Wordcraft blog by Avi

Found in a Book: Redux

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pressed flowers

This summer we are re-running my most-read blogs from the past year, in case you didn’t have an opportunity to read them the first time around. I’ve rewritten each one of these, so even if you’ve read them before, you may wish to read them again! Here is the fifth of those articles:

Books, to be sure, are full of words. But sometimes you come upon things that people leave in the books. Over the years of my book collecting—sometimes for research, sometime for reading pleasure— I have found pressed between the pages:

  • Four leaf clovers. (Did they bring luck?)
  • Flowers (As pale as old memories)
  • A partially filled-in dance card, from 1923. (Why only partially?)
  • Postage stamps that wouldn’t, today, take a letter fifty yards
  • A receipt for the purchase of the book, when the book was new and cost two dollars and fifty cents (That was long ago!)
  • A note explaining why the book was being sent as a gift (An apology? Thanks?) Author signatures, along with cryptic messages to persons unknown, for reasons at best vague. “To Charles who will know what to do with this book.”
  • Birthday greetings, sometimes in child-like scrawls
  • Thank you notes (Beautiful calligraphy, revealing no emotion)
  • An invitation to a party (Did the recipient go?)

I always wonder about these left behind items. Were they discarded, forgotten, or in fact, meant to be saved as something meaningful? Never mind: Each thing suggests a story.

My favorite find was a letter dated 1898. I found it in a book (published much earlier) meant for young readers, and consisting of two stories. They were love stories, of a kind. The tales were each about young women, both of whom were choosing husbands. The first tale was about one who marries for love, and lives in harsh poverty. The second story was about a woman who marries for riches, and lives to be equally unhappy. The book—not uncommon for the day—was meant to teach lessons.

As for the letter in the book: (I paraphrase)

“My darling granddaughter Mary: You are only two and cannot read. I am eighty-nine, and may not live long enough to see you read. But I wanted to send you these stories because they will teach you a lesson I did not learn. I hope when you choose a husband you will heed the wisest story in this book. Your loving Grandmother, Dora.”

Ah, but which story did Grandma Dora not heed? Which story did she consider wisest? And what, in fact, did grandchild Mary do?

The answers were not provided.

Maybe I’ll find it in another book.  Maybe I’ll write the book.

The Street Taken: Redux

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This summer we’ll be re-running my most-read blogs from the past year, in case you didn’t have an opportunity to read them the first time around. I’ve rewritten each one of these, so even if you’ve read them before, you may wish to read them again! Here is the fourth of those articles:

Most days between the hours of one PM and three, I hoist myself up from my desk and do some exercise. It might be swimming or it might be walking. The swimming speaks for itself, but the walking is something else.

walking

When in Denver, I usually walk from my house to Holly Street, a mile. I go along Twelfth Street. It’s a fairly nondescript neighborhood, dull to tell the truth, the way much of Denver’s 1940’s architecture is dull —one level suburban houses brought close to the city center.

There are never many people (or moving cars) on Twelfth Street. I do see a fair number of dogs taking their people for a walk. Most days along the park a yellow taxi sits. The driver is within, asleep or on his phone. Is he waiting for a call? Playing games? Hiding? Or, is he, as I often see him, just sleeping?

Today when I pass the basketball court there are two guys, both bearded, one very fat, one very skinny. They are shooting baskets, but always missing, always talking. What are they talking about? March madness? Diets?

There was also a young man pushing a stroller meant for twins, but there were no children in it. He did have a large white dog on a leash, and via cell phone, talking to someone. Was he trying to locate his children? Telling a caretaker he was coming?

stroller for twins

There was another young man, rings in his nose, ear plugs in ears, and he was nodding vigorously. Was he agreeing with someone, or was it music with a heavy beat?

A girl with flaming red hair, was being pulled hard by a dog as she tried to navigate the deep slush. The dog’s paws are wet. Are hers?

On the cement sidewalk the man who put in the cement had embossed his name like an artist signing a painting: “J. McDrew Portland Cement 1967”  What was I doing that year?  Librarian by day; writing by the night, my prose having a cement-like consistency.

I saw a large lady with a very tiny dog. Since we had a heavy (eight inches) snow two days ago, the street gutters were like rivers. Would the dog wade through, jump over, or resist entirely? What about the woman? And I do wonder: Where does all that swiftly (and often deep) flowing water go? Into the Platt River, where gold was once found?  “Pikes Peak or Bust.”

Denver is the kind of city—my neighborhood anyway, where—in passing—people say “hello” or “good afternoon.” A pleasant custom. A connection, however slight.

Little FreeLibraryThen there is the big inducement for my walk, and sometimes I do need an inducement. At almost the half-mile point of my stroll is one of those little free libraries. They look like bird houses, but in their nests books have been laid away. And—free!

This particular “free library” is curious. They often have what I think are good books, by good authors. I wonder who curates this library. Are they smart readers because they have good books, or are they disinterested readers because they give away what I think are good books?

Today, on my walk, I found two such books. The Poetry of Robert Frost: All Eleven of his Books—Complete. I enjoy reading Frost. Good find.

The other book is titled, Where the Wild Coffee Grows: The Untold Story of Coffee from the Cloud Forests of Ethiopia to your Cup. Since good coffee is my fire-starter, I couldn’t resist. The history of coffee. More odd facts, more curious details for my head.

Poetry of Robert Frost and Where the Wild Coffee Grows

I will read some of both books tonight.

As I was walking back home—down Eighth Street—carrying my books, I must have had the cover of the Frost poetry collection showing. Because as I passed a man, he glanced at me and called out, “Ah, Robert Frost!” That’s all he said.

It was the perfect readers’ exchange for the road taken.

Waiting in Line for the Movies: Redux

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This summer we’ll be re-running my most-read blogs from the past year, in case you didn’t have an opportunity to read them the first time around. I’ve rewritten each one of these, so even if you’ve read them before, you may wish to read them again! Here is the third of those articles:

Over the years any number of my books have been optioned for movies. What this means is that someone purchases from me the rights to a book I wrote, so that they might create, organize, and proceed to make a film using that book. Mind, it does not mean they must make an absolute replication of the book, but merely that they will use my text as the basis for a film. Nowhere, in any of the contracts I have signed, did I retain control of the film-script, though sometimes I have been given the right to review and respond.

waiting in line for the movies

I have read such scripts. Sometimes they are very close to the book, and sometimes not so close. I respond accordingly. That response may or may not be considered. [Did you know by selling a book in this fashion you relinquish rights to the characters you have created? That is, the film-maker can make another film with your creations.]

Usually, if I have occasion to speak to one of these producers (not always the case) I let them know I don’t wish to get involved in the project. It is distracting from my real work (writing books) and is therefore not productive. In any case, screen-writing is a skill set unto itself—not mine.

Do I like the idea of movies being made of my books? Well, sure. It would be interesting. It’s also more than likely to increase the readership of the particular book, which is what concerns me the most. A movie sells books. I might pay off the mortgage.

In the world at large, nothing makes folks who are not very interested in books for kids perk up more than when they hear that a movie is possible. No one—in my experience—reacts more so than academics.

People think great sums of money are involved. I suppose they might be. But these option agreements have been—for me—quite modest. I recall being at a dinner party, at which I mentioned an option agreement had been extended for six months. “How much do you get?” I was asked. “Guess?” I returned. “Three-hundred thousand.” My factual response: “Eight hundred dollars.”

One can be paid fairly (by my bank account) large sums (say, 300K) but only if the film is actually made. In my case that has never happened. One producer-director kept an option going for about seven years. Two weeks before the start of production one of the major actors was in a serious accident. Everything was canceled.

At the moment I write, three of my books are under option: Nothing but the Truth, Crispin: Cross of Lead, and The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle. To the extent that I have had contact with the people involved—infrequent at best, if at all—they are all earnest professionals, truly serious about making the films, and actively working toward that goal.

Will the films be made? It is truly impossible for me to say. It’s rather like standing on a very long line to see a movie: one waits impatiently for forward movement. It does happen. So, at least, I’ve been told. In my experience the lights always go out.

Money: Redux

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This summer we’ll be re-running my most-read blogs from the past year, in case you didn’t have an opportunity to read them the first time around. I’ve rewritten each one of these, so even if you’ve read them before, you may wish to read them again! Here is the second of those articles:

It was Samuel Johnson, the great 18th Century English critic, writer, and dictionary creator, who famously said, “No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.”

author royalties and payments

Consider then what the Authors Guild, the USA’s premier writers’ organization, recently learned in a membership survey:

“The median income of authors (from all sources related to being a writer, not just books,” went down 42% from 2009, to $6,080.”

“If you measure author’s income from just their books, that fell 21% since 2013, to $3,100.”

“For those authors who were published before 2014, median incomes from all writing-related sources are actually slight up from $6,250 to $8,170.”

For literary writers, median incomes are down by 27%.

Some self-published writers have seen a rise in income, “but they still earn somewhat less than traditionally published authors.”

It would appear there are many reasons for all of this. The general cultural support for literature and reading is far less than it was. There is negative pressure from digital games and TV. (Think how many hours kids are in front of a screen.) The population of readers is diminishing. There is the converting of school reading for pleasure to platforms for testing, which pushes kids away from reading. The number of bookstores is declining. There is a huge adverse impact on the book market by Amazon. School book budgets are down. Library budgets are down. The marketing of books by publishers is way down. Indeed, most book marketing is by social media, which largely discourages deep reading.

Still, from my experience, most people I meet in a casual way think that I, as a successful writer, must be, quite simply, “rich.”

I wish.

One of the things we don’t learn in the midst of all this is how traditional publishers contribute to the problem. What are their incomes? Talk to people in the writing community and you will quickly learn that advances are way down. Why?

And yet … and yet …

Yet, when I was very much younger than I am now, and trying to become a professional writer, I thought very little about money. I assumed I would have a day job, accepting the notion that “Real writers have day jobs,” or so we joked. Indeed, I worked at day jobs for more than twenty five years—mostly as a librarian. Contrary to: “No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money,” I did. As do many others today. I loved to write then.  I still do.  Maybe love is blind.

That said, living a life without financial reward is very hard, hard on creativity, hard on life, families, on parenting, and ultimately on writing.

What might be the future of books if these trends continue? Hard to know but it doesn’t look good.

Any thoughts out there?

Fug: Redux

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This summer we’ll be re-running my most-read blogs from the past year, in case you didn’t have an opportunity to read them the first time around. I’ve rewritten each one of these, so even if you’ve read them before, you may wish to read them again! Here is the first of those articles:

Readers often ask me about the use of language in my historical novels, particularly words that themselves are part of the historical moment.

Let it be said that, to begin with, I have a great fondness for words, and happily, the English language has an immense vocabulary. To that end I have on my computer the Oxford Unabridged Dictionary which also has an historical thesaurus. I own such books as Medieval Wordbook (Cosman) and Colonial American English (Lederer).

Medieval Wordbook; Colonial American English

How can one resist such words as this 1774 word, mazy—meaning winding—as in “Where the clear rivers pour their mazy tide.” Or, laverer, the medieval court servant “in charge of ceremonial hand washing with fragrant, spiced water.” One of my favorite words is the late 19th century word for sulk: pout-mouthed. That appears in my book, City of Orphans, set in that time.

By the same token, if you are writing a medieval historical novel, you won’t include a steel sword, because the metal didn’t really come into use until the 16th century.

A page from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Click for a larger, more readable version.

When I wrote my Newbery book, Crispin, I had another problem. The novel takes place at the end of the 14th century, when the English that was spoken was Middle English. You can get a taste of it by looking at Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, as he wrote it. When you hear it read aloud you can just hear our modern English, but it is hard to recite. Need I say: I can’t write it, nor can I read it.

What did I do?

In preparation for the book I read the major English poets of the day, Chaucer, Gower, Langland. I realized they wrote their verse in iambic pentameter, “A line of verse with five metrical feet, each consisting of one short (or unstressed) syllable followed by one long (or stressed) syllable, for example Two households, both alike in dignity” which can be very close (but different) to today’s spoken English. So when I wrote Crispin I tried to write it in that verse pattern. How successful was I? I’m not even sure. But if you read the book aloud, you will (I hope) catch that rhythm, and it was, I think, enough to create, if you will, an “antique” sense of language.

Recently I was reading an historical novel (told in the first person) set in Tudor England. The author used the word “fug,” (“A thick, close, stuffy atmosphere, esp. that of a room overcrowded and with little or no ventilation.”) Liking the word’s sound, and guessing its meaning by context, but not knowing what it meant exactly, I looked it up in the OUD. I learned that the word fug wasn’t introduced into the English language until 1888.

Was it wrong to use Fug in a novel set in the 16th Century? I suppose from a purest point of view it is. But it sounded old, and it worked for me. Besides, I do think a writer is free to use any English word. You can even make them up. Shakespeare, it is claimed, invented some 1700 words, many of which we still use. Hurry, countless, pious—are among them.

Or you could engage in Kenning: “The Anglo-Saxon and Old Germanic poetic technique of describing something without naming it, achieved by joining two or more of its major qualities; the ocean as “the whales’ road.” Or, a high-prowed sailing ship as “a foamy-necked floater.” A well-wrought sword as “Hammer leavings.”  For blogging, how about “word-flinging?”

As long as the word’s meaning is clear—not fug—I think any word you want is just fine.  But writing is using words and interesting words can help make writing richer and yes, fun.

Skype

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Avi Skype visitOver the years I have had countless visits with readers, teachers, and librarians in classrooms all over the country. My first such visit was in 1970. There is not a state into whose schools I have not walked. Such visits are rewarding, interesting, and often fun. My goal is for everyone to enjoy the session. It is not a lecture. It’s a discussion. I like to engage with the kids, hoping to learn about them, working to make sure they know I’m interested in them, even as they are interested in me.

But in more recent times, while I still visit classrooms in person, more often than not I visit via Skype. There are many reasons for this. A visit to an actual class room requires fairly complex, entire school organization. In contrast, a Skype visit is essentially one on one—the teacher and me. Actually bringing me into a class room involves transportation, lodging, meals, etc. The socialization I engage in is very rewarding, but it can be expensive, and time-consuming. And, it must be said that transportation—usually by air—is not a very pleasant experience these days.

In contrast, setting up a Skype visit is simple. You just have to agree on a time. Time zones can be a puzzle—try Colorado and Thailand. The school also needs to check on equipment and potential problems like hidden firewalls. A technical check between me and the school is generally necessary. It takes five minutes if all works well. If it doesn’t, there is time to troubleshoot without a class of fretful kids in tow.

Classes often prep by discussing which questions to ask. I’ve learned that a class discussion about useful questions is often in itself a learning experience.

I do charge for a Skype visit—a hundred dollars—but I do so because I’ve learned it’s too easy to walk away from a planned visit if there is not some form of commitment. Alas, money works.

Having done these Skypes for a good number of years, I now visit a fair number of classrooms on an annual basis. Often it comes at the end of a class author study of my books. The kids read one book together, and another of mine that they choose.

The Skype visit format is extremely simple. It’s a full hour. For a given class, every student gets to ask me at least one question. More often than not, they get to ask more. I encourage teachers to ask questions too. Curiously, more kids participate during Skype visits than when I actually go to classes. Usually, there is a lot of laughter during these sessions. I really enjoy them.

Do I have a message to share in these visits? To the extent that I have one, it is primarily to promote reading. When sharing my writing experience, it’s about research, rewriting, that what I do is work—work I like to do—but work nonetheless, work to pay bills. I try to humanize the writing experience, seeking to reduce the distance between reader and writer.

What do I get out of it? For me it’s crucial that I make contact with real readers to learn what works and what doesn’t work. Not least of all, their enthusiasm and excitement is a spur to more writing. When considering Skyping, think sharing, by everyone, reader and writer.

For more information about my Skype visits, click here.

Is Anyone Connecting?

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The first time I visited a class—in my capacity as an author—was in 1970. Since then, I have never stopped visiting classes, in person, and these days also by Skype. I won’t even begin to guess how many classrooms I’ve entered, or how many students with whom I’ve engaged. Still, one of the questions that always remains—after every visit—what impact do I make? Do I connect with anyone?

human connections

Almost always there are the visibly engaged kids, hands constantly popping up who have endless questions, or who come forward after to ask (or tell) me something that they feel is important. These enthusiastic young people are always fun and engaging, but one senses (in a good way) that they are enthusiastic about many things, are not shy, and are free to come forward.

The other day I was speaking at a small teacher’s conference when one of the teachers (in her forties?) approached and said, “When I was in sixth grade you came to my class. I never forgot it.” By way of proof she showed me a battered paper-back copy of Captain Grey, which I had signed for her.

In truth, broken-backed, dog-eared books, long held, much read, are sometimes presented to me as proof of a long connection to my work. Folks are often embarrassed about showing them to me, but I love to see them. They are like buried treasure.

But what about the silent kids? The shy ones? The ones who seem to just sit there with what appears to be a passive look?

Recently, someone sent me an article from the NY University’s Center for Publishing. It was a blog post published April 23. 2018. Written by Gretchen Lida (someone I have never met). It was titled “Avi’s Army of Dyslexic Writers.”

Ms. Lida described her early struggles as someone with dyslexia. Then she wrote:

“The first time I knew I could be a writer was when I saw the children’s book author Avi give a presentation in an elementary school gym. There, among the smell of old sweat, gym shoes, and whatever cologne custodians use to make a place smell like a public school, Avi presented slides of his school papers. They bled with notes about sloppiness, laziness, messiness. They had bad grade after bad grade.

“’If he could be a writer,’ I thought, ‘so could I.’

“Like me, Avi has symptoms of dyslexia; his parents hid it so his teachers wouldn’t treat him like he was stupid. I am from a different generation than Avi, and while the stigma I experienced was far less than Avi’s, it was the pain that we shared that stitched the memory of that screen onto my brain. Our shared dyslexia was as vivid as climbing the rat-lines on the ship in The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, and as snarky as the porcupine in his novel, Poppy.”

Needless to say, I found Gretchen’s Lida’s words touching. But it was also a reminder what I—and the legion of my writer colleagues—can do when we talk to kids. The silent kids.

There is one other way—when I visit schools—that I can tell if I have made an impression. It happened the other day when I was in a school. After I made a presentation (to about 500 kids) I was wandering the halls. A couple of girls walked by. As they passed me they called, “Hi, Avi.”

New friends. Connected.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!
The latest news about POPPY!

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PoppyPoppy was first published in 1995. If you would like to read the story about how the book came to be, see my June 13, 2017 blog post.

Over the years, the first book was expanded into a series. Writing forward and backwards, the books, in chronological fashion, provide the arc for Poppy’s life, along with other major characters, in particular her companion mouse, Ragweed, along with Ereth, the porcupine.

As many readers gathered around to read or hear the stories, I began to hear one question over and over again: “How did Ragweed and Poppy meet?”

HarperCollins, publisher of the series, asked the same question.

That is to say, there was a gap in the story. Oh, dear.

I finally decided to tell that story—or I should say, discover the story. Ragweed and Poppy, to reveal the new book’s title, has been written, and will be published in 2020. The publication will celebrate, if you will, twenty-five years of the series. Brian Floca will do the illustrations. How could it be otherwise?

Extra! Extra! Latest News About Poppy

Writing the book posed one, particular problem. In Poppy, my eponymous heroine emerges as a brave and resourceful creature. If she became that in Poppy, she could not be that way in Ragweed and Poppy. At the same time, I had absolutely no desire to portray a weak, timid creature. I won’t tell you how (I think) I solved that narrative problem. To reveal that is to reveal the plot of the book. I’d rather you just read it when it is complete. I hope you will let me know what you think.

I really can’t say more—not now.

I promise to keep you updated as to the book’s publishing progress. Or, should I say, Poppy’s Progress.

A Notable Book

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Awards, starred reviews, and citations—when and if they come—and welcome as they are—need, I think, to be considered as gifts, not rewards. I suppose some people sit down and write book a book intending to win a Newbery. If they do, I’m willing to bet my bottom buck they don’t.

I’ve won my share of awards and they have always come as a surprise. I’ve also NOT won an award, such as when my (unnamed) publisher insisted I would win one.

When you do win you need to say “Thank you,” of course. Then go back to work. That said, one of the hardest books I wrote was written right after I won the Newbery. I think it was hard because I had won. Expectations beyond me were high. My own expectations were impossible: A case of “I’ll show them it was no stroke of luck.” (It probably was)

But what does the author gain by awards, starred reviews, and citations? Generally speaking, your income goes up, not because of any (if it exists and it rarely does) award money that comes, but because you get increased sales. That is to say that you get more readers. As one publishing market person once told me, “Stickers suck in readers.” Tasteless but true.

So I was particularly pleased to know that my 2019 book, The Button War (Candlewick) was just selected as a 2019 Notable Children’s Books in the Language Arts. 

It’s a hard book to read. It’s not hard because it is long or complex. On the contrary, it is short and simple. But it is a story about war and kids, and there is nothing to suggest a happy conclusion. War is brutal, and what happens to the boys in this tale is equally brutal. That it is based on a true story doesn’t make it easier. “War,” said a famous American General, “is hell.”

But here is one review of the book:

“I so wanted to like this middle grade historical fiction book set in Poland during WWI. But the characters were just horrible. Patryk, our MC, is a very weak character and a bit of pushover. He and his friends are the epitome of meek followers. They seem more concerned with the going along with Jurek’s rules than their own safety and the lives of their friends. Jurek was a bully and slightly unhinged. There was seriously something wrong with him. He creates a dare type game to see who can get the best button (from the soldiers stationed in their city). He much resembled a sociopath and I honestly couldn’t stand him. I didn’t like any scene that he was in even though I knew he was to play the part of the villain.

“I did enjoy the parts that looked at the war coming to their town. In one aspect everything changed when the first bombs were dropped on their town, but as children, whose worlds greatly revolved around themselves, much went on the same as always.”

Which, of course, is precisely the story I intended to tell.

My own mantra is, “Writers don’t write writing. They write reading.”

That’s to say having readers is what it is all about.

Which means, I’m delighted to have received the citation.

Thank you.

Traveling as Research

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The End of the World and BeyondThere are times when researching a book it becomes necessary to go to the places where your characters live and struggle. Going to England and France very much helped me write the first two Crispin books, particularly the second. Being in San Francisco, and on the island of Alcatraz, allowed me to write next year’s book, Rotten Row. To write The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, I stood (and sailed) on grand sailing ships. Most recently I was in Venice, Italy, which is the setting for a work-in-progress.

My most recent book, The End of the World and Beyond, required a trip to Maryland. I wanted to see the city of Annapolis, whose hills are an aspect of the story. I also wanted to visit a swamp, swamps being the “beyond,” part of the book.

There was a time when the United States had great land masses of swamp. Most have been drained, and built over, a process that began in the 18th century. The Great Dismal Swamp National Wildlife Refuge (great name!) is perhaps the largest, and most famous one remaining. It straddles the border of Virginia and North Carolina.

Great Dismal Swamp

Great Dismal Swamp National Park, on the Virginia and North Carolina border (by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Northeast Region, uploaded by Albert Herring, CC BY 2.0,)

Being near Annapolis, I visited the Great Cypress Swamp, in Calvert County, Maryland. There are any number of books about swamps, with quite wonderful photos. But being in the Great Cypress Swamp was a vital experience. I could not have written that section of the book without having gone there.

In truth it was a strange place. Beyond all else, the swamp was green. Green ground. Green foliage. Green trees. Green air. It is also wet. That green air is humid. Random creeks trickle. Underfoot mud bubbles. Mud is everywhere. “Do not venture off the path,” are the warnings. Yes, quicksand.

Cypress Swamp

Great Cypress Swamp, Calvert County, Maryland (by Kej605, own work, CC BY-SA 3.0)

Cypress trees are—to my eyes—strange, their dangling, visible roots are like multiple fingers reaching into the mud. The same roots, poking out into the air from the water, looking like stalagmites. And there are sounds, too; unseen birds, and sounds of who knows what—I certainly didn’t see them, but they (snakes, raccoons, panthers or whatever) were there.

The important point for me—the novelist—is that in the 18th and 19th centuries, swamps were places where slaves escaped to hide so as to become free, as did enslaved felons, and indentured servants. There, they established secret communities, a key part of my story. They are only now being explored and understood.

When I was in the swamp it was easy to see why folks went there: they are all but impenetrable. But my young heroes, Bara and Oliver, had to get through one to a secret, free community, where liberty was promised.

My being in that swamp helped me follow them. Read the book and you can come along.

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