Sometimes when I’m walking or grocery shopping or waiting in line, I’m struck by a string of book ideas. So either I jot these on scraps of paper which I immediately lose, or I write them in my phone then forget ever to look at them again.
Here’s a sample note from 2016, which I’ve just rediscovered. If you’ve read Prince of Pot, you’ll recognize some names.
Failure of imagination
Paint the bus
Half woods, half city, bear, bear rug. No, couldn’t paint bear rug, hazel lives forever. Drive to Vancouver, see what comes.
Isaac needs to find his own path, make his own decisions, follow his own art.
Doesn’t send portfolio?
Walt has a brother who’s an artist?
Walt left family behind. Had to follow what he believed.
Reference letter from Mr. Pires (who also left his family behind?)
About two of these things happened in the final book. Don’t worry, the bear rug wasn’t one of them.
I’ve been reading Why We Sleep by Matthew Walker and it’s fascinating. I now know all sorts of wacky things about sleep, such as: your muscles are paralyzed during R.E.M. sleep so you don’t act out your dreams; early sleep researchers spent months deep in a cave trying to learn how circadian rhythms work; and if doctors zap your head in the exact same rhythm as your brain’s natural electrical impulses, you’ll achieve deeper sleep.
This would be an excellent book to have read when I was sixteen. Back then, my dad liked to book me for a 6 a.m. waitressing shifts (his way of trying to get me home before midnight). I could have explained to him that adolescents don’t produce melatonin until later in the evening, and yet need more sleep than adults, and therefore sleeping in on Saturday mornings was basically required.
That would have been good.
What’s not so good: reading the book as a semi-wrinkly person. Now, instead of lying in bed at 4 a.m. wishing I could go back to sleep, I lie there knowing I’m increasing my chances of cancer and Alzheimer’s, reducing my next day resistance to viruses, increasing my chances of emotional meltdowns, making myself less attractive by the minute…
Sometimes it’s possible to know too much.
There must be an upcoming chapter on how to actually sleep better. Otherwise, I’m going to sign up for zapping.
My kids and I look nothing alike, which causes some interesting situations. A few weeks ago, I told a sales clerk at Ivivva that I was waiting for my daughter, who was in the change room. The clerk shook her head (because Silence was one of two Asian girls trying on clothes) until I said, “Really, she’s in there. She just doesn’t look like me.”
Silence finds these events funny and/or annoying, depending on her mood. But she’s certainly aware of our genetic differences.
Last weekend, our whole family gathered at a rental house in Palm Desert to celebrate my mom’s 70th birthday. Or at least, my mom and dad gathered with my sister’s family to celebrate. The Kyi clan kept getting locked out of the gated community because our security code didn’t work.
At one point, my husband decided to boost Violence over the fence so he could run and ring the doorbell at the rental house. Silence and I remained in the car.
“What are we going to do if they get in trouble?” she asked me.
“Pretend we don’t know them.”
“Easy for you to say. You look nothing like them.”
So true, and something that may be useful if I start a life of crime. In the meantime, Silence will have to focus on the positives.
I’ve just finished Wildman, by j.c. geiger, and it’s excellent.
It’s about a teenage boy named Lance, who’s about to graduate as class valedictorian and head off to business school. Then his car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and he finds himself wrapped up in a society of small-town teens, most of them lost in their own unique ways.
As the days pass, Lance gets increasingly urgent calls from his mom and his girlfriend, but finds himself unable to leave this new place, where he can be and do almost anything… pull a knife on someone, jump a train, sleep with an artist…
And while you can predict from the very first pages that Lance isn’t going back, the story takes all sorts of unexpected turns.
There are plenty of themes in Wildman — choosing your own path for the future, navigating family expectations, balancing art dreams with practical life demands — that overlap with the ideas in Prince of Pot. Which is all particularly convenient because J.C. Geiger and I are speaking on a panel together this month in St. Louis, as part of the ALAN Workshop for the NCTE (the National Council of Teachers of English).
Hopefully my plane doesn’t break down along the way, leaving me stranded in the backwoods. If it does, I’m totally jumping a train.
I’ve discovered the ideal way to reconnect. You write a young adult novel set in your hometown, and then you include situations that your high-school friends recognize.
The Creston Valley Advance published an article a few weeks ago about Prince of Pot. Since then, I’ve received messages from someone who remembers particular hot tub incidents, a man who — twenty-five years ago — served as the Tic Tac repository in a Twin Bays truth-or-dare game, and a friend who may have once “borrowed” a car from the local dealership. The keys had been left inside, and that was all the excuse she needed.
(The funniest part of all this? My beta readers had so many questions about the truck-theft scene. Mainly, they thought it unrealistic that a dealership would leave keys in a vehicle overnight. Which just goes to show that those beta readers didn’t grow up in small towns. And that fact is stranger than fiction, always.)
I’m so glad I had wonderful, wild, daring, loving friends to get me through high school… and friends who will still read my books, all these years later!
My daughter made me a “how to survive being a writer with kids” package for my birthday, and it’s brilliant. I think she should patent it and start mass-production immediately.
Not only does it have emergency goodies inside, such as a magazine and oatmeal cookies, it has the best coupons ever:
And my personal favourite:
It’s so nice that someone understands me.
I looked after my two nephews, ages two and four, for the weekend. They are absolutely adorable, funny, and FULL of action.
As I collapsed on the bed at the end of Saturday, I said to my husband, “How did I do this for so many years? And how did I write books while doing it?”
He said, “Well, you didn’t really shower.”
I was having an idyllic writers’ group meeting in the backyard with Kallie George, Rachelle Delaney, Stacey Matson, and Christy Goerzen. Once the wine was poured and the fruit crisps passed, Rachelle got up to snap this photo.
We discussed picture books. All was well in the world.
Until I saw movement from the corner of my eye.
“Uh… guys? There’s a skunk in the yard.”
But it was fairly benign. When we made noise, it waddled along the fence until it could duck into the neighbour’s yard.
Then its friend arrived. This one wandered all the way around the pond and headed toward us. When we made noise, it raised its tail. It took a few more steps forward.
With great squealing, snatching of laptops, and scattering of chairs, we sprinted en masse toward the house.
For the record, if there’s ever a track meet for children’s writers, Kallie George is a sure winner in the 100-meter dash.
My mom’s in my kitchen reading Alex Van Tol‘s BC BookWorld article about Eyes and Spies.
“You’re mentioned in here!” she tells my daughter.
Then, a minute later, a sigh of disappointment. “They don’t use your name.”
My daughter patiently shakes her head. “Because, Grandma, that would be a privacy issue.”
My work here is done.
I went last night to the book launch for Kallie George’s new Heartwood Hotel series, an infinitely adorable collection of books about a resting place for forest animals.
There were masses of kids at the launch, and Kallie entertained them all with stories of her near-death hiking experiences. Then, she sent them to the crafts table to create their own woodland creatures. Once completed, the creatures could check in here:
Yes, that’s a replica of the Heartwood Hotel, created by Kallie’s husband Luke.
So of course I went directly home and showed my pictures to Min, who said he would be happy to build me a miniature grow-op for my Prince of Pot book launch.
But it doesn’t seem quite the same, does it?
Plus, I can’t think of a single craft idea. Well, not a single appropriate craft idea…