Michael Roberts celebrates his 60th birthday and I'm there to document the event. I haven't spent any time with him in 22 years since our old kayaking/camping days, but it was refreshing to see time doesn't have to slow you down.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Friday, November 21, 2008
Sweetest Little Ocean Girl by my 7 yr old daughter
A silent blue wave sweeps across the water, rumbling and crashing like a surfer's best dream
Under the pale blue water there is a fairy tale
The tide going in and out, in and out, like the sweetest orchestra.
Whales singing out: I am here, find me, be together
A small fish gets stuck on shore, but everything could help all together
So now I know, all you need to visit the ocean is love
I love you, Mommy
I love you too, sweetest little ocean girl
Now here is the thing. My little girl sometimes writes in a way that transparantly exposes the fact that she is seven years old. But sometimes the sea of our collective consciousness seems to flow through her pencil like it does above.
This was the writing done by her one evening when she said, "Mom, we have to write now." I was busy on the computer, and kept putting her off, but finally, begrudgingly opened WORD and asked her, "what are we writing about."
"Anything," she said.
So off I flew writing a new YA novel full of suspense, with a young girl who heard "voices" and we the reader wondered if they were real. A chasm in the earth was between her and her object of desire.
When Delaney told us to stop ten minutes later, she asked me if I wanted to read first. I said sure, knowing I would blow her away.
She was silent, as silent as the rock I drew in words that skittered into the dark chasm below my main character. Then she said, "okay, my turn."
And I was silent as she read. Her 7 year old words blew mine out of the water, and I was left speechless. Those words above are unedited and unthought out.
I've since read it to people at parties, and many eyes blur with tears. They move the reader, and I'm not sure if my daughter knows why. But she, like my character I sorely tried to capture in my 10 minute YA novel that evening, must hear voices. And they are real.
Under the pale blue water there is a fairy tale
The tide going in and out, in and out, like the sweetest orchestra.
Whales singing out: I am here, find me, be together
A small fish gets stuck on shore, but everything could help all together
So now I know, all you need to visit the ocean is love
I love you, Mommy
I love you too, sweetest little ocean girl
Now here is the thing. My little girl sometimes writes in a way that transparantly exposes the fact that she is seven years old. But sometimes the sea of our collective consciousness seems to flow through her pencil like it does above.
This was the writing done by her one evening when she said, "Mom, we have to write now." I was busy on the computer, and kept putting her off, but finally, begrudgingly opened WORD and asked her, "what are we writing about."
"Anything," she said.
So off I flew writing a new YA novel full of suspense, with a young girl who heard "voices" and we the reader wondered if they were real. A chasm in the earth was between her and her object of desire.
When Delaney told us to stop ten minutes later, she asked me if I wanted to read first. I said sure, knowing I would blow her away.
She was silent, as silent as the rock I drew in words that skittered into the dark chasm below my main character. Then she said, "okay, my turn."
And I was silent as she read. Her 7 year old words blew mine out of the water, and I was left speechless. Those words above are unedited and unthought out.
I've since read it to people at parties, and many eyes blur with tears. They move the reader, and I'm not sure if my daughter knows why. But she, like my character I sorely tried to capture in my 10 minute YA novel that evening, must hear voices. And they are real.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
A New Generation of Writers
Due to a supportive community around me (the coordination of picking up, dropping off a trick-or-treating child over two mountain passes on Halloween, dogs to be watched, a home to stay in, etc. . ) I had the opportunity to attend the Big Sur of the Rockies for Children's Book Writers last weekend. To be considered for attendance, childrens writers submitted a work for review by Andrea Brown of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency.
I will probably blog more than once about this phenomenal weekend, which meant getting a big thumbs up on my manuscript from Lyron the editor at Jabberwocky, after polishing it to his specifications . . . not to mention a ton of inspiration, advice and encouragement.
However, one thing that stood out to me was hearing Andrea Brown (her agency ranked highest by Publisher's Marketplace in number of juvenile sales in 2007) say to the lot of us 60 writers, "You know who you're competition is, don't you? It's 14, 15, and 16 year old. We just signed a 13 year old, who's already been published and played violin at Carnegie Hall. We asked why we should sign him, since he was obviously headed for the world of classical violin, he shrugged and said, 'Nah, I'm going to be a neurosurgeon."
THIS weekend, I had the opportunity to hear a local Steamboat Springs Christian Heritage Student, 13 years old, read her fantasy novel out loud at a small dinner party, and I almost fell on the floor at the world this young woman spun from her mind . . . the language all flawless and compelling. When we got home that evening, my seven year old daughter begged to write a paragraph. It was 11PM. I said, "No, Delaney. You need to go to bed. It's really late." She pleaded. I aceeded, knowing that the lesson of honoring our muses a more important lesson than the clock on a weekend. So she sat down and scrawled this out as fast as a young girl can move her hand across the page while I visited with my out-of-town illustrating friend, Amy Vasterling (www.AmyCernyVasterling.com).
Word for word, no editing by me or her, or really any thought, and remember, this is a 7 year old:
MIDNIGHT
Midnight is as tasty as the sweetest cookie. Midnight presses its soot black face against the world. Shades dancing across the street. The brightest star is beautiful. The moon shining over a mystical lake so clear, the water is aflutter. Treet swing in the wind like leprechauns dancing. There are so many subjects I would like to mention about the midnight world, but this is the end. Bye.
Back to Mom (me) and my comments. I asked her what inspired her, and she said the shadows dancing across the back of my seat in the car on the way home. It made her want to write about how beautiful the night is.
This generation is catching it. Teachers (like her first grade teacher, Miss Hogue) know how to inspire and teach writing, and kids like Delaney are grasping it. I believe also, there are so many beautiful books for children . . . SO MANY! I've worked at Bud Werner Memorial Library for a year now, and the stacks of NEW picture books for the most part are astounding. Unreal in their beauty in both illustration and word.
Where is this going? This generation of intuitive wordsters? What will our world be like when they are our age? I just can't help but wonder what this movement is all about.
I will probably blog more than once about this phenomenal weekend, which meant getting a big thumbs up on my manuscript from Lyron the editor at Jabberwocky, after polishing it to his specifications . . . not to mention a ton of inspiration, advice and encouragement.
However, one thing that stood out to me was hearing Andrea Brown (her agency ranked highest by Publisher's Marketplace in number of juvenile sales in 2007) say to the lot of us 60 writers, "You know who you're competition is, don't you? It's 14, 15, and 16 year old. We just signed a 13 year old, who's already been published and played violin at Carnegie Hall. We asked why we should sign him, since he was obviously headed for the world of classical violin, he shrugged and said, 'Nah, I'm going to be a neurosurgeon."
THIS weekend, I had the opportunity to hear a local Steamboat Springs Christian Heritage Student, 13 years old, read her fantasy novel out loud at a small dinner party, and I almost fell on the floor at the world this young woman spun from her mind . . . the language all flawless and compelling. When we got home that evening, my seven year old daughter begged to write a paragraph. It was 11PM. I said, "No, Delaney. You need to go to bed. It's really late." She pleaded. I aceeded, knowing that the lesson of honoring our muses a more important lesson than the clock on a weekend. So she sat down and scrawled this out as fast as a young girl can move her hand across the page while I visited with my out-of-town illustrating friend, Amy Vasterling (www.AmyCernyVasterling.com).
Word for word, no editing by me or her, or really any thought, and remember, this is a 7 year old:
MIDNIGHT
Midnight is as tasty as the sweetest cookie. Midnight presses its soot black face against the world. Shades dancing across the street. The brightest star is beautiful. The moon shining over a mystical lake so clear, the water is aflutter. Treet swing in the wind like leprechauns dancing. There are so many subjects I would like to mention about the midnight world, but this is the end. Bye.
Back to Mom (me) and my comments. I asked her what inspired her, and she said the shadows dancing across the back of my seat in the car on the way home. It made her want to write about how beautiful the night is.
This generation is catching it. Teachers (like her first grade teacher, Miss Hogue) know how to inspire and teach writing, and kids like Delaney are grasping it. I believe also, there are so many beautiful books for children . . . SO MANY! I've worked at Bud Werner Memorial Library for a year now, and the stacks of NEW picture books for the most part are astounding. Unreal in their beauty in both illustration and word.
Where is this going? This generation of intuitive wordsters? What will our world be like when they are our age? I just can't help but wonder what this movement is all about.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A little View of the Big Wide World
Quote taken from the NY Times, For Many Abroad, an Ideal Renewed
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/05/us/politics/05global.html?pagewanted=2&_r=1&hp
"In Russia, for example, where Soviet leaders used to respond to any American criticism of human rights violation with “But you hang Negroes,” analysts note that the election of Mr. Obama removes a stain. But they speak of it without reference to their own treatment of ethnic minorities.
“Definitely, this will improve America’s image in Russia,” said Sergey M. Rogov, director of the Institute for U.S.A. and Canada Studies in Moscow. “There was this perception before of widespread racism in America, deeply rooted racism.”"
Nothing unsettles me like bigotry and hatred based on the qualities a person is born with. And to NOW live in a country that has proven to the world FINALLY, that its people as a majority, are beyond that . . . I say, cheers through my tears of joy!
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/05/us/politics/05global.html?pagewanted=2&_r=1&hp
"In Russia, for example, where Soviet leaders used to respond to any American criticism of human rights violation with “But you hang Negroes,” analysts note that the election of Mr. Obama removes a stain. But they speak of it without reference to their own treatment of ethnic minorities.
“Definitely, this will improve America’s image in Russia,” said Sergey M. Rogov, director of the Institute for U.S.A. and Canada Studies in Moscow. “There was this perception before of widespread racism in America, deeply rooted racism.”"
Nothing unsettles me like bigotry and hatred based on the qualities a person is born with. And to NOW live in a country that has proven to the world FINALLY, that its people as a majority, are beyond that . . . I say, cheers through my tears of joy!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
I suppose this means I'm finally published.
My Steamboat Pilot letter to the editor was chosen as one of eighteen out of over 800 letters across the country on the wecansolveit.org website! I was pretty excited to see that, and it gave me an excuse to annoy my friends some more with my passion for this cause! Follow the link below and you'll see my name at the bottom.
http://www.wecansolveit.org/content/story/membersletterssuccess/
http://www.wecansolveit.org/content/story/membersletterssuccess/
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Gettin' Hitched
I had the honor of photographing an amazing wedding last weekend at my old stomping grounds, The Brown Ranch. The bride who hired me happened to be the sister of the daughter-in-law of dear friends, Verl and Ann Brown. Convoluted, I know, but that makes it no less heart-warming.
Walking onto the ranch after seven years absence, in the timeless remote beauty of North Park which I abandoned four years ago . . . felt like returning to an old friend. Something which had been burning inside me eased, and at the risk of sounding cliche --- every writer's nightmare --- I felt at peace. A strange sensation to feel sadness and loss melt away by geography.
Unfortunately, it rained and hailed most of the day of the wedding, which is quite sad, because it was spectacular. The setting, the stagecoach, the old barns, historic houses, 5 bridesmaids and 5 groomsmen, all beautiful . . even a sunset service in the aspens with a mountain backdrop . . . the photos COULD have been overwhelming, instead most of them were taken in a last minute jerry-rigged studio, with no lights, inside the Brown home. All of our careful planning the weekend before . . . down the tube. I'm guessing over half the shots we planned never even got a press of my shutter. The bridesmaids' cowboy boots? Nope. The bride's shoes? Nope. The rings? Nope. The bridesmaids in the old barn window . . . a shot planned for over a year? Nope. the list goes on and on. It hurts to write it!
Still, with a bride this beautiful and a groom this in love . . . magic couldn't help but happen. It is such an honor to be a part of something so hopeful. Truly a beautiful day. Rain or no rain. And magic did happen. During the ten minute ceremony (I kid you not. Photographers . . . yes, that's right . . . cringe! I had no idea it would be so short, and I didn't take half the photos I needed) . . . the sun popped out with the perfect golden glow and just as quickly, disappeared.
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