A Big Backstory

Last Friday morning I walked my son into the high school's office to sign him in as late. The first secretary looked up and pointed out the late registration secretary around the corner of the desk. This second secretary looked up from her keyboard and said, “Is the reason for the lateness: family, weather, an appointment, or something else?”

Um...what? Which category? Which one category? My brain couldn't process that. My reasons fit into a bunch of those categories. In fact, I had a whole backstory full of reasons. So I stood there like an idiot. How the heck could I distill my morning to fit into just one category? So out spilled the whole sorry story.

What I told them went something like this:

I got up early, got the girls breakfast and drove [in treacherous snowy weather] to skating rink for 7am. I found out my son had missed the bus because hubby was stuck in a ditch and didn't get home to wake him up. After arranging for another mom to take the girls to school, I drove [in treacherous snowy weather] past home to find hubby at the roadside getting his vehicle towed. I drove [in treacherous snowy weather] hubby home to change clothes, also picked up son, and drove [in treacherous snowy weather] to town to drop hubby at a critically important appointment in one end of town and then drove [in treacherous snowy weather] to the other end of town to sign son in at school. And I needed to leave immediately because I had to drive back home [in treacherous snowy weather] to the village library where I was now likely to be a few minutes late for my annual job evaluation, after which time I could expect hubby’s text so I could drive back into town [in treacherous snowy weather] to pick him up, and then drive [in treacherous snowy weather] back home again. Did I mention that town and home are like 20 minutes apart in good weather?

Gad, no wonder those secretaries laughed at me. And no wonder no one wants to have an entire backstory dumped on them at once.

You know you might be a children's writer if...

There you are, sitting on the hard white wooden bench in your small town arena lobby. You're reading quietly, passing the time during your son's hockey practice, while two young boys you don't know toss a small ball back and forth across the lobby. Back and forth, back and forth, they chase the ball, toss it, chase it, and so on until--

The arena doors open with a clatter and a woman walks in. One of the boys calls out to her with an enthusiastic, "Hi, Bitch!" (Which sounds a bit like "hiya beetch!")

Silence.

A silence in which you cringe for the boy.

"What did you say?" the woman, finding her voice, demands. She repeats her demand several times in increasingly higher volumes.

The boy wisely stays silent.

Finally the woman orders him to SIT THERE on THAT BENCH and DON'T MOVE.

He perches timidly beside you, head bent, sitting on his hands. You just want to hug him.

Do you empathize with the mother having to hear that from her child? Not really. You feel for the boy. You bet he's seen someone greet a friend that way on some TV show, or heard it uttered by an older kid, and the reaction was much different from the one he got.

Yes, if this happens you just might be a children's writer. And there might be a story there....somewhere.

A Hint of Good Things To Come

My editor just emailed me a close-to-final version of the cover for "Counting on Fall," my book that's due out next fall from Owlkids. It's really lovely!

Unfortunately, I can't share it just yet. But I can give you a hint. Check out this blog post by Ashley Barron: "Is 'Autumny' a Word?"

Those leaves look very familiar to me.

The Shades of My Muskoka Sunrise

What a sunrise this morning! It sure made me glad I got up early, and what a way to start December. I got a few photos of the colour, but in playing with my camera the photos came out looking quite different depending on the setting. See:

It made me think: which one is the shade of reality? Do I even remember now? Nope, not really. Does it matter? Maybe, but for me the variations are what matter not which one is more authentic.

Those differing shades of reality...the stuff a writer navigates through all the time, wouldn't you say?

A Story in a Statement

Tonight I popped into the Mac's Milk store with my youngest daughter. She was wearing thick beige tights and a light blue sheer skirt, both of which showed beneath her winter coat. The cashier asked my daughter if she'd just come from dance class. Shyly my daughter replied that no, she'd come from skating.

The cashier smiled and, as she handed me my change, leaned over and said quietly to me, "Enjoy her at that stage."

I nodded and walked out thinking that yeah, she's absolutely right. But I also caught myself wondering about the background to that statement. What was it in the cashier's story that urged her to say that to me, a stranger. I'm sure there's a story there...somewhere.

Eleven for Eleven

I've updated my website with my book on the War of 1812. This, The Legacy of the War of 1812, is my eleventh book--and it happened in 2011. Not that that's newsworthy, but it's kind of neat.

Interested in the topic of this conflict? Here's a commemorative site from the Government of Canada It's a solid first step for finding out more about the events that made up this war as well as the bicentennial commemoration events that will be happening soon: http://1812.gc.ca

So now, dare I hope for 12 books in '12? Actually--shh--it might be more than that. More details when I can share them.

Outdone by the Cat

I feel like sharing a piece a wrote awhile back.

Raising A Reader

It was one of those days when I was scrambling to make dinner. We had to eat and dash out the door almost as soon as my older two kids came home from school. My youngest daughter picked that moment to ask me to listen to her read. Being four and in Kindergarten, she was at that wonderful stage where she loved to be read to, but she also loved to “read” to me.  She’d grab a book and make up the story. I’d already heard a couple renditions of the book earlier that day and I just couldn’t stop for another.

“I’m busy right now,” I said. “We’ll read some more tonight, okay?”

She gave me her best “Fine, you don’t love me!” and went stomping off.

Ouch. I wished I could make her understand why I had no time to listen right then, but my attention was needed at the now boiling pot on the stove so I rushed on with dinner.

Not too long afterwards I realized that I could hear my daughter’s voice coming from the laundry room. What was she up to?

Marshmellow

I walked quietly over to the closed laundry room door and listened. She was definitely talking, but there was no one else in the house at the moment. Was she talking to herself with that much energy?

Puzzled, I opened the door and peeked in. There she was, sitting on a stool with a book in her lap. And there was our cat, Marshmellow, sitting at my daughter’s feet and purring.

“Hey, what are you up to, sweetie?” I asked.

She looked at me like I must be dense for not grasping the obvious. “Reading to Marshmellow,” she replied, and then she smiled.

I looked at Marshmellow, sitting up with her ears pointed towards my daughter, giving her her full attention.

It was my turn to smile. I’d been outdone by the cat. But at that moment, my daughter couldn’t have asked for a better audience.

And for that, I couldn’t have been more grateful.

***
So thank you, Marshmellow. You will be missed.