School Library Journal gave a lovely review to Eyes and Spies this month. You’ll find it here, if you scroll down to the non-fiction section. The reviewer wrote: “‘Valuable’ is an understatement. A timely read on surveillance and mass data collection for public and school libraries.”
I received the link from Annick Press just as I was drowning in the depths of Bellis Fair Mall. I was there as part of the annual family shopping trip that drives me to existential crisis. (Not that other things don’t.) It was perfect timing for a happy surprise.
If you’re interested in privacy and surveillance issues, and you can’t wait the couple weeks until Eyes and Spies arrives on shelves, check out the podcast Note to Self. They’ve just wrapped up a six-episode series on privacy and it’s fascinating. Apparently phone calls are protected in the United States partly because of a gambler who used phone booths to place his bets, got caught, and then argued for his privacy rights. Who knew?
My new book, Eyes and Spies, is now posted on the Annick website. It’s a book for tweens and teens about tracking, surveillance, and privacy.
This is one of the most interesting topics I’ve ever researched, and it’s occurred to me that we could have chosen a more pithy subtitle. Something like:
50 Reasons You Should Never Pick Your Nose in Front of Your Computer
Do You Really Want Your Dad to Find Pictures of Your Boobs Online?
Your Principal + A Webcam = Seriously Creepy
Swatting Kinda Sucks
I’ll have to suggest these for the second edition.
If your new year’s resolution is to write a book, mark March 8th on your calendar. The annual Vancouver Public Library/CWILL BC panel on children’s book publishing is always a fun and information night.
I had a phone interview with a high school student in a life planning class. She had all sorts of questions about the publishing process, including “how much control do you have over the illustrations and the cover?”
Most writers get “input” rather than control. I often see initial sketches from the illustrator under consideration for a project. Then I see rough artwork so I can comment about accuracy. And I see the final versions so I can squeal over them. But as for veto power: zero.
Fortunately, the editors and art directors at publishing houses usually have much, much better visual taste than I have, and I trust them to make great decisions.
As I learned last week, I should be grateful that I at least have input. I sat down with two actor friends as they watched their newly released movie for the first time. Before it began, one of them turned to me and said, “You have to imagine you wrote your text, sent it away, and you have no idea what’s been done with it. That’s how we feel right now.”
ACK! I don’t have that much trust.
As we watched the (wonderful) movie, they said things like, “Oh, they cut a lot of that scene,” or “that part looked so different when they shot it.”
What a strange thing, to create something and then leave it entirely in the power of someone else. It would be like handing someone your egg and hoping that after it’s hatched and grown, you admire the finished creature.
I’m absolutely thrilled to have DNA Detective nominated for a Red Maple Award this year. Part of the Ontario Library Association’s Forest of Reading, the Red Maple is a reader’s choice award for kids in grades seven and eight.
I’m personally glad I’m not one of those kids, because it’s going to be impossible to choose. Other books on the list include Pride by Robin Stevenson, Child Soldier by Michel Chikwanine and Jessica Dee Humphreys, and Vanished by Elizabeth McLeod (which is currently topping my list of books I wish I’d written).
Congrats to all the other nominees, and a huge thanks to the Ontario Library Association!
My next book has made its appearance on Amazon, so thought I’d post a picture of the cover. Eyes and Spies is all about surveillance and privacy, on-line and in real life. It focuses on three questions: Who’s watching, and why? Where is the line between public and private? How can we keep our secrets to ourselves?
The stories are drawn from kid and teen life, though that didn’t stop them from scaring me. (The computers in my house now feature masking tape over their webcams.)
There’s still a long way to go before the book appears in the world next spring, but I’m very excited to have the cover (with cool and creepy art by the amazing Belle Wuthrich) making its first appearance!
I have an old cookbook by Karen Barnaby called Screamingly Good Food. I keep it because I love how the book is arranged by seasonal celebrations. Fall features not only a Thanksgiving menu, but also feasts for the first sweater, the last tomato, and the twelfth day of rain.
I’m writing on my laptop in the kitchen, the only room in the house not overflowing with laundry piles or nine-year-old boys. School was held for an hour this morning; full schedule begins tomorrow.
Which means that (as much as I loved summer) I will soon be celebrating all the wonderful things about fall. I’ll have my own personal feast for the first cup of afternoon tea, the first crackling of the heating vents, and the first batch of pumpkin muffins.
And, of course, I’ll be celebrating the return of writing time. By June, my six hours of quiet will be flying by. But in September, when I’ve been entertaining and shuttling and refereeing all summer, they seem like an eternity of silence.
I’ve been learning to play tennis, something I’ve decided is less a sport and more an exercise in frustration tolerance. The problem is this: most points end when someone makes a mistake. Since I’m the beginner, that “someone” is usually me. And I HATE making mistakes! Who invented a sport all about failure?
The book I’m working on right now is also something new to me — a creative non-fiction project that’s wandered across the line into historical fiction. I’ve just completed a major rewrite and I have a feeling there are plenty more editing changes to come. (Did I mention that I hate messing up?)
I’m telling myself that it’s impossible to learn without doing things wrong a few times. And I’m remembering the words of one of my first bosses, writer and editor Robin Rivers. As we stared at a printed, hardcover photography book that was missing one important, highly noticeable line of text, she said: “Well at least we’re not neurosurgeons. No one dies when we screw up.”
So true. At least I’m not a neurosurgeon. Or a magician.