I don't know what you heard...

... but I don't know anything about a secret raid on the Hyatt Regency Candy Stash at SCBWI-LA this weekend. I don't know anything about a pair of giggling bandits who snuck in and stole their weight in red vines. I was busy grinding organic whole wheat to make bread to feed orphans. Yup. And so was Tammi Sauer.










Doh!

In other news, I ask again, WHEN DO YOU L.A. PEOPLE SLEEP? I have a beautiful blog post about the conference planned. It is informative. It is funny. It will leave you inspired and motivated and... I... can't... stay... zzzzzz (drools). Snort. Huh? Where am I? Oh. Sorry. Stupid red-eye flight. I'll try again tomorrow.

Memorable Moments, continued

In which I wrap up the 95 hours and 58 minutes during which I was not talking to Richard Peck.

Jacqui's Room Goes to SCBWI-NY: Other Memorable Moments

1. I got to see and talk to the editor of my first two books, Richard Jackson, now-retired editorial legend and discoverer of such talents as yours truly (oh, and Judy Blume and Virginia Hamilton). He gave a monumentally inspiring speech, including my two favorite quotes:

On selling books: "It's what they story wants that matters, not the market."

And on text: it is "a sharing between writer and reader through fearfully abstract signals."

Oh, retirement. How I loathe thee.

2. How in love with Bruce Hale am I? A lot. He wears good hats. He gave a great speech, which you can find described here. He invited us to "bring the funny." And he said something that sparked something that poofed a memory into my head that crystallized into this line:

"Rachel Rogan is peeing in my basement."

Which is how my next chapter book will begin. The line, setting, story, main character, and plot fell into my lap with that one spark. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I go to these things.

3. Jack Gantos taking us on a tour of great books from board book to novel with rabid book enthusiasm and laughter. Now, I know writers are not their characters, but between his endearing roughness, mischevious humor and vaguely Jersey accent, well, let's just say Jack Gantos is not UNLIKE Rotten Ralph.

4. On Monday, I had a talk with someone smart and funny who also loves picture books. So often, novels get all the lovin' in the lit world. Monday I got to celebrate the power of a great picture book: 600 carefully chosen words with all the emotion, tension, and story arc of a 200 page book, plus some of the most innovative art around. Yum. You can bet there will be a Respect The Mighty Picture Book moment soon. And before I get to Rachel Rogan and her pee, work has begun in earnest on my next picture book.

5. I would be remiss if I didn't mention all the lovely people whom I saw this weekend, new friends and old friends, many of whose names you see a lot in the comments section here. Thanks for all the smiles and compliments on the blog!

My Moment with Richard Peck

In which I spend 900 words talking about ninety seconds.

Jacqui's Room Goes To SCBWI-NYC Memorable Moment #1:

Have you read A Year Down Yonder? No? What about A Long Way From Chicago? ANYTHING by Richard Peck? No? Okay. Dear readers, I have failed you. I don't do this often. Turn your computer off and go to the library. Take out one of those books, or any one of Richard Peck's thirty plus fabulous books for young readers and READ IT.

There is nobody (and I mean nobody, not Salman Rushdie, whom you know I adore, or Katherine Paterson, or even me) who strings words together with the precision and beauty of Richard Peck. Witness:

Summing up exactly why I write: because "books show us that even our most secret fears are shared."

On writing: "we look to make a blank page sing with voices that are not our own."

On why kids should read: "if you cannot find yourself on the page early in life, you will go looking for yourself in all the wrong places."*

Peck's books have humor, adventure, emotion, vivid settings, unique characters with strong voices, and satisfying yet surprising endings, all in that gorgeous, exact language. I read The Teacher's Funeral on the way home on the plane and laughed out loud from line one:

"If your teacher has to die, August isn't a bad time of year for it."

ANYWAY, I was in New York for the 10th annual Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) winter conference this weekend. Richard Peck spoke there last year and he was brilliant and afterwards I introduced myself and thanked him for existing and got a little light-headed. This year he wasn't on the agenda.

And then, all of a sudden, there he was! He's made an SCBWI master class DVD on writing novels for young people and came to introduce it.

And THEN, as he was walking in to give his speech, he passed by, looked at me and said, "Oh! Hello!" and shook my hand.

AND THEN he said, "Good to see you again. Looking forward to Two of a Kind."

Okay, I made up that last part. But still: Richard Peck recognized me.

After his talk, I found him and Linda Sue Park** at his signing table and we got to talk a bit. As in, he asked me about myself and I said, "Aggle flabble klabble" and "It's an honor to meet you sir."** And then Richard Peck signed my book and wished me luck.

And then my new friend Michie gave me cheddar goldfish. So life was perfect.

Coming tomorrow, two more Memorable Moments...

* I may be misquoting all of these. This is because I cannot even take notes when Richard Peck is speaking. I just sit there and think, "Yes!" And occasionally drool.
** Who was very sympathetic to my star-struckness, and who has, in addition to many great books and a Newbery medal, the kindest smile in kidlit.
*** I am not a formal person, but "sir" rolls off your tongue effortlessly when you talk to Richard Peck.

Respect the Mighty Picture Book: some new favorites

I found three fabulous new picture books from author-illustrators I met in LA this weekend and I had to share...


1) Pssst! by the hilarious, very friendly author/illustrator of The True Meaning of Smekday, Adam Rex

What you gotta love: talking zoo animals convince a kid to bring them what they need to create a zoomobile and bust out

The mood: comic book-style layout, wry humor, lots of good jokes for grown-ups hidden in the illustrations

Recommended for: kids who like funny, kids who like zoos; the details in the art make it accessible for anyone 4-9

Especially recommended for: people who like to do animal imitations when they read out loud


2. Scribble, by Deborah Freedman, whom I met and thought was lovely and then was thrilled to discover also has a brilliant portfolio (it is always nice when people you like turn out to also be talented, eh?). I am much looking forward to more from her.

What you gotta love: sibling rivalry played out by the kids' own drawings, Freedman combines her charming, representative illustration and realistic kid art, the text has a great younger sister voice

The mood: quiet, funny, scribbly

Recommended for: kids 3-7 who like art, or who hate their sisters

Especially recommended for: kids who have had their artwork called "scribbles"



3. Little Night, by Yuyi Morales. I was disappointed I didn't get to meet Yuyi, but this book won a Golden Kite award and her acceptance speech was absolutely beautiful.

What you gotta love: in a sweet, quiet folktale-esque story, Mother Sky tries to get Little Night to go to bed but Little Night just wants to play; bright and fantastic (in the sense of "full of fantasy") illustrations

The mood: dreamy, playful

Recommended for: little ones, bedtime

Especially recommended for: me. Seriously, I am still catching up. Good night.

Jacqui's Room Goes to SCBWI-LA: Reflections

In which I describe why an SCBWI conference is like sleepaway camp.

You arrive and you are full of anticipation and nervousness and you feel like you don’t know anybody. And maybe you meet someone and he/she seems cool, but you’re not sure, so you just keep to your schedule, going to archery and swimming, but it doesn’t feel like you thought it was going to, and the pottery wheel isn’t as fun as you thought it would be, and you sometimes aren’t sure you’re going to be able to find someone to talk to. And there seem to be popular kids but you’re not one of them, and when you are brave enough to go up and introduce yourself, they’re nice enough but it’s clear they’re not Your People, and after a bit you think maybe I should just go home.

But you keep going to tennis or whatever the schedule says with the one or two people you met and one of them knows someone and she comes along, and that happens again and again until you realize you’re having fun. And you look around and there are all these people you know. You can’t quite remember how you met everyone but you can’t think about it too long because the conversation is flying and dipping and, wow, these people understand you, they love what you love, and you don’t have to explain yourself to them and how can I have only known you however long it’s been because it’s like we’re the same person in so many ways?

And so now you go to the cook-outs and the mess hall and you’re there with them and you’re all “omigod!” and “you did?!” and “me too!” And, oh! The campfire stories are so good and you’re sharing things you never even tell your winter best friends and maybe you fall down and maybe you cry but nobody laughs when they pick you up and yeah, even if there are popular kids and you’re not one of them, you don’t care because you’re laughing so hard you might pee at things that will never be funny to anyone else. And you go to bed way too late at night full of snuck-in cupcakes and licorice and giggles and connectedness.

And then one day, the summer you were thinking might last forever ends and the voices of your family and your winter friends start creeping back into your heart, and you are excited to get back, but you look around and are also sad to be leaving this place, these friends that could never happen at home, and this smarter, funnier, cooler Summer You. And you want to say thank you thank you and I love you, but you’re worried maybe you’re the only one who thinks that, so you sign 2good2B4gotten in each other's autograph books and exchange addresses and make plans to meet at some unspecified time. And you wait as long as possible to get back on the plane, or the bus, and you’re already planning to come back and wondering how in your real life you can hold on to the laughter and the connectedness and that Summer You.

And when you get home all smiles and exhaustion, your winter family asks, “How was it?” and all you can do is shrug and say, “Fine,” because you don’t really want to share the memories, you want to carry them around in your pocket like a secret rock that you can pull out when the weather is cold and you don't feel like writing and you just need the giggle that comes from a brief reminder of that thing that nobody else will ever think is funny.

But an SCBWI conference is even better that sleepaway camp, because at the end of summer camp you have sunburn and mosquito bites and treasure boxes made of popsicle sticks and at the end of writing camp, you have books, new books to read and to anticipate, and new ideas inside your head begging to come out and be written.

And even if my YA novel is not UNlike a treasure box made of popsicle sticks at this point, it is DONE, people, ALL DONE, for the third time and now, to celebrate, I am going to sleep.

Jacqui's Room Goes to LA: Day One

In which I present my personal highlights of the first day of the SCBWI-LA conference and let down anyone who was dying for a detailed synopsis.

Holy cow. There are ten million people here. I can't even see the podium. The parade of faculty members each saying one word took thirty minutes.

Oh, good. Here comes Bruce Coville. I love him. He's wonderful, as expected.

BRUCE: Here we are “1,000 people who decided to make their living telling lies to little children.”

Ha ha ha. This is brilliant. And --
Oh. my. God. What is that horrific clicking noise? The person behind me is typing this speech word for word. For real? Click click click. Oops. She saw my mean face. She whispers that she is live-blogging the whole conference. Just ignore her, Jacqui.

BRUCE: Why are you here? Well...

Click click click. Cannot focus. Now something on her computer is beeping. I hate her. Seriously. Bruce Coville’s speech is brilliant and funny and inspiring and deep and all I can hear is click click click. If that is what I'd have to do to blog this conference, then forget it.

Sigh.

I cannot wrap this up intelligently day by day. It is simply too big and too busy and there is no nap time on the schedule. And how late do you LA people stay up? What is it, a million o'clock? I will summarize and share next week, I promise.*

I leave you with the picture of me with Peepy.
Lisa Yee was so lovely about sharing him and even offered to take our picture, so much so that I felt strange for having asked. It is still hard for me to remember not to be awed by the live versions of authors whose books I adore.

Have a good weekend, all.

* Note: The promised summary will most likely be subjective, disorganized and incomplete. If you want decent notes from which you may actually learn something, find the blog of the Princess of Click Click.