Every year Highlights For Children holds a writing contest. This year's theme was Family Stories. Rich subject matter, to say the least! I shared my stories with my dear friend and writing buddy, Vijaya Bodach. In turn, she graced me with hers. We giggled, shed tears, and wrote like crazy. Family stories have a way of composting and growing richer over the years.

I always believed that we are one generation away from being forgotten. That is to say, if nobody tells our stories - we're gone. Recently, however, I read The Invisible Mountain by Carolina De Robertis. This gorgeous novel spans three generations. On the opening page, the author sets forth the idea that stories, even if untold, are still out there and still at work. Basic physics: matter is neither created or destroyed. I love this theory. It fits with my world view (and is very reassuring!)

The Invisible Mountain is an eloquent, evocative novel. Her language, plot and character development are inspiring. I thought about these women - and their family stories - long after I was done with the book.

Take a moment to share a family story with a loved one. Most likely, it will lead to more!

Are You a Beacon?

Like all of you, I have been following the horrific aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti. Today's paper contained accounts of aid distribution and I was struck by something. In one instance, an aid organization was delivering water and rations via helicopter. When they landed, people became violent, fighting for supplies, throwing stones. In another instance, the same organization was again delivering water and rations via helicopter. This time, when they landed, the people dropped to their knees and prayed.

I completely understand both reactions. When we are hungry, thirsty, in schock, in grief, wounded beyond all comprehension both fighting and praying seem perfectly reasonable. But what made the difference? What tipped the throngs of people in different directions?

All it takes is one, or a few, to turn the tides. We see and feel it in our families, our schools, our communities. We talk about it in every athletic endeavor: "The momentum of the game has shifted!" All it takes is one. I watched a talented undefeated youth baseball team unravel because of it. Instead of saying 'we can do this; lets go!' they began to blame each other for missed pop flys, striking out, etc. Soon even the stars weren't performing. Momentum had shifted, indeed.

Reading about the two different crowds in Haiti, made me mindful. I want to always be that beacon that drops to my knees in prayer and gratitude, not throws rocks out of fear. Each of us has the grace to shift momentum with our words and behaviors- in our homes, our schools, and our communities.

May the needs and prayers of the Haitians - and all those in need - be answered.

It's Teacher Appreciation Week! Many of us provide lunch and lattes, flowers and chocolates for our teachers during this week, which is wonderful. But how about writing them a note to tell them exactly what it is we appreciate about them?

I have two teachers who still stand out in my mind, and unwittingly helped me become a writer. The first is my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Voake at Marion W. Cross Elementary School in Norwich, VT. Her room was always welcoming and creative. She had us listen to records and write or draw to the music; it was the first time I heard that there was no right or wrong, it just was. She was quiet and kind and had a lot of books around. What a good thing!

The second teacher that stands our for me is Mr. Tim Dunn, my sophomore English teacher at Keene High School in Keene, NH. On the first day of school he told us he was a million years old, had a ringing in his ears, and loved to write. He gave specific and encouraging feedback on our essays. It is because he loved my 2 page satire on preppy girls that I believed that maybe someday I could write. He was a great role model, showing us that writers were not something other than us; they were among us; they were us. He worked hard at his craft of poetry and published his own book on an antique letter press. It is a thing of beauty.

I may need to look up these two wonderful teachers to tell them what a difference they made in my life. Which teachers made a difference in your life?

Black and White
Recently I held a reading at The Seward Park Environmental and Audubon Center, for preschoolers and their families. We were in the park's education center, next to Lake Washington where the wind was whipping up white caps. Rain beat hard against the windows. Inside, children sprawled on the old wood floor creating phenomenal art work.

I always bring beautiful black paper and white crayons to my readings. Listeners are invited to draw their own night scenes. At this particular reading, we knew there would be gathering and socializing before hand. I wanted to provide the kiddos with something to do, so I set out my supplies. The wonderful folks who run the environmental education center also brought white star stickers, as well as black and white googly eyes. 

Even the littlest children created fabulous scenes, using only black and white resources. There were super heros fighting villains, bunnies holding flowers, exploding stars, bats of all kinds, and even "a night of 100 eyes"! Not one of the children asked for brightly colored markers or a different color paper. They were a charming group of children with wonderful imaginations.

They snuggled in for a reading and story telling with puppets. After the event, many could hardly wait to pop their boots back on and go puddle jumping. It is the simple pleasures, after all: black and white art work, a pair of rubber boots, and a big old puddle!

Silver Skeletons

Today there is a flat light outside. Everything is a gradient of gray. Thank goodness for the evergreens, that offer some contrast. We've had a few too many monochrome days here, so I offer this poem. Remember those sunny September days?

Resolutions?

I'm not big on New Year's Resolutions. Like many mothers of school age children, September is when I begin anew: I vacuum the sand out of the beds and the grass clippings out of the car; I take long walks and re-commit to my writing.

Sunday evenings have also become a time for me to organize and evaluate. I'd like to say that a weekly review brings continuous improvement and refinement, but alas I fall short so many weeks. My goal to try new recipes succumbs to taco night, my daily writing time is bit into by life, and my plan to work out is undermined by no one other than me. But a lot of weeks I do most things "good enough". Maybe not perfect, but "good enough."

So instead of resolutions, I'm sending wishes: I hope that 2009 is all that you need it to be, whatever that is. I wouldn't be surprised to find that I don't need new gourmet recipes after all. Family taco night suits me just fine!

I know that our family is often too busy. We consciously eek out family time anywhere we can. This week we have been given an unexpected gift: Snow Days.

Never given to sleeping in, our boys were up and out sledding early. We lingered over a hot lunch, and then they offered to help me bake cookies. This was a treat for me. My guys have not been interested in baking since preschool. They have been much more interested in gross motor activites that involve a lot of gear. The more gear it involves, the more interested they are. Baking does not fall in this category. But on this snowy day, we baked. The house was full of chatter, and Christmas carols and brotherly chiding. Later, they challenged my two year title to "Longest Distance" in a sledding contest. We live on a wicked hill, and this year they both beat me! (For the record, I am not a good loser but it was an opportunity to practice graciousness.) This day with my boys felt like a gift.

This is all reminiscent of my writing time. I eek out writing time when I can: in between chores, errands and activities. Sometimes writing time falls in my lap, like a snow day, and I am ever-grateful. When I write I feel clear, calm, and full of life. It feels like a gift.

May you all have a "Snow Day" of sorts--to be with family, friends and your favorite notebook. Warm and Wonderful Holidays to All!

Sometimes I daydream about my life as a writer. I am sitting at a clean, expansive desk, typing away on my newest laptop. I am writing crisp picture books or dense (but meaning-full) prose. I am bedecked in a cashmere wrap and probably sporting a pair of vanity glasses.

But that's not reality. This is what my writing life looks like this week: my dryer broke, so I have clothes hanging on the drying rack and dripping from every shower curtain rod. I can't hang clothes outside as we are experiencing a deluge of rain. Roads are closed and school is cancelled due to significant flooding.The boys are home and my mother-in-law is recuperating from knee replacement surgery on our couch. Needless to say, I'm not doing a lot of writing.

I certainly don't want to live out a bad counrty-western song: my dryer done broke and the river is arising! Tomorrow I will go to the laundromat and I am forever grateful that we have the means to order a new dryer. The kids will be back in school and my mother-in-law will be dancing a jig by Thanksgiving.

There's a lot of life going on right now, but its all grist for the mill. Someday it will filter down into my creative work. And for all you writers out there: I've discovered that the laundromat is a great place to get some writing done! (Thank goodness, because a lot of life is doing laundry!)

Boo!
Halloween is just around the corner. My boys have been planning their costumes for weeks. I am lucky to have two kiddos with big imaginations. Costumes are not reserved only for Halloween around here. As a matter of fact, when they were younger they so rarely dressed as themselves that I stopped noticing what they were wearing. We would be half way through a trip to the grocery store when I'd realize one kid was dressed as a bullrider and the other as a fire fighter. Then there was the day that they were "army guys". They marched in unison through out the store, referring to me as "Sir".

This makes me wonder about our own disguises. I often write for our local paper (www.rivercurrentnews.com) One of the gifts has been getting to know people in our valley, that I might not necessarily meet otherwise. I get to interview some pretty incredible folks. What strikes me today, is how many of them are disguised as moms or dads or PTA members or work-a-day folks! In reality, they are artists, craftsmen, athletes, coaches, and people of many talents! It makes me curious that as adults we often disguise ourselves, dressing up to be less than we are. Perhaps because of modesty or humility. Perhaps because we don't believe in that aspect of our selves yet. I am guilty of this too. Not very many people in my community knew I was a writer until they saw my book at our school auction. I think my mom disguise threw them off!

I'm still a bit shy in my writer's costume, but I'm working on it. It is part of who I am. What disguises do you wear? And, what costume would you like to try on? (Note to parents: if you can get your kids to march in unison and call you "Sir", your grocery shopping trip will run much more smoothly!)

Jen

Welcome!

Welcome to my updated website and blog. The launch of these technological tools coincided with an age old tradition: story telling. A few evenings ago I was fortunate to be part of The Inside Story, hosted at The University Book Store in Bellevue, WA. by SCBWI. The Inside Story invites local authors and illustrators to share the story behind their stories...hence, the story telling. I was awed by the diverse talent, varied backgrounds, and stunning work. Many of us had worked and waited for years, in some cases decades, for our writing or art to become published. Our stories were funny, poignant and decidedly our own. Despite the disparate stories, there was a common denominator: at some point each and every individual put pen (or brush, or pencil) to paper and begin to tell (or paint, or draw) their story. Most of us can't help ourselves. We have stories to tell.

I see and hear stories everywhere. I am most fascinated by the stories behind seemingly every day moments. I always know there is more than meets the eye! Stop by from time to time and we can share our stories.