Click here to view this week's Tuesday 2-Minute Writing Tip 33 "What is Success (for Writers)."
Also I blogged over at Smack Dab in the Middle about writing identity & the kindness of readers...like YOU!
Today I'm excited to welcome to Live Your Poem Dahlia Hamza Constantine, my dear friend and co-author of A GOOD MORNING FOR GIDDO (illus. by Basma Hosam, Nancy Paulsen Books) which releases next Tuesday, April 7. Don't miss this post where I blogged about Dahlia and me and this book earlier this year!
Y'all, we sold this book back in 2021, so it's so, so lovely to see it finally in print. It's my gazillionth time to work with editor Stacey Barney, which makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world! And this is Dahlia's debut book, so I want her to have all the experiences!
You will also find some asides from me below in pink. Thanks so much for reading!
FRESH
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| Dahlia at Mamaj restaurant (which was a palace from 1469) |
I had never written fiction collaboratively before, and suddenly I was inside a shared Google Doc with Irene - building Somaya and Giddo’s world line by line.
There was so much laughter. [IL: Dahlia has a magical, musical laugh. Joy joy joy!]
We were writing scenes like Somaya racing through the market, clutching her secret stitching, determined to get to the tentmakers… while Giddo gently slows her down—“Today is a day to savor being alive.” And somehow, that became our process too. We would rush toward an idea, then pause, linger, reshape it, laugh, and begin again.
It never felt solitary. It felt like walking through the market together—turning corners, discovering something new each time. [IL: Exactly. There were so many surprises, so many connections between the two of us and between us and our story! And Poetry Friends: these two sentences are exactly what I'm after whenever I write or read a poem...turning corners, discovering something new...]
DIFFICULT
DHC: Picture books are tiny… and completely unforgiving. [Truth!]
The hardest part of writing Giddo was getting the language exactly right—so it could carry all that sensory richness in just a few words.
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| old Cairo market |
And that meant every single word mattered.
There were times when Irene and I would try twenty different words for one line. Not exaggerating. Twenty.
It was meticulous. It was a little absurd.
And we laughed the whole time. [A word we (apparently) love? Shimmer. Shimmered. Shimmery. We had too many of these in the story, and Stacey asked us to revise...which led to, you guessed it, shimmery laughter!]
DELICIOUS
DHC: The delicious part is that moment when everything finally clicks.
When a line like “even the Sphinx smiles” lands just right. When the rhythm of “good morning with roses… and jasmine… and sunshine” begins to echo through the book like a song. When Somaya’s journey—from rushing ahead to slowing down—feels complete.
Because this book is so sensory, those moments felt immersive. We weren’t just writing the market—we were inside it, wandering past the tentmakers, the ink sellers, the tea, the music, the shimmer of fabric and abalone shells. [shimmer! Big smile!]
And then I went back.
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| the light in the market |
But honestly? The most delicious part was working with Irene.
That shared delight in getting it just right—that was the magic. [Aw, big blushy thanks. And: Yes! It was delicious and delightful working with Dahlia. Did I mention JOY? And MAGIC!]
ANYTHING ELSE
DHC: At its heart, this book is about slowing down. [Children need this message. *I* need this message!]
Somaya begins the story rushing—we must get to the tentmakers!—and ends by saying, “I like it when we take our time.”
That shift feels very true to the writing process, too.
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| chairs with abalone inlay |
We thought we were writing a simple story about a morning in the market. But what we were really doing was learning how to pause, notice, listen, and let the story unfold at its own pace.
Also, if you ever find yourself debating twenty words for a single sentence… just know you’re in excellent company.
And maybe—just maybe—you’re getting close. [Can you tell Dahlia is a former teacher?? I have learned so much from her (and not just about storytelling!]
Thank you, dear Dahlia, and thank you, readers, with roses and jasmine and sunshine!
Thanks also to Dahlia's mom, Sawsan Hamza, who was so generous in checking the accuracy of everything and gifted me an authentic piece from the Tentmakers of Cairo! So so special!
And now, today's ArtSpeak: WOMEN poem. Next up on the Harper's Bazaar list is assemblage artist Betye Saar—another new-to-me artist! I was instantly drawn to her piece entitled "Anticipation," as it brought up for me some conflicting thoughts I've had about mindfulness and living in the present moment, namely that our instruction is not to be in the past or the future. But sometimes I really LOVE anticipation. Sometimes the anticipation is better than the actual thing! Or at least amplifies the thing. I don't know. I have found much more peace in my life by letting go of expectations, for sure. At the same time, I still enjoy the buzzy feeling of anticipation and am trying to focus on it (rather than sliding into worry or scripting something that will never actually happen and only lead to disappointment!).
For Your Information
Yes, anticipation is participation
in expectation—
For some, a celebration.
For others, an abomination.
My observation?
Anticipation is best
as pollination—
appreciation (not hyperventilation)
leads to more exhilaration,
less perspiration,
and (sometimes) intoxication
spiked with growing realization.
So. Won't you accept
this invitation
to take a vacation
from self-flagellation?
Give your anticipation
a standing ovation. Yes?
Yes! Congratulations!
- Irene Latham
