently. They made a big deal about it on the train but it was disappointing. A concrete egg they painted white. I told my dad about it later and he very meanly suggested that someone should build a bigger one, just to mess with them. He was joking, but you can see where I get it from.

And at last, with great excitement, I arrived in Portland, Oregon. Home of Powells City of Books, Jim De Bartolo and Laini Taylor as well as a whole HOST of talented writers/illustrators, and a joint everyone raves about called Voodoo Donuts. This city has so much culture but it still maintains a small-town kinda feel. There are so many old, craftsman-style, Green and Green influenced homes. And relatively affordable too, at least compared to Seattle and Victoria. Small wonder it is on the top of Amy and I's places to live list. Pretty incredible hospitals too.

The train was late, which I hear isn't rare, and we had to wait a while for our luggage. So, with a stuffed backpack, HUGE wheeled suitcase and my itinerary I nervously walked to the bus stop a number of blocks away. I'm not a savvy bus traveler. At all. And my perfectly planned itinerary my wife had for me was now obsolete. Little nervous.

My bus stop was across from a pretty seedy apartment/hotel, where the owner was outside talking pretty loudly about how the SWAT had just left over some incident and that he was going to be on the news. Great.

When a bus did come, the very kind bus driver talked to me the whole drive, telling me about his wife and his trip to Victoria and where I needed to go next, then wished me luck at my conference. At the next stop, a lady with two wild-as-hell boys, helped me figure out the rest of my journey from there. We had about forty-five minutes to wait for the bus, but I was kept entertained. I was really grateful. Real nervous, I asked her if her boys read and she said they loved to. So I gave her my book about a wild-as-hell boy on a class field trip as a thank you. The bus came right after and then one of the boys came up and asked me to sign it. Then for half the bus ride I could hear her reading my story, loud enough for the whole bus to hear (who were now staring at me), to her wild-wonderful boys. Very surreal, pretty special experience for me.

The next stop was Reed College. And my amazing writing conference.

And a nuclear reactor and other stuff. I'm actually gonna try to get another post about this again today since tomorrow I'm heading to Seattle for book signing/reading thing.

I DUB THEE...

We take a short intermission from your thrilling conference adventure to bring you another Saturday (Fine, Early Sunday AM) evening dub.

You didn't think I'd forget did you?

It is Saturday and that means it's time for a dubbing. But first, here's a second shameless photo op of my puppy (if I can still call him that), Linus.

Anyone sensing a theme here? No, not cute golden retrievers. Water. Specifically underwater.

Which brings me to today's dubbee, Corey Schwartz, all the way from the right side of the map,

also know as the right coast, or New Jersey. Corey is an excellent writer, all-star mom, wife, professional bloggarista (Thing One and Thing Two), and scuba diver who travels to exotic places like the Cayman Islands to explore underwater worlds.

Corey wanted to be dubbed as the Scuba Goddess, but that was already taken after Jaime T's bathtub expedition she led last month where she opened her golden egg underwater and heard the mermaids sing the next clue to the Tri Wizard Cup. Sorry where was I?

Yes, as the Scuba Goddess was taken by Cocoa Stomp, we've tried here at, I, uh, think I killed my muse, to come up with the next best dub.

So, without further ado, with all late-night seriousness and white-wine induced logic, without shame or regret, wholly lacking taste or discretion, in all official nerdiness and due process, and with the authority invested in me by the former grammatically-challenged Governor of Alaska,

DO DUB THEE...

A Fish Called Wanda.

Just kidding, just seeing if you've all hung with me so far,

DO OFFICIALLY DUB THEE...

THE JOYSIE SHORE MERMAID LAUREATE

Congratulations.

Live long and avoid fish nets.

"Baby it's betta', down where it's wetta', take it from me..."

- Sebastian the Crab

Country mouse visits the nuclear reactor Part One

Home. Where Amy, Linus and I live. When my wonderful nieces visit, they call the Legislature building the fairy castle. Especially because in the evenings (at least in the winter) it is covered with white Christmas lights. This is part of Victoria's inner harbor.

About a week ago I got back from an amazing week-long journey. My brain has been so completely full and my body so tired, that I haven't yet had the courage to write about it yet. What an adventure.

My destination was the 10th anniversary Northwest Children's Book Conference at Reed College in Portland, Oregon. I've attended twice before and both times made a huge impact on me as a writer. Linda Zuckerman is the conference director and for ten years she has conducted this incredible labor of love. The talent of the faculty, both as professionals in the children's book industry and as teachers, is par with any writing conference out there.

As I've mentioned before, the other incredible aspect of this conference is that you get to "live" for five days with the faculty, sharing meals with them, attending presentations, critique groups, and joining them for stunning walks around the beautiful campus. As well as pajama parties and pillow fights. David Gifaldi has a wicked right hand feathered wollop, I know that from experience. Well, maybe I made that last bit up, but they sure SHOULD have pj parties and pillow fights. Who wouldn't want Ann Whitford Paul to tuck them in and read them a lullaby to fall asleep too?

But, I'm getting way ahead of myself. Because the proper telling of my adventure starts right here in Victoria, British Columbia.

I hate to pack. I'm allergic to it. I despise it. Abhor. Am prejudiced against it. Scared of it.

I'm also a worrier. Nice to meet you. Before trips like this I spend many sleepless nights worrying over everything, especially packing. My other issue is that I'm a dilly-dallier, according to Amy. She also just informed me I fiddle-fart around. Guilty.

Not Amy. When she gets a "hair up her @$$," she gets things done. Like, NOW. A dirty kitchen can take me weeks to clean, Amy knocks it out in minutes. Like a tornado.

So, when Amy saw me floundering in my packing-induced depression, she stepped in and, lickety-split, had me packed and organized. Packing. Done. She even had my entire journey planned out to the minute and handed me my detailed itinerary, with days to spare. I didn't know what to do with myself.

This is important because I was trying something different. Normally, when I head down to

Portland I drive. But because Amy had to work and had to worry about Linus too, I was attempting this trip sans car. And not being the most independent fellow in the world, was admittedly nervous and excited.

The first stage of my journey, Amy and Linus dropped me off at Victoria's inner harbor, at the Coho Ferry, also known as the Black Ball Ferry

Line.

Me being a big boy. Ready for adventure and wearing my trademarked gap tooth smile.

The Coho ferry crosses the Strait of Juan de Fuca, takes about an hour and a half. It is quite a trip since to the North is Vancouver Island with its stunning mountains. To the South, the Olympic Peninsula crowned by the magnificent Olympic Mountains and the jagged, snow-tipped Hurricane Ridge. West, if you kept going a long ways is the Pacific Ocean. East, the San Juan Islands and Whidbey Island, dwarfed by

Mount Baker and the Cascade Mountains behind. There's usually some kind of mysterious fog, making the Olympic Mountains look like a floating fairy kingdom.

You know you're in Victoria when you see these little water taxis.

And when you see these float planes.

They're called that because they're planes. That float.

And a fishing boat, salmon I think, heading past the jetty toward the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the United States, Washington, Port Townsend, Tacoma, and eventually Portland and Reed College.

My dad picked me up on the other side and drove me to my old home, about an hour away in homey Port Townsend for the night. After stuffing me with an incredible beef dinner, and getting a quick visit with my sister and brother-in-law, beautiful, sweet nieces, and my youngest smiley nephew, I tried to sleep knowing I was just getting started.

Stay tuned for the rest of my trip, including what the heck I'm talking about a nuclear reactor for, another two modes of transportation, and a bunch more stuff that will get other kid's book writers and illustrators all hot and bothered.

G-night. Or good morning when you'll likely be reading this.

Ultimate Tuesday and other biz

Now that I have my blog back in my firm, manly, non-sensitive hands (After my wife Amy's hijacking), it's time to catch up with a little business. Up next I have a bunch of stuff to share about my amazing conference complete with photos. So much, I'll probably steal a page out of Natalie's book at Between Fact and Fiction and do a series of posts.

First of all I wanted to let people know that I'm going to be in Ballard with my dad for the Ultimate Tuesday at Secret Garden Books on the 28th of July. Really excited about this, so any of you Seattle blogosphere pals, I'd love to meet you in person if you get a chance. Also my dad did a pretty cool post about me, that I'm finally now getting around to gratefully sharing. To the right is a drawing he did of me hard at work, or possibly blogging. Notice the mac.

I also had the opportunity to do an interview with Amy Baskin at her awesome kid lit and writer blog, Euphoria. I came within a whisker of meeting Amy in person while I was in Portland, but unfortunately we just couldn't make it happen. Did talk to her on the phone and it's funny when cyberspace personas become real people with voices and faces.

My cyber pal, Angie Ledbetter rewarded me with some blog bling at her hilarious, cool blog, Gumbo Writer. She's from Baton Rouge and if she doesn't make you laugh within two posts, I'll buy you a coffee. And a sense of humor. I'll be doing the official Kreativ Blogger ceremony some day (famous last words) where I nominate my own seven blogs.

Thank you so much Angie. I love your last name. It sounds like you should be a blues guitarist or something. Do you play?

Last thing, check out Holly's alter ego, The Extraordinary Whipped Jones. She also has a new, great SRS revision tip from Janet Lee Carey.

Stay tuned tomorrow for my version of the country mouse visiting the big city. Complete with gang fights, writer brawls, and critique groups. Okay two of those are lies.

News Flash: Blog Hijacked

Someone call the blog fuzz, I’ve hijacked blog personality BJW’s dashboard.

Sigh. Here I sit having just come off another grueling, now infamous, two days, two nights, twelve hour shift set with a feeling that can only be compared to a red wine hangover, minus the fun evening that caused it.

With Benjamin now officially out of the country (at the time of this original writing a week ago) and since he’s so freely featured photos of me at 7 am on the way to work , I’ve decided it’s time for my own debut on the blogosphere, to let you all in on a couple top secret secrets that are soon to not be secrets about beloved Ben. You know, the kinds of secrets privy only to wives.

Disclaimer: Don’t expect the same writing caliber as Ben. Ben is funny when he writes, and, as I always tease him, more funny on paper than he is in person. I, on the other hand, am a goof in person and prone to puns. I’m more accustomed to writing dry, technical, boring papers like I did in nursing school, using fluffy academic words like phenomenological and hegemony and talking about airy fairy things like relational narratives from my Self and Others class.

Though, being an ER nurse, I do have plenty of gross stories that, let’s just say, you wouldn’t want to hear at dinnertime.

So, without further ado, and since it’s easier to ask forgiveness than request permission, consider this post the equivalent of the date where the guy’s mom pulls out naked baby pictures.

Top secret number one, the sad blunt truth: Ben cannot cook. Boiling water is a struggle. Microwaving? Doable. At best. At worst, overwhelmingly confused by which containers are microwave safe. Precise orders a must when anything needs to go from the freezer (God forbid) to the oven for dinner. Timers, bells, whistles and alarms must be set unless you enjoy blackened casserole, grind-your-teeth-to-pegs pizza, or dry-as-a-mud-puddle-in-the-desert enchiladas.

But he tries. Sincerely.

Our first official date, Ben tried to impress with a homemade breakfast one early, Saturday morning in Port Townsend whilst he was house-sitting. Ben went very early to Safeway and bought an entire grocery shelf, enough for ten breakfasts. (Strange, I’ve never known Ben to go overboard.) Crossaints, bear claws, cereal, granola, orange juice and champagne for mimosas, strawberries, bananas, melons, grapes, donuts, milk, cream and whipping cream ( because he heard on special occasions I actually eat my cereal with cream...don’t tell my mother, she didn’t know why she was always out of cream for coffee). But the main attraction, besides, ahem, our attraction for each other, was to be freshly made ham, cheese, bell peppers and mushroom omelletes. Uno problemo: Ben had never cooked an omelette in his life.

As I watched him fumble through preparations, set the frying pan smoking, barely whisking the eggs, unevenly chopping vegetables, and proceeding to place them raw in the omelette, it occurred to me that just maybe, he was in over his head.

So I took over.

And haven’t stopped.

A saving grace, Ben does make a mean mashed potato, heaps and mounds and mountains of mashed potatoes. In fact, when Ben makes mashed potatoes we eat them for a week, breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Top secret number two: Strange sleep habit. Warm milk, cozy pajamas, folding down the sheets, turning out the lights, just writing it makes me sleepy. Works for me. Not Ben

For the more needy and sleep deprived, chill pills and tranquilizers do the trick. Gravol (Dramamine in the US), Benadryl, Immovane, Ativan, and serax (this is not a prescription, see a doctor). Not Ben.

Ben’s regimented nightcap: full glass of water (he’s paranoid of muscle cramps) and, especially, a movie. Unable to drift into the land of peaceful dreams, rolling waves on sandy beaches and finished novels, Ben instead, takes comfort in the serenity of blasting guns, slashing swords, perilous dangers, thunderous aircraft, and the great acting skill of none other than Harrison Ford. For some reason, Harrison Ford movies top the list of Ben’s most beloved Zonkers. I have personally watched the first ten minutes, in silence, of Clear and Present Danger more times than I have digits. And Dr. Richard Kimble in the Fugitive is as good as a mobile above his crib. I guess there’s just something about the chiseled chin of HF that coaxes Ben into sweet slumber. ( Other soothers, Thirteen Days, about the Cuban missile crisis, Master and Commander, and The Fog Of War, a documentary about the Cold War)

Thank goodness he has the decency to wear ear phones.

Top unsecret number one: Ben would do anything for the people he loves. Ben has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met. His quirky ways, though on certain days drive me CRAZY, most of the time make me laugh. And laughing is the best way to get through life.

Thanks Benjamin for being you. I love you.

Signed, The Blog Bandit, aka The Impossible Whipped Lash, aka Amy Irene Watson

Ben recorded this for me in case I got lonely when he was gone.