Horn Book and the Kidlit Blogosphere

Fuse #8 has an article in the Horn Book on Blogging the Kidlitosphere. She also made a list of Kid-lit Bloggers to Watch. Oh my goodness. I'm on the list:

Saints and Spinners — Identified only as “Alkelda the Gleeful,” this librarian has a musical bent with many postings on songs, both in the library and out.

Thanks, Fuse! I can't wait to tell my parents. I'd like to extend a big welcome to readers who have found this blog through The Horn Book in addition to everyone else who has seen fit to return to S & S on a regular basis.

As a child, I would write stories, draw covers for them (stapled to the pages) and write pretend-blurbs on the back. Horn Book was one of the review journals listed and they always gave me great reviews for titles such as Face to Face With Death and Murder in the Mansion. I love The Horn Book: the reviews, the letters, the articles-- all of it. Check your public library for current and back issues of this periodical.

P.S. Just when I thought my morning couldn't get any better, Robin Brande informed me that I won chocolate. Has anyone ever had a better Monday morning? I know I haven't.

Jenny Jenkins, Clothes Horse

On Friday, I made felt-board pieces for the song "Jenny Jenkins." On Saturday, I brought them to debut at the birthday-party gig I donated to Lucia's school auction.



I think "Jenny Jenkins" was the favorite song at the birthday party gig. The audience was small enough that every child got to offer a dress to Jenny Jenkins, only to have Jenny Jenkins petulantly reject the color. Every singer has his or her own favorite rhymes for the colors of the clothes, as well as variations on the silly part of the song. Here is my own version of the chorus:

I'll buy me a downy-dilly, silly-silky
picalilli roly-poly bowl to find me
Roll, Jenny Jenkins, roll.

Note that Jenny Jenkins herself is a teddy bear. The grownups at the party appreciated the pun when I sang, "Oh, what do you care if I just go bare?" after Jenny Jenkins rejected every dress in her wardrobe. I got the idea from the book-and-tape set, What Will You Wear Jenny Jenkins? by Jerry Garcia and David Grisman, illustrated by Bruce Whatley.

Happy Birthday My Friend

Edit 05/07/07: I'm still working on this song. Among other things, I wrote the notes down wrong, and I wrote down some wrong notes. Onward I go...


Anyone is welcome to tweak this song (especially if you're comfortable writing music notation, which I'm definitely not). I'm not sure the song needs all those quarter notes.

Some time ago, I promised you a new Happy Birthday song. Unlike the traditional one that is in the chokehold of You-Know-Who (Voldemort?) as far as copyright goes, this little song is my gift to the world. If you like it, sing it. Don't worry about performance rights, as they are completely, totally free in a non-profit context. If you're a small business, you can use the song without paying me, though I would be happy with a nod in the direction of attribution. If you're a big business and you use the song in a peformance, you need to give sizable donations to Heifer International and something local in your area that specializes in services for disadvantaged children. If you want to record the song, you need to pay me royalties, and I'll give the money to Heifer International (and something local in my area that specializes in services for disadvantaged children). I've already conducted the imaginary interview in my head for when I'm relatively successful because of this one song:

***
Announcer: Welcome to this week's edition of "Three Seconds of Fame!" Today, we speak briefly with Farida Dowler, a.k.a. Alkelda the Gleeful, the darling of children's birthday parties everywhere. What, you've never heard of Alkelda the Gleeful? Maybe not, but you sing her song all the time.

[Zoom to interviewer and subject]

Q: Mrs. The Gleeful, are you ever bothered that your one hit song, "Happy Birthday My Friend," was one in which you could have made millions in royalties? You could have been rich beyond imagining, and yet you gave away all of your profits to charity.

A: Pshaw.

Q: But really-- other compositions like "Superhero Teaparty" and "Song of the Planet-Hoppers" found a small, loyal following but never quite launched you into the big time the way "Happy Birthday My Friend" did. Do you ever worry that you're a one-hit wonder?

A: I'm too busy singing and telling stories to worry about such foolish notions [smiles winningly for the camera].

Q: What is your response to the rumors that They-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named are furious with you because people no longer sing the traditional birthday song, and therefore no longer have to pay a disgustingly large amount of royalties?

A: After they get over their fury, I hope they become chagrined. I mean, really.

Q: Well, that's all we have time for, Mrs. The Gleeful. Thank you so much for talking with us, and we look forward to hearing about you and the band on future birthday party cross-country tours.

A: Rawk and roll. Oh, I can't believe I just said that.

Reading: Summer

Alkelda as a little girl

I first read this poem by Myra Cohn Livingston on an old bookmark for a library summer reading program:

Reading: Summer

Summer is with it,
she’s wild,
she likes
bare legs and cutoffs
and camping
and hikes;
she dives in deep water
she wades in a stream
she guzzles cold drinks
and she drowns in ice-cream;
she runs barefoot,
she picnics,
she fishes,
digs bait,
she pitches a tent
and she stays up too late
while she counts out the stars,
swats mosquitoes and flies,
hears crickets,
smells pine trees
spies night-creature eyes;
she rides bareback,
goes sailing,
plays tennis,
climbs trees;
she soaks in the sunshine;
she gulps in a breeze;
she tastes the warm air
on the end of her tongue,
and she falls asleep
reading
alone
in the sun.
--Myra Cohn Livingston

Addendum: Check out the bat poems posted on The Miss Rumphius Effect. You know how much I love bats.

Daemon/Soul: is it a match?

Years ago, when The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman first came out in the United States, my mom and I discussed what our daemons (external embodiments of our souls) would be if we lived in Lyra's world. We thought about different animals, and I decided my daemon would probably be an ocelot. That's what I got when I did the test. However, it looks as if the daemon is changing... right now it's a mouse. I don't know what it will be by the time you look at it.



Thanks to Liz B for the link.

Jam Footage

Photo by Eliza Truitt Photography

Scroll down to the videos labeled "Going to Boston" and "Leatherwing Bat," and you'll find me:
Spring 2007 Coffee Shop Jam Footage

Children's Books That Never Were, Part 6

Ed Emberley, the Caldecott Medal winner for Drummer Hoff, is widely appreciated for his books that teach people how to draw using simple shapes. With the exception of the clip-art ear and cotton-swab, all of the illustrations belong to Ed Emberley.


From the editor:

Dear Ed Emberley,

You are obviously a talented illustrator with vision. I applaud your motivation to bring art instruction to the masses with simple manuals on how to draw various shapes and beasties using available materials at hand. I think you have the potential to go quite far in your career. However, you need to rethink your medium. Substances emitted from bodily orifices are inappropriate for children’s literature. Therefore, I must return your manuscript for “Ed Emberley’s Drawing Book of Earwax Art.”

Earwax is one of the “Sordid Seven,” as we say in the biz. The six other substances that we consider verbotten for children’s books are: saliva, mucus, perspiration, flatulence, sebum and toe-jam. There are several other bodily secretions/products that are so unspeakable they don’t even make the list of the Sordid Seven. Nobody thinks about them, nobody talks about them, and nobody acknowledges that these substances even exist. In fact, let’s just pretend I didn’t bring up the subject. We have to act with decorum here at Wee, Burnt Umber Co. A prospective author recently submitted a query letter about a nautical superhero who wears underpants, and it threw the whole department into a tizzy.

I would like to see your manuscript reworked to showcase your genius in the more traditional format of pen-and-ink. If your first book sells well enough, then you could make tentative experiments with mixed-media. Wouldn’t it be a lark if somewhere down the road you created a line of thumb-print art? I’m joking, of course, but you see where I’m going with this.

Good luck, Mr. Emberley!

Sincerely,
Garrulous MacKenzie
Sophomore Editor
Wee, Burnt Umber Co.

It's Got a Beat, You Can Sing (and Dance) to It

I asked Elaine Magliaro from Wild Rose Reader to give me a poem she'd like to hear set to music. She gave me four. How cool is that? (Answer: quite cool).

Here's her post of Poems to Set to Music.

CBTNW

Tomorrow, I will post the next installment of Children's Books That Never Were. Prepare to be shocked, or at least, mildly grossed out.

Some Blog!

I made a graphic for the 13th Carnival of Children's Literature based on Charlotte A. Cavatica's first message to advocate for Wilbur in Charlotte's Web. Now, you may take this graphic to copy and paste to your own blog, should you so desire. It's all done with clip-art.

Jam

Today, I played two songs in my guitar teacher's twice-yearly informal recital for students called the Coffee Shop Jam. I played two folk songs: "Going to Boston" and "Leatherwing Bat." My favorite parts of my performance were when the audience sang along with the choruses. By the time I started my set, most of the single-digit-aged crowd had left. Next time, I hope to play earlier so that children can dance to the songs before they've had their fill of the guitar-recital. Fortunately, Lucia was game to dance, and showed her enthusiasm throughout the entire Jam.


"Won't we look pretty in the ballroom?"


"Won't we look pretty when we're dancing?"


Doesn't this answer our questions?

13th Carnival of Children's Literature

Welcome to the 13th Carnival of Children's Literature, hosted by Jen Robinson. Admission is free. B.Y.O.I.C. (Bring Your Own Internet Connection). Jen organized a colorful assortment of booths in the following categories:

Kiddie Rides (Picture Book Reviews)
The Ferris Wheel (Middle Grade Reviews)
The Roller Coaster (Young Adult Reviews)
The Merry-Go-Round (Booklists)
The Calliope (Poetry)
Performance Artists (posts about authors, including interviews and visits, and about writing)
Fried Dough, Cotton Candy, and Sno Cones (an assortment of KidLit-related fare)
The Midway (about Prizes and Awards)
The Entertainers (Humor)

I'm a Joanie-Come-Lately exhibitor with a post in the "Fried Dough" section.

As small as a world and as large as alone

For Poetry Friday:

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

--E. E. Cummings


A stone brought back from Findhorn Bay

Pictures and Conversations

I have a confession to make.

I love it when readers comment on my blog.

When I was a little girl, I wished urgently for letters. Back then, it wasn't "snail-mail," but letters. As a teenager, I maintained pen-pal correspondences with fellow music fans. One of my pen-pals and I exchanged fan-fiction starring John Taylor of Duran Duran and ourselves. I would write a fan-fiction piece with her as John Taylor's romantic interest, and she would do the same for me. While there was intense kissing in these stories, the scene would always end in ellipses when we decided it was time to fade out.

Ahem.

Anyway, it's been a long time since I've written fan fiction, and a slightly shorter time since I wrote snail-mail letters. Now, my correspondence consists monthly House of Glee vignettes sent by email, and this blog. When you comment, even if it's just to say hello, I appreciate it very much. Comments from readers stimulate my imagination and inspire me to think of new things to write. When I've entertained you in some fashion, I feel as if I've done some part in praising Creation. Sure, I can check the statistics of people who visited, how long they stayed, and how they found the blog in the first place. Comments are more enjoyable because they open up paths to conversations.

This is the opening paragraph of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll:

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversations?"

For "book," read "blog." (Yes, I know some bloggers don't post photos or illustrations, but that's fine. You create pictures in our minds.) Speaking of pictures, here are two photos of what I've been working on all week:


I forgot to label the strawberry plants Lucia picked out. They're in front of the pansies. Regarding the strawberries, sweet-peas, lettuces and herbs we've planted, Lucia says, "We're going to eat them!" I told her that I was counting on it. Maybe she'll eat more veggies if she actually grows them herself. One can hope. This garden plot originally only extended a little bit beyond the callalilies. I have ambitions of making the entire yard nothing but garden.

Extremely Intelligent Wombat

Schelle from Brand New Ending has posted her own piece for "Children's Books That Never Were," based on Ruth Park's Muddle-Headed Wombat series (with which I am not familiar). Schelle's contribution is The Extremely Intelligent Wombat. My favorite part involved the Quoll as the Wombat's sidekick.

Children's Books that Never Were, Part 5

This one is for Schelle at Brand New Ending.


From the editor:

Dear Robert McCloskey,

I am befuddled by “Make Way for Puggles.” All this time, I thought a “puggle” was a pug/beagle hybrid. Now, you tell me that a “puggle” is actually a baby echidna. Both you and Marjorie Flack may very well be onto something with your obsession over monotremes, but I don’t think the American public is yet ready to accept new Australian animals into their lives. They’re still dealing with the ramifications of the kangaroo, wallaby, wallaroo, koala, kookaburra, dingo, wombat, tree frog, frilly-necked lizard, bottlenose dolphin, and dugong. I’m trying to warm the senior editors up to the idea of a fruit-bat in a children’s book, but so far they are resistant to this innovative concept.

The mother echidna trying to lead her puggles across a busy street in Sydney to find a park thick with termites and ants is indeed a compelling story that, in the right time period, would endure through the ages. I was particularly intrigued with the role of the policewoman, Matilda, who feeds candied fire-ants to the family of echidnas on a regular basis. (Isn’t Matilda worried that the confection will rot the puggles’ teeth? Oh, whoops, echidnas have no teeth. How clever.) When Matilda stops traffic to let the puggles walk across the street, I cheered. Those puggles are so confoundedly cute. However, I believe that monotremes lay only one egg at a time. Is Mrs. Echidna perhaps the adoptive mother of abandoned puggles? Now there's another story altogether! Think about it.

You know Boston, Massachusetts fairly well—-why not set your story there? If you changed your echidna to an animal more familiar with contemporary American audiences (and also one that is known to have multiple offspring), I’m sure I’d be able to pitch your manuscript at our next editors’ meeting. Maybe you could turn the echidnas into the pug/beagle hybrid I mentioned earlier. Then, the title of your manuscript could stay the same.

Sincerely,
Garrulous MacKenzie
Assistant to the Junior Editor
Children’s Division
Varangian Falcon Press

Addendum:
In the comments section, Schelle writes,

I'll have to tell you the story of how we were driving to an exam one day when we saw an echidna by the side of the road. Not wanting him to be squished while trying to cross (we usually rescue tortoises from the middle of the road) my husband screeched the car to a halt, and jumped out - I gave him my blue velvet coat to grab the echidna with, we popped the little adventurer on the back seat and continued to the exam - not having time to go home first. While I spent two hours in my law exam, hubby amused the echidna who had a great time exploring the car - when we got home again, he had burrowed his way down behind the back seat and we had to take the seat out to get him - he was perfectly happy to be carried into the bush and released, and we still occasionally find dug-up ant nests. He has probably found a lady echidna and started making puggles by now! Unfortunately, my coat has never been the same, as it is now full of holes from Mr Echidna's spines - but somehow I don't really mind!

Doing My Bit for National Poetry Month

Replay:

Arithmetic is where numbers fly is an old post I wrote about Carl Sandburg. The post has a link to the short film made from Carl Sandburg's "Arithmetic." Real Player required (alas).

Leatherwing Bat on the Ocarina is a song I transcribed a few months before I began guitar lessons. It's an Appalachian folk song I wish I had written. I'm playing the song for my guitar recital this Sunday.

Three Songs of Stars and Fire contains one of my favorite poems, "A Pavane for the Nursery," by William Jay Smith.

Rainier Maria Rilke and Richard Wilbur write about angels and the things of this world.

My one Poetry Friday post has links to Walter de la Mare, Pablo Neruda, Edward Lear and Robert Louis Stevenson.

All of the poems and songs I cited in the above links are by poets who are men. It's something I find peculiar to note, because there was a time in my life when I went out of my way to read and study poetry by women. My theory: male poets sometimes talk about their "Muses," and the traditional Muses are female. Maybe because I'm female, my non-traditional Muse is male. If so, I need to give him a name. Thalia is the Muse of comedy and Euterpe is the Muse of lyric poetry. What is the Ancient Greek translation for "Muse of Silly Songs?"

Thalerpe?

Addendum
Robert from the comments section suggests "Anoitos" as the Muse of Silly Songs. Anoitos means "fool." (Thank you, Babel Fish, for allowing me to appear more erudite than I really am.) It works for me:

Sing, O Anoitos,
the vanity of Achilles son of Heelius,
that brought countless blisters upon the Achaeans.
Many a brave sole wore sandals hurrying down to Macy's,
and many a bunion did it yield...

Oh, I can't sustain this.

Dan Zanes and Fans

Dan Zanes and the Gleefuls

We had front row center seats at the Dan Zanes concert yesterday, but Lucia did not sit in her seat at all. She was one of the first of the children to head toward the mosh pit. We enjoyed watching all the children dancing, holding hands, twirling each other, and making a human-train (hands on shoulders) for "Catch That Train!" After the last song ("Sweet Rosyanne"), Lucia cried because she wanted more music. Later, she told us,"We're going to see Dan Zanes again tomorrow."

Lucia among her fellow dancers

Children's Books That Never Were, Part 4

Fuse #8 requested I complete the Triumvirate of Mediocrity and so I shall. Then, I will return to altering books I actually like. I don't have the intense distaste for Love You Forever that I do for other books because there are some decent things about the story (i.e. the boy taking care of his mother when she's old and sick). However, I cannot ignore the ick factor of the mother sneaking into her adult son's house after he's married with a child of his own. There's got to be a balance in children's literature between the unconditional love of parents that is supposed to exist and the emotional space parents need to give their children in order for the children to grow in a healthy manner.

I know some of you love this book. If we were having a conversation about children's books, I would not intentionally disparage your taste in a story I knew you appreciated. I probably have some books on my shelf that would send you screaming for the Cascade Mountains. However, if you want to make me sniffle, skip Love You Forever and read to me The Clown of God instead.

Fuse, you promised me gold. Now, I want the gold. If I must, I'll take it in the form of gold-foil covered chocolate. Yummers.



From the editor:

Dear Robert Munsch,

I myself am not a parent, but I have plenty of friends who are. They all despair that their toddlers will never learn to use the potty. Some joke wearily that their progeny will go through high school graduation lines still wearing disposable nappies. Aside from the fact that some adults do have to wear diapers for medical reasons, your manuscript, “The Terror in the Toilet: Or, What Happens When You Refuse to Go Potty,” is offensive on so many levels. This is not a bad thing. Personally, I chuckled at the idea that the mother of the story would have to sneak into her son’s apartment late at night to change his diapers while the son’s wife was sleeping. Also, I enjoyed the part where the mother is so fed-up that she flushes the boy's rubber ducky down the toilet.

But… and this is a big but… some of the graphic depictions of the terrible things that will happen when children refuse to use the potty are going to be too disturbing for the general public. Diapers that don’t fit and leak all over the place during P.E. Class? Mockery by one’s 6th grade peers when something whiffy wafts out of diapers during Math class? Egads. Some might think you go too far, Mr. Munsch.

Instead of predicting dire scenarios for toddlers who refuse to poop in the potty, how about imparting a different message to bolster self-esteem? Something along the lines of “No matter what you do, I’ll love you forever,” with the little boy (grown-up) finally showing some sympathy to his elderly mother would be appropriate. Please keep in mind that Lighting Bug Books is a small press and we cannot risk alienating our readership with edgy stories. I’d like to see a rewrite of this manuscript, but only because I enjoyed The Paperbag Princess so much. "Grrrl Power!" as my niece Dottie would say.

Sincerely,
Garrulous MacKenzie
Junior Editor of the Mailroom
Lightning Bug Books

Dan's the Man

Artwork by Donald Saaf

Tomorrow, Bede, Lucia and I will attend the 1 pm show of Dan Zanes and Friends. We have front row seats. Maybe we'll see you locals in the mosh pit? Children's mosh pits tend to be slightly less dangerous than grown-up mosh-pits. There's usually no body-slamming or stage-diving. When we saw Captain Bogg & Salty in January, the moshers had strict instructions from Mr. Bogg himself only to jump up and down, not side-to-side or headlong into one's neighbors. At the end of "Nellie the Elephant," Captain Bogg made motions to dive into the audience, but Buckle held him back and said, "No no no!"

For a snippet of Dan in concert, check out "Polly Wolly Doodle."

The Woman and the Beard

Wilgefortis, a.k.a. Uncumber, a.k.a. Liberata, is the patron saint of women who wish to avoid arranged marriages. The legend of Wilgefortis is that her pagan father promised her in marriage to some guy after Wilgefortes made a vow of chastity. Wilgefortis prayed to God to remove her conventional good looks in order to repel her prospective husband. Immediately, she grew a luxuriant beard. Her father was outraged and had her crucified.

That's the legend, anyway. According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, representations of Christ with long hair and wearing a long tunic prompted stories of a bearded woman who suffered martyrdom. Although Wilgefortis probably didn't exist in an actual historical timeline, I've got to admire a heroine who takes an alternate approach to the usual trope of fleeing from an unwanted marriage. In essence, Wilgefortis said, "Nyaaaahhhh! How do you like me now?"

My friend Marvin asked me to create a Wilgefortis action figure.* Marvin, here you go:



If I were designing my own Wilgefortis action figure from scratch, I'd model her features upon those of Jennifer Miller, a reknowned contemporary performance artist who happens to be a bearded woman.

One of the most popular searches that leads to my blog is "saint action figures"-- not statues, but action figures. Archie McPhee, take note. I appreciate it that you have statues of St. Gertrude (patron saint of cats) and St. Martha (patron saint of restaurant servers), but I want these representations to have hinges. They need bendy arms with hands that can hold accessories.


*Action figure created with the help of the Mini-Mizer.

Children's Books That Never Were, Part 3

From the editor:

Dear Mister Pfister,

How delightful to receive a submission from Switzerland. I've studied enough German to know that the title of your manuscript, Fischaugen Regenbogen, loosely translates to “Rainbow Fish-Eyes.” From what I’ve gathered through my translation of the text (thank you, English-German dictionaries everywhere!), the story has a most intriguing premise. I don’t think that anyone has ever published a story about a myriad-eyed professor fish and his attempts to teach his “school” to appreciate poetry. The part in the story where the Rainbow Fish tears out his eyes in disgust after his students mangle iambic pentameter is gut-wrenching with pathos. However, the story gets quite convoluted after that. I fail to understand what role Krake the octopus has to do with the progression of the storyline. He just sits there in his cave. Also, I’m confused by the proliferation of aluminum foil stuck to the body of the Rainbow Fish. Is the glitteriness supposed to be a novelty of some sort? Today's children's book-buying public is much too savvy for what we refer to in the biz as "toy books."

I’m afraid that Fischaugen Regenbogen is not quite right for Furrier, Stress and Gyros. I recommend a reworking of the text to something that actually makes sense. I have full confidence that you will only improve upon your creation. Whatever else you do, definitely continue with the motif of the multiple-eyes. I feel as if they’re tracking me across the room. This is a good thing. Children need to think that, no matter where they are, someone is watching everything they do.

Sincerely,
Garrulous MacKenzie
Assistant to the Lead Editor
Children’s Division
Furrier, Stress & Gyros

Tulip Town 2007

Today, we joined up with two other families from Lucia's school to visit the 24th Annual Tulip Festival in Skagit County, Washington. The weather was chilly, the skies were overcast and the fields were muddy. We enjoyed our time among the tulips, but realized that in previous years, we had been spoiled with an abundance of sunshine and fair winds. Lucia enjoyed playing tag with her friends but got mad when she fell down in the mud. Her favorite part of the festival has always been the water wheel:

Children's Books That Never Were, Part 2

I planned to wait until Wednesday to post the next installment of Children's Books That Never Were. Then I realized that I never promised CBTNW would be a weekly feature. In fact, I hope other people think up books of their own and let me know so that I can post their links. While it's fun to have a tweaked cover, you don't have to have one. Lisa Yee's Book Title Contest was all about text.

What inspired me to write the editor letters was the satire of Leonard Marcus' Dear Genius: The Letters of Ursula Nordrom called "Dear Clueless: The rejection letters of Edna Albertson" by Peter D. Sieruta.

Today's CBTNW features one of the books found in the Triumvirate of Mediocrity. I dedicate it to Fuse #8 as an early birthday present.



From the editor:

Dear Uncle Shelby,

Ursula Nordstrom is very busy right now, so she asked me, her new assistant, to take a look at your recent picture-book manuscript submission. The Misgiving Tree is a most intriguing title for this brief morality tale of a boy who brings burnt offerings of vegetables to the Great Tree of the forest, only to have his sacrifices rejected again and again. I am reminded of the story of Cain and Abel--without the distracting presence of that ninny Abel. The cover is delightfully disturbing, if a bit overstated. (Was it your intention to have some of the leaves shaped like the traditional insulting form of the two-fingered salute?) The tree bequeathing a so-called “blessing” in the form of a partially-devoured apple is chilling in its Biblical implications. However, I can see right away that there would be trouble with the censors. Tant pis (that’s French).

Some suggestions:

Have you thought about how much you could accomplish with dramatic irony? What about turning the tree into a the kind of grownup who indulges the boy in whatever he demands and refuses to say "no" even if it's for the boy's own good? The boy can completely ravage the tree of her apples, her branches, her trunk, and in a final grand insult to parents everywhere, sit on her stump-like form in the last scene. "How sharper than a serpent's tooth is an ungrateful child," indeed!

Think about it. Also, what about a slightly different title? I think “The Giving Tree” would really hammer home the satire. Years from now, people of all ages will talk about this book and how it changed their lives.

Sincerely,
Garrulous MacKenzie
Assistant to Ursula Nordstrom
Children’s Division
Sharper & Crow

P.S. I am enclosing my edits for the book cover. I hope you don't mind that I wrote on your artwork. You do keep copies of your illustrations, yes?

What Shall We Do With the Boo-Hoo Baby?

Yesterday, I went through some skills assessment interviews with the library system where I sometimes tell stories. My last skills assessment was two years ago, and while my assessment scores were okay, they didn't reflect how good I really could be. Besides, two years ago, I didn't play guitar.

I brought in my guitar for the storytelling component of the skills assessment. Even when I went through the reference interview and reader's advisory parts of the assessment, I was glad that my guitar was nearby. Although I don't play my guitar slung low over my hips (the practice may look cool but it's an ergonomic disaster), I've got more confidence now that I've got Diamond Lil in my life.

For the children's storytime part of the assessment, I read What Shall We Do With the Boo-Hoo Baby? by Cressida Cowell, illustrated by Ingrid Godon.


Then, I sang and played a version of that story to the tune of "What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor?" If you like, you're welcome to use it in your own storytimes. Here are the lyrics with guitar chords:

Chorus:

Am
What shall we do with the boo-hoo baby,
G
What shall we do with the boo-hoo baby,
Am
What shall we do with the boo-hoo baby?
G                   Am
Poor little crying baby.

Maybe the baby’s hungry X3
Feed that little baby!

[Spoken: Is the baby still crying?]

Chorus

Let the baby splash in the bathtub X3
Wash that little baby!

[Is the baby still crying?]


Chorus

Let’s all play with the baby X3
Bounce that little baby!

[Is the baby still crying?]

Chorus

Lay the baby in the cradle X3
Poor little baby’s sleepy.

[The baby stopped crying! Shhhhh.]

Hush, hush, sleeping baby,
Hush, hush, sleeping baby,
Hush, hush, sleeping baby,
Sweetie little baby.



Lyrics copyright 2007 by Alkelda the Gleeful and Farida Dowler

April 7 update: I just received a letter regarding my skills assessments. The person who wrote the letter informed me that my new scores were lower than the original set of scores. I still get to keep my original set of scores. I plan to call to find out exactly what the system wanted that I didn't provide. The interviewers had given me positive feedback. It's a hard pill to swallow to think that they may have just been polite. What did they want? Whatever it was, it definitely wasn't a singing, guitar-playing storyteller.

As Jed Bartlett in The West Wing would say, "What's next?"

Hello, I'm Terza Rima

I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You?

I wonder how I got these results. Was it because I skipped a few of the songs and battle-scenes when I read The Lord of the Rings? Thanks to Journey Woman for the link.

Children's Books That Never Were, Part 1

Today is the first post of a series I'm planning called "Children's Books That Never Were." However, instead of me writing all of the posts, I'd like some (or more) of you in the blogosphere to add your own offerings. If you decide to add to the collection, please post your link in the comments section.



From the editor:

Dear Ms. Flack,

I am intrigued with your proposal for a picture-book series about an insatiably inquisitive platypus named Angus. However, I’m not sure that the American public is ready for monotremes in children’s literature. H. A. Rey had a similar problem over at Houghton Mifflin when his “Querulous George” books originally featured an echidna that the Man in the Yellow Hat illegally imported from New Guinea. Rey's editors decided that a tailless monkey illegally imported from Kenya would be less controversial.

I’m returning your manuscript for Angus Lost, as well as your proposed cover for the book. I’d be happy to take a look at the manuscript again with a different animal featured in the series. What about something as simple as a dog? Have you thought about the possibility of making Angus a Chihuahua or a Shar Pei?

Sincerely,
Garrulous MacKenzie
Assistant to the Lead Editor
Children’s Division
Furrier, Stress & Gyros

Other People's Book Reviews

Here are three chapter-books I've read recently based upon fellow bloggers' reviews:

Emma-Jean Lazarus Fell Out of a Tree—Lauren Tarshis
Reviewer: Fuse Number 8

The Earth, My Butt and Other Big Round Things--Carolyn Mackler
Reviewer: HipWriterMama

Note: One of the highlights for me was the main character's Thanksgiving visit from New York to Seattle.

Life as We Knew It--Susan Beth Pfeffer
Reviewer: Jen Robinson

Also, don't miss out on a review of two picture-books from Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast:
The Wish and A Seed is Sleepy
Reviewer: Jules of 7Imp

Note: Both of these picture-books feature sunflowers prominently (as if sunflowers could be anything but prominent). Ever since she was a baby, Lucia has been my "Sunflower Girl." She's long-legged and beautiful. By the time she's a teenager, she will probably be taller than I. She's almost four years old, and already she's more than half my height.


Sunflower Girl with Mommy

One of Seven

Princess in the mirror

We have returned from our brief trip to Idaho. Seattle-Jane married her swain, the seven flower-girls hailed them with petals tossed from baskets, and we all toasted the newly-married couple with tasty vintages provided by the wine-cellar where the wedding took place. Lucia had studied her flower-girl duties beforehand with the help of Lilly's Big Day, and carried herself with simple dignity. Had we let her, Lucia would have slept in her garland that night.

On the way back from Idaho, Bede got a speeding ticket for traveling 83 mph in a 70mph zone. The fact that Bede got the ticket instead of I had only to do with our recent switch of driving-duties. We weren't peeved about getting the ticket as much as we were incredulous that drivers going as fast as us got away like the proverbial fox [that] went out on a chilly night. We threw our hats on the ground and shook our fists at the cars that escaped with impunity.* Next time, we vowed, we would put getaway music** on our iPods.


Bede and Lucia in Eastern Washington

*The cop thought we were a little bit odd.
**Really, anything with fast banjo riffs will do.