LUCKY NUMBER FOUR

So Kirie, whom I completely adore, over at 3 Little Chickies , tagged me for this fun little romp through the photo files. Instructions are to open your fourth folder, then post the fourth picture.

And what's this, you're asking? A snapshot of the first page of my youngest son's Diary. Er, Book of Secrets. Pretty adorable, huh? And I love that he journals. All HIM, let me tell you. He inspires me on a daily basis.

Now. To pass it along to four others:

Chelley Cat (an awesome photographer -- can't wait to see what she posts!)
Rachel (budding photographer and daughter of a most beautiful person also known as Four Angels Momma)
River Garden Studio (where I've been lurking lately because of all the amazing things this gal does with color and texture. Oh and she also has really excellent taste in music. Talk about inspiring!)
DysFUNctional Mom (Another secret hideout... her motto is "Just smile and nod." How can I not love that?!)

"Go and wake up your luck."

- Persian saying

B IS FOR BEGINNINGS

Someone told me once that there are three parts of a book: the beginning, the end, and everything in between.

Trouble is, you can't get to parts two and three without a really excellent part one. Truly, a story or poem or book is nothing without a great start.

We may think "once upon a time," and all stories do start there, but of course it's not what we write. And clearly the days of “It was a dark and stormy night” are long gone in a society that craves action and lots of it. So as writers, we’ve really got to get in there and get moving FAST. Which, for me, usually involves razing the Front Porch: gotta clear out all that backstory and provide the reader with a wide-open front door.

Here are a few of my favorite beginnings:

All children, except one, grow up. Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines. Madeline - Ludwig Bemelmans

The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another his mother called him "WILD THING!" and Max said "I'LL EAT YOU UP!" so he was sent to bed without eating anything. Where the Wild Things Are - Maurice Sendak

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 conversation?" Alice's Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

"Where's Papa going with that ax?" said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast. Charlotte's Web - E.B. White

When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

For many days we had been tempest-tossed. The Swiss Family Robinson - Johann Wyss

The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Black Beauty - Anna Sewell

Once, in a house on Egypt Street, there lived a rabbit who was made almost entirely of china. The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane - Kate DiCamillo

A long time ago, when all the grandfathers and grandmothers of today were little boys and little girls or very small babies, or perhaps not even born, Pa and Ma and Mary and Laura and Baby Carrie left their little house in the Big Woods of Wisconsin. Little House on the Prairie - Laura Ingalls Wilder

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of threes steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

It was a pleasure to burn. Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell

Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventh-first birthday with a part of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton. The Fellowship of the Ring - J.R.R. Tolkien

And because Amy asked, here’s the beginning of my very own The Witches of Gee’s Bend:

“Mama always said every quilt tells a story.”

If you’ve got favorites, I’d sure love to hear ‘em!

LISTENING TO MY FATHER

Last night as I was at the stove trying to make magic with chicken and onions, my father called, from the hospital, where he has been since Wednesday.

He seemed to be in a good mood despite the discomfort and boredom of the hospital room and was pleased to give me the latest doctor's report. Then he shared with me a poem he had just read: "Preservatives" by cowboy poet Baxter Black. He read the poem to me with accent and all, as if he WAS Baxter Black, sitting beside some small fire on an open prairie with horses snorting and coyotes calling.

I thought, this is a moment I don't want to forget. This is why I chose LISTEN for my one little word. There is nothing more important or beautiful or necessary than the sound of a father reading to his grown-up daughter over the phone.

"Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness."

- Chinese proverb

I'D LIKE TO THANK THE ACADEMY...

As Oscar nominations are set to be announced in just a few minutes, I wanted to share this little bit of trivia I recently read: Actors who receive Academy Awards outlive their less-honored peers by four years (on average), and actors who receive multiple Oscars live an average of seven years longer.

So. Turns out validation from one's peers has a very positive effect on longevity, and I would imagine, quality of life.

I wonder if it boils down to the level of stress? Like maybe it's all that STRIVING that wears a person down? I mean, once you've got one of those lovely statuettes for your mantel, I guess you can relax a bit while all the little people come to YOU...

"Acting is all about honesty. If you can fake that, you've got it made."

- George Burns

A BOOK BY ITS WORDS

How do you judge a book? I mean, when you walk into a bookstore and pull a book from the shelf, what is it about the book that ultimately makes you reach for your wallet?

My selection method goes something like this: I see a title that intrigues me. Here I'm looking for words alone. THEN I look at the cover art and the book blurbs and the inside jacket. Many times the book goes back on the shelf at this point.

But if I'm still interested, I flip through to a random page and read a few sentences. Does it make me think? Feel? Do I like the tone and voice? Do I want to know more?

I flip again to another random page and repeat the analysis. And that's when I know if I'm going to buy the book or not.

The great news is that there are so many books out there these days -- truly, there is something for everyone.

What's your process in deciding which one to bring home?

"Real success is finding your lifework in the work that you love."

- David McCullough

WHY DO YOU WRITE FOR CHILDREN?

Yesterday my friend Teresa sent me to Nathan Bransford's blog where guest blogger Adrienne Kress answers the above question. And it got me thinking about my own answer to the question.

Here's my unedited e-mail response to Teresa:

"I think my (catty) answer would be: why not?

My long answer I owe to those MG authors I grew up loving, first and foremost Laura Ingalls Wilder. Heck, I STILL want to be her when I grow up.

This writer [Adrienne Kress] said "whimsy," but I would say "innocence." I like simple story lines, ones that address the basic human needs/desires for love, before they get all complicated by sex and money and politics. There is a clean sweetness to those stories that really appeals to me."

Now that I've had the chance to sleep on it and further ponder Teresa's answer to the question, and I realize I didn't quite say it right. Because, as Teresa pointed out, all love is complicated. Because humans are complicated. This I believe with my whole heart.

So I think what I was trying to say is, for me as a writer writing for children, I can explore those complexities more simply, more powerfully, without the distraction of sex and money and politics. You know, by writing about the primary loves in a person's life -- for parent or sibling or pet. Everything that happens before romantic love. Everything that prepares one for romantic love.

Does that make any sense?

Anyhow, it's a great question. Thanks, Teresa for your thoughts!

"Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate."

- Sigmund Freud

A IS FOR AGENT

So you're asking yourself, do I really need an agent?

All I can do to answer this question is share my own experience.

When I started really working hard to improve my fiction skills, I had this dream: I wanted to be that golden treasure some unsuspecting editor unearthed from the slush pile. I wanted to have one of those magical stories to tell about getting discovered. Amazingly, children's literature and poetry are two genres where this actually happens. But it didn't happen to me.

After submitting various manuscripts to various editors, all of whom I "met" at SCBWI Southern-Breeze conferences, and getting very warm feedback from editors at houses like Tricycle and Jump at the Sun/Hyperion and Milkweed... BUT still not getting any offers, I was feeling a bit impatient and wondered if perhaps I had chosen the wrong fork in the road. So when the registration form came in for Writing and Illustrating for Kids 2006, I marked a session entitled "Agent and Author: the road to representation." Or something like that. Honestly, I can't recall. But what I do recall is how much I liked agent Rosemary Stimola and her brand-new client Hester Bass. Ro (as I've learned to call her) also represents much-admired authors like R.A. Nelson and Suzanne Collins, knows the business inside and out, is a straight-shooter AND is super quick to respond to e-mail (my preferred method of communication). So, I thought, okay. Maybe.

About a week later, I got brave enough to send her my manuscript, which was a story set in Gee's Bend but told in verse. (Poetry is SO my comfort-zone, and wow, have you read Out of the Dust??) She shot me an e-mail right back that said she was interested in the story but already had a novel-in-verse sitting on her desk that she'd been unable to sell. In short, thanks, but no thanks.

So. What did I do? I re-wrote the darn story in prose. Then I shared it with a writing buddy who shredded it. Absolute total annhiliation. Or at least that's the way it felt. I wanted to give up. I wanted to throw the whole story in the garbage and never look back. And I almost did.

But then I had a lightbulb moment. I suddenly knew what to do with my story: Change the boy main character to a girl (who was a minor character in the earlier version) AND switch it to first person. Major, major changes, right? Ones that take sweet time. But when I finished that first draft (can I still call it a first draft??), I knew I had turned a corner. I knew THIS was a story worth writing.

So what did I do? Oh, impatient impulsive me. I zipped off that first draft to Rosemary Stimola. My raw, chapped poor little newborn who was still recovering from surgery. I didn't bother to mention that I had previously submitted a manuscript to her -- I just sent the thing straight-up, as if I had never ever contacted her in the first place. (Like if I didn't mention it, it hadn't happened?? Something like that.)

This one she liked. This one she said, yes, I think I know just the editor for this story. How 'bout I send it out?

Which she did, of course, and after some drama I'll save for another day, I had an agent and an editor and a book contract wonderfully negotiated by a real live professional who is so worth her commission. Who knows how much longer it might have taken me to get a contract without her?? And now I have her sheperding through the whole process, and I couldn't be more grateful.

So to those of you wondering about agents, I say YES. Go for it. Maybe it doesn't have as much magic as a slush pile miracle, but it's still pretty amazing.

"One's own self is well hidden from one's own self; of all mines of treasure, one's own is the last to be dug up.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

First Day of Winter
“All secrets are witnessed.”- Barbara Kingsolver

Somewhere glaciers that haven’t
moved for hundreds of years
shift ever so slightly, give
birth to currents only lantern fish see.
Somewhere the last leaf drops
unnoticed from the limbs of a dogwood,
lands square on the back of a beetle
who stills at the sudden shade.
At the same time a tropical storm
rises anonymously in the Gulf of Mexico,
geese fly through sheets of ice pellets
that never make it to the ground,
rain floods island lowlands,
mud crawls down a mountainside
swallowing a house whole,
the only witness a lost llama,
teats swollen and weeping milk.

Here the rusty chimes wake me
from dreams of sailing
together across glassy water,
I warm my hands on a coffee mug,
watch thunderclouds roll
across the sky in a pattern I’ve never seen
while your unborn daughter
sends tidal waves up her mother’s spine,
still deciding if conditions are right for travel,
and when you call to tell me,
your voice crackles on the line--
I know there must be lightning
but the clouds are so thick I can’t see it.

- Irene Latham

How 'bout that illustration? A wonderful artist Jeff Faulk, who goes by Monk, penned this one, and it appears in my book WHAT CAME BEFORE. Love it!

Somehow I missed the most recent first day of winter, but I did, in fact, write this poem on an actual first day of winter. It's one of those pieces I'm not sure I completely understand myself, so I am especially interested in how others interpret it.

How mysterious, the birth of a poem...


“Birth and death are not two different states, but they are different aspects of the same state. There is as little reason to deplore the one as there is to be pleased over the other.”

- Mahatma Gandhi

FIVE FOR FRIDAY

1. I am so inspired by this jar of buttons. The glass was a gift from my mother (it originally held daylilies from her garden), and the buttons I've collected over many years. How cheerful they look in their new home!

2. Here is a stack of mending that must be tended to, now that I've got my sewing machine back from the repair shop. Turns out it was just a cord that needed replacement (after being chewed by my cat). The repair guy remarked that before Christmas his shelves were empty, but in the past week, he has taken in 40 machines for repair. Then yesterday I saw an article that said sewing machine sales are through the roof. The thinking is that with the hard economic times, people are trying to be more self-sufficient and are planning to make their own curtains and clothes and stuff. Sounds rather hopeful to me... sewing is very much a trial and error thing... how many times have I had to go back to Hancock's and buy MORE fabric??

3. I just finished this book, and as you can see by the yellow post-it paper, I marked quite a few pages that contain passages I want to re-visit (and possibly work into future poems). I really liked Will and Claire, and all the delicious longing found here.

4. This is my new research method: index cards and a recipe box. I got the idea from Barrie Summy, author of the new MG I So Don't Do Mysteries. She uses it in a slightly different way while plotting a novel, but I have employed it as a way to organize research data for My New Idea. Thanks, Barrie, and your book sounds awesome!

5. How cute is this bag? I won it for showing up for Jazzercise 3 times a week during the busy holiday months (November and December). What's funny is, I was just about to quit Jazzercise... then they started the bag promo. (Turns out I'm one of those people who needs a lot of incentive to keep on the exercise track.)

"First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do."

- Epictetus

THE BACHELOR IS BACK!

You know, sometimes it's the little things in life that put a little bounce in my step. Like ABC's The Bachelor. Yes, this is my number one guilty pleasure, and I am just thrilled to see Jason trying again for love (after divorce and getting dumped by last season's Bachelorette). I hope he finds The One. Because he deserves it. As everyone does.

One thing I've learned over the years of watching The Bachelor is how different people are, how we want different things in relationships. Yet we all want the same thing too: to be loved and cherished. It's just interesting to me how that formula can be reached (or not) by so many different combinations. It's a real study in human relationships. And it's fun. So there. :)

So far I like the widow-mom from Huntsville. We'll see...

"The final mystery is oneself."

- Oscar Wilde

THINKING BIG

So, thanks to fellow Tenner Kay Cassidy (whose YA book THE CINDERELLA SOCIETY sounds awesome!) I've been thinking about goals.

What do I want to accomplish this year? And how will I do it?

Here are my major writing goals for 2009:

1. Acceptance and Delivery of THE WITCHES OF GEE'S BEND (soon, very soon!)
2. Submit and sell book 2, ESCAPE FROM FIRE MOUNTAIN
3. Write book 3, THE RED LIST (more on this later!)
4. Write (and revise!) 40 new poems by October 1 (deadline for coffee table book)
5. Develop supplemental material to be used in 2010 for Teacher pages on website, book discussion/activity pages AND for school visits (GEE'S BEND)

Yep, it's gonna be a busy year. But that's just how I like it.

"Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So... get on your way."

- Dr. Seuss

ONE LITTLE WORD FOR 2009

So I've been thinking about this word thing.

Last year, JOY came right to me, without thought or consideration. I knew instantly it was the right word at the right time.

This year the same thing happened. The word popped into my head, and all those other might-have-beens (like HOPE, which turns out to be far too passive) sprouted wings and flew right away. Don't you love when that happens?

So, my one little word for 2009 is LISTEN.

This works for me on a whole bunch of levels. Writing, as you know, tends to be very visual. This word will encourage me to remember the sounds.

Also, it will help me to slow down. I have this niggling little character flaw... what shall we call it?? Okay, there's no other word for it: I can be really impetuous. I like to get things DONE, to move on to the next thing. And occasionally, to achieve that, I make a really bad (quick) decision.

This year I vow to listen longer to that little voice in my head. And to other voices as well. This year I just want to pay better attention (in general and in the specific) to the here and now.

And then there's music. I LOVE music. All sorts, but most especially Bach, Beethoven, Schubert and other dead guys who knew how to generate emotion out of woodwind and brass and strings. This year I will LISTEN to more music.

So that's MY word. What about yours?

"One must talk little and listen much."

- African proverb

FRESH! NEW! EXCITING!

Welcome, 2009! Bring me what you've got. I am here, ready with my crisp calendar and fresh appointment book and reams of white paper.

First thing on my list: find my one little word for the year.

Second thing: take the kids to see Marley and Me or Tale of Despereaux?

I'll let you know. :)

"Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

IN THE NAME OF SELF-IMPROVEMENT

Check out my 10ers post on self-help for writers.

"Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail."

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

New Year's Eve 1988

11:58 on the clock-face
so you pulled over
to the side of Bradford Road
cheeks glowing green
heat humming
eyes never leaving the dial
fingers poised just so
determined to press the tape in
precisely at midnight.

I wanted you to kiss me.

Instead there was
only U2 thickening
the air between us
you closing your eyes
me shifting
and outside the peely bark
on the birches
bristling against the cold.

- Irene Latham

Ever been in a relationship with someone who, for whatever reasons, couldn't give you what you needed from them?

Sigh. It happens. And the only thing to be done about it is to move on, however difficult that may be.

“I chose and my world was shaken. So what? The choice may have been mistaken; the choosing was not. You have to move on.”

- Stephen Sondheim

PEACE LOVE JOY

Happy day before!

"I like to compare the holiday season with the way a child listens to a favorite story. The pleasure is in the familiar way the story begins, the anticipation of familiar turns it takes, the familiar moments of suspense, and the familiar climax and ending."

- Mr. Rogers

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

Einstein's Daughter

Had she been clock or apple,
compass or moving train,
perhaps Einstein would have loved her.

Had she been mysterious,
he might have abandoned
his affair with gravity and the speed of light

and claimed her
as his most important discovery.
Had he taken her small hands, just once,

and kissed each dimple and nail
perhaps he would have puzzled
over a different theory of relativity,

not of black holes,
but of DNA and blood,
how shared time multiplies

and love's abstractions find
definition in bath time and story time
and leaving the light on, just in case.

Instead, Einstein gave his daughter away,
locked himself in a windowless room
with his violin and pipe,

unlocked the secrets
not of life
but of E=mc2.

- Irene Latham

Did you know Einstein had a daughter? Yes, Mileva gave birth before she and Albert were married. Quite the scandal, of course... and easier (apparently) to relinquish the girl than raise her.

This poem is the second (of two) that appeared this month in the wonderful little journal FREE LUNCH. It is merely my imagination at work after reading a coupla biographies and viewing this exhibit.

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed."

- Albert Einstein

THOUSAND WORD THURSDAY

How's this for a non-holiday image? Thank you, Lynn, for sending it my way.

Don't get me wrong, I love the warm family aspects of the holidays, but not the crowded cranky aspects. So this pic is a balm for me, today, as I make one last mad-dash attempt to get everything done before 1 pm tomorrow when the kids get out of school.

Wishing everyone peace and joy!

"If one really loves nature, one can find beauty everywhere."

- Vincent van Gogh

DEAR EDITORS

I am thrilled and honored to find two of my poems in the December issue of Glass, which also includes poems by such poets as Anuja Ghimire, Mary C. O'Malley, Robert Hastings, Caroline Miller, and others. Check 'em out! And if you've got something ready to submit, do consider this wonderful journal.

Now, a question: how do you writers out there feel about being edited?

I was reminded yesterday of the very first time I was edited, way back at the college newspaper. I remember how I picked up that newspaper article, and I was SO MAD to see my byline on something that was so spliced and diced, it barely resembled the words I had originally written. (My beautiful, wonderful words! Gone!)

Now, of course, I've had years to toughen my skin, as well as the opportunity to work the other side of the desk. But I gotta tell you, sometimes it still stings.

But only for a little while.

Then I look at it again (after a piece of Godiva chocolate or a nice long bubble bath) and see all my glaring errors... and suddenly I am overwhelmed with gratitude. To think that another human being took the time to keep me from making a complete fool of myself.... I mean, wow. You really can't put a price on something like that.

So thanks to all you editors out there who dive in again and again and make writers look way more gorgeous than we actually are. We'd be nothing without you.

"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song."

— Maya Angelou

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

My Dress Hangs There

– after the painting by Frida Kahlo

When the maid asks, must you leave

New York so soon? I will say, it is

just the smell of last week’s uneaten fruit



that makes me long for La Casa Azul.

Then I will gently fold my lies into a suitcase,

and carry my pain to Mexico



where it can live a colorful life

under skirts that swirl as I raise

the brush, paint myself again and again,



until finally I see glimpses not of me

but of what I will become: strong

eyebrows, long neck, eyes wise.



But for now my dress hangs there

in the room where you sleep without me.

I could say I will miss you but I won’t



and when my back aches, I will paint

and when I am hungry, I will paint

and when I want to be loved



I will rest beneath the mango tree

take out my pain

and devour it.

- Irene Latham

This one I wrote as part of a series on historical women, and it is one of two poems that recently appeared in the journal FREE LUNCH. (Look for the second poem next Sunday.)

Also, this poem (along with six others in the historical women series) was selected for publication in the new anthology EINSTEIN AT THE ODEON CAFE, to be released by Churn Dash Press in March 2009.

I could write for days about Frida. She fascinates me.

"Feet, why do I need them if I have wings to fly?"

- Frida Kahlo

A BABY CHANGES EVERYTHING

Don't you love it when someone knows you so very well that they can hear a song and be absolutely certain that you will adore it? And then they bring that CD home to you as a surprise gift, for no reason at all, except that they are absolutely certain that you will adore it?

My husband is like that. And Faith Hill's JOY TO THE WORLD is the CD.

I am a sucker for Christmas music. I love it. It makes me feel happy and joyful and peaceful and just glad to be alive. And this CD has all my favorite songs on it (with a big orchestra!). Plus one more: A Baby Changes Everything.

This song SLAYS me. In the best way possible. Give yourself a little gift and check it out.

"The greatest gift you can give another is the purity of your attention."

- Richard Moss

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF TINNIE PETTWAY

This weekend it was my great honor to spend some time with Tinnie Pettway, one of the famous quilters from Gee's Bend who has authored a new book entitled GEE'S BEND EXPERIENCE.

I first met Tinnie and her daughter Claudia at an art exhibition last year, where I shared with them my book of poems (that includes the poem "The Quilts of Gee's Bend") and talked with them about my forthcoming novel THE WITCHES OF GEE'S BEND. They were simply wonderful to visit with, so I was thrilled to get to see them again. I bought books and potholders, and this time I remembered to take pictures!

Here is a poem from Tinnie's book:

Quilting Women (1989)

Way back then, women had few friends,
Worked from early morn, till the day's end

They would do their daily household things
While on some song they hummed and sang

They would gather together their quilting things
A few old britches, a few little string

A pair of scissors, their needle and thread
Think of patterns in their heads

Begin to sew old pieces together
Some pieces terrible, some a little better, some of that
stuff was almost leather

It may have been wool or it may have been rubber
But when they was done we all had cover

- Tinnie Pettway

IN PRAISE OF YOUNG WRITERS

I spent yesterday in Montgomery tucked away in a private dining room with writing students from Booker T. Washington Magnet High School and their super cool teacher Foster Dickson.

What a great group of kids! And wow, what words they brought to the table.

Thanks to each and every one of you for sharing a piece of yourself. I am absolutely thrilled and inspired by your courage. May our paths cross again.

"First I shake the whole Apple tree, that the ripest might fall. Then I climb the tree and shake each limb, and then each branch and then each twig, and then I look under each leaf."

- Martin Luther

THOUSAND WORD THURSDAY

Here's a wet picture for a wet day, thanks to my lovely sister Lynn. It just so happens that we were together the day she took this one, so it is extra-special to me.

"What greater thing is there for human souls than to feel that they are joined for life - to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories."

- George Eliot

ALICE IN ST. PIERRE?

First, a confession: I've never been a big fan of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Book or movie. Until now.

See, my novel ESCAPE FROM FIRE MOUNTAIN is set in 1902 Martinique, and my main character is a reader. Which means I've had to figure out what exactly she'd be reading. Enter Alice, published in 1865.

It's a bizarre little book, full of truths and wit and serious word-loving genius. I still prefer the poem "Jabberwocky," but I gotta tell, Alice has really grown on me. I especially like her conversation with the caterpillar. Haven't we all had conversations like that, that go round and round but accomplish nothing?

I leave you with a quote from the book, that totally applies to writing:

"'Begin at the beginning,' the King said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'"

- Lewis Carroll

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

And There Was an Orange Moon

Last night I waited six hours
for the sound of your key in the door
my body curled in a tight ball
and I thought, this is what it's like
to know you'll soon be born,
here in this white-sheeted world
its walls rising and falling
with each fluttering breath

and you driving toward me
down highways made unfamiliar
by darkness and time
then out of nowhere
(you told me this morning)
moon like a pumpkin
your hand turning the knob,
heart thrumming in its iron cage.

- Irene Latham

My most favorite thing to write about in poetry or prose, is love. And as a reader, one of my most favorite things to read is fresh, new descriptions of love - ones that make me say, yes, EXACTLY....

"It is never too late to be what you might have been."

- George Eliot

FIVE FOR FRIDAY

1. I'm hungry. Was Thanksgiving really just yesterday?

2. It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas 'round these parts. All day we've been dragging out a box at a time. Funny what the guys choose to display and not display. (To all of you out there with little bitties, don't go secretly giving away that Bubble Santa that plays endless Christmas songs and leaves an annoying film of soap scum on the floor. Yep, still a hit a dozen years later.)

3. I'm one-third of the way through the latest draft of ESCAPE FROM FIRE MOUNTAIN, my historical fiction midgrade set in Martinique during the eruption of Mt. Pelee. This go around I've been concentrating on those little nitpicky details that lend authenticity to the story. Things like 1902 fashion and French words of endearment. Big thanks to La Belette Rouge for all your help! I've got a few more questions for you - will send you an email.

4. I am just about finished with a book called THE EGYPT GAME. It won a Newbery Honor Award, and it was recommended to me by another author when I was recounting a very important part of my childhood in which my youngest brother and sister and I created this whole play world based on what we knew about Egypt (knowledge largely collected during our many many viewings of the movie THE TEN COMMANDMENTS). Turns out, we weren't the only ones whose imaginary play was inspired by all things Egyptian. So, yeah, I am loving this book.

5. Must go nibble on some leftovers... peanut butter balls, anyone?

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding."

- Kahlil Gibran

PASSING IT ON

The very best part of getting a blog award is passing it on.

And as soon as Kirie sent it my way, I knew instantly who I wanted to send it to: Sarah Frances and Katie at Plot This.

They are gorgeous, they are talented, they are dreamers, just like me. Even better, they are dreamers who actively go after those dreams. They are writers I am so happy to be reaquainted with, and they also have a really REAL blog. Know what I mean? Plus they live in the great state of Mississippi and found the movie TWILIGHT as comical as I did. :)

Check them out. You won't be disappointed. And mark my words: these two are going places in the kidlitosphere. It's just a matter of time.

"There is luck in sharing a thing."

- Irish proverb

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

Many thanks to the lovely Kirie at 3 Little Chickies for giving me this award!

Kirie is an amazing woman who is a mom and artist -- and she is a continual inspiration to me.

Take today's poem, for instance. It was completely inspired by the above link, in which Kirie writes about the gorgeous gown she created for her daughter's Halloween costume.

I have often been moved/touched/inspired by textile arts, no doubt because I grew up in a house where my mother was often bent over a sewing machine making miracles. So when I saw Kirie doing the same thing... well, what do ya know, a poem popped out.

Here it is, Kirie... hope you enjoy my work in progress as much as I enjoyed yours.

Simplicity 8953
- for Kirie

The pattern promises to make a princess
so I gather together tulle, organza,
duchess satin and dupioni silk
to spin a girl’s dream: flouncy slip
beneath shimmering skirt, puffy sleeves,
bodice edged with beaded rosette trim.
I don’t warn her about the clock
or tell her how glass slippers sometimes shatter.
I stay up till dawn, add a tuck
so that it fits just right
and later as she prances and twirls
I vow to hold her close
should white steeds dissolve into skittering mice,
the royal coach to a rotting pumpkin,
the prince lost in moonlight, then
caught dancing with someone else.

- Irene Latham

"Life is pure adventure, and the sooner we realize that, the quicker we will be able to treat life as art."

- Maya Angelou

TWILIGHT, THE MOVIE

Well... I didn't hate it exactly but I sure didn't love it.

The best part was being a part of such excitement. You should have seen the crowd, many of them dressed up as characters in the book or wearing Twilight-related clothing. THAT was fun.

The worst part was how disappointed I was. My most favorite scene - the one where Edward takes Bella to the forest and shows her how his skin sparkles - did not translate at all to film. And I don't know who's brilliant idea the soundtrack was. The whole thing just struck me as cheesy. And hey, I enjoyed the book!

Anyhow, I'm glad I saw it. But I'm also glad it's over. :)

"the soul should always stand ajar,
ready to welcome the ecstastic experience"

- Emily Dickinson

ODE TO SHARON OLDS

Okay, for those of you who don't know, I have two favorite poets: Mary Oliver and Sharon Olds.

So when I found out Sharon Olds was going to be at the Margaret Mitchell House in Atlanta for a reading to promote her new book ONE SECRET THING, I started contacting other Alabama poets about travel plans.

Well. You know how sometimes you can love an author's work so much, that you somehow feel you know that person, then you actually meet them or hear an interview and feel this overwhelming sense of disappointment, like this person had been stringing you along all the while and now you knew the dirty rotten truth, that they aren't so wonderful after all?

I gotta tell you: Sharon Olds is every bit as wonderful as I imagined. What a delightful person! She was everything I expected her to be, and more.

I think I was most surprised by her girlishness... is she really 66? She made a comment on discovering her "quirkiness," and you know, she was funny! I guess I just see her body of work as so serious and bold and meaningful that it sort of took my by surprise when she read a poem about looking at her sagging, dimpled butt in a hotel mirror.

She's not only a real poet, she's a real person. Who gets rejection slips and questions her ability and worries about what she's going to wear to a reading in Atlanta, Georgia. (J. Crew jacket, bought at the mall, that day.)

And you know what, she made me cry. Check out the book. Turn to page 80. Read "Little End Ode."

And look for more odes in her next collection. She said she's been reading Neruda and writing ode after ode. Can't wait!

"See everything; overlook a great deal; correct a little."

- Pope John XXII

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

Letter from Malta
- with thanks to Raymond Carver

This is the letter
I was going to write earlier but didn’t
because I was watching an airplane
fly in from the West, dustcloud maroon in the pink sky,
imagining it was you come to fetch me,
how I would find you on the tarmac,

you’d be wearing a white shirt with buttons
waiting and knowing exactly what to say
but not needing to say it.
We’d kiss then, if it was really you.
We’d tremble and kiss
and exclaim our good fortune.
We’d forget this letter
and the one before
and all the ones you meant
to write but never did.
This island would grow in that moment,
the earth would rise up at the point
of our lips touching,
we would overthrow the ocean.
Snow would drift from another continent
and cover our shoulders.

But it wasn’t you flying in
and here in Malta they have no word for snow;
it is simply the thing that never comes,
the thing impossible even to imagine.
Loving you has never been as simple as that.
I know your face. I know the taste of your skin,

I know the words you would have written
had your pen found paper.
If you dropped from the sky
I would know just what to call you.

- Irene Latham

This poem was inspired by Raymond Carver's poem "The Poem I Didn't Write." It starts "Here is the poem I was going to write/ earlier but didn't..."

I read a bunch of Carver when I first started getting serious about writing and publishing poems. I am really drawn to the simplicity of his writing style -- it's a good reminder to we word-lovers who can get so clever sometimes (and be so pleased with the cleverness) that it distracts from the poem/story/whatever. So often less is more.

"One very important aspect of motivation is the willingness to stop and to look at things that no one else has bothered to look at. This simple process of focusing on things that are normally taken for granted is a powerful source of creativity."

Edward de Bono

SUBMISSION UPDATE

Let's get the rejections out of the way first: Rattle and Indiana Review. Sigh. I sent them my best work and still, I'm just not there yet. WILL TRY AGAIN.

Also, I was super-excited about a picture book manuscript I had been working on, so I sent it to my agent for her feedback. Apparently I am not there yet on this, either. Her comment was that it was still too message driven and that I should concentrate on character development and figure out how old my main character is.

And you know, when she said all that, I was like, yes, EXACTLY. She nailed all those concerns I was too enmeshed with the manuscript to verbalize.

On top of that, I realized the whole focus on the picture book manuscript was just my brain creating an amazing decoy to distract me from what I really need to be working on, which is the next draft of ESCAPE FROM FIRE MOUNTAIN (midgrade historical fiction set during the eruption of Mt. Pelee in Martinique, 1902).

I don't know why I've been avoiding it so heartily. Probably has something to do with feedback I received from Carolyn Yoder way back in June. See, she was right on target too. But fixing a novel is so much heavier than fixing a picture book. It's like almost drowning, the way it grips you from the inside.

Now for the happy-making news: Glass: A Journal of Poetry accepted two of my poems -- "The house on Baltimore Street was not built for battle" and "In my mother's dream." Many thanks to editors Holly and Anthony! Word is they will appear in the December 1 issue. I'll keep you posted.

Interestingly, I had trouble finding a title for each of these poems, so I just used the first line of the poem for the title. (Something to think about if you're struggling with titles.)

"There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

- Anais Nin

THOUSAND WORD THURSDAY

Remember the Mad Bluebird? Let's call this one the Grumpy Prairie Dog. :)

My father took this pic earlier this year (pre-cancer diagnosis), and for whatever reason, it makes me smile. Hope it brings you joy as well.

I've had a hard time focusing this week -- I feel like I am shooting my energy all over the place when what I need to do is grab hold of something and hunker down. I took a break from my angst by sinking into my latest thrift-store find: All Over But the Shoutin' by Rick Bragg. Now here's a quote that resonates...

"I was slowly beginning to realize that the only thing that was worth writing about was living and dying and the trembling membrane in between."

- Rick Bragg

WHEN IT'S RAINING LEAVES

Have I told you about my weekend?

Talk about an other-worldly experience. It sort of reminded me of the movie American Beauty when the kid is filming the plastic bag dancing in the wind?

Truly, it was a beautiful weekend with the four of us women tucked away in a little chalet on the mountain ridge overlooking Lake Guntersville where we talked and laughed and scrapbooked and sewed and listened as the leaves hit the roof. Amazing.

So this is the lake as it can be seen from the top balcony of the Lodge, which is also home to Pinecrest Dining Room. Mmmmm.... garlic-tomato mussels, fried catfish, peach cobbler.... Which meant not only no kids, but NO COOKING. Need I say more?

And this is us: The Mother, The Original, The Great and The Boss. Sadly we were missing Number Two, but we made do.

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."

- Albert Camus

SHOWCASE SUNDAY

Suicide Ghazal

At Bonaventure Cemetery were warnings disguised as birds:
a swarm of Brewer’s black chittering, those birds.

I might have listened had they sounded like trumpets.
Instead I crept past you, forgot about the birds.

Father says the cardinal’s flash is like the apple in Eve’s hand.
I want to know: Is it a sin to want to be a bird?

If I could go back, I would at least crack the window.
I would blink my eyes and toss out seeds for the birds.

Listen: here is a hermit thrush, shyly calling you home.
It sings not of death but of the life of birds.

Come, spring doesn’t start till you see a robin bouncing across a lawn.
When a wedge of Canada geese fly over, I’ll say look at the birds.

And if it is a sin, let us never forget the Bird Girl
who once stood in this garden, arms extended to all birds.

- Irene Latham

As promised, here is the poem partly inspired by The Bird Girl statue that sits in my garden. Here's to all the birds out there, winged and wingless...

“A believer is a bird in a cage, a freethinker is an eagle parting the clouds with tireless wing.”

- Robert Green Ingersoll

GIRL SCOUTS ARE GREAT!

Here's to Lori Ditoro and Troop 182 who earned their bronze award by putting on a Writing Workshop! And what an honor it was to be a part of the day. These girls earned writing badges in one afternoon, and I was so impressed by how they immediately got busy creating and really came up with some good poems, articles and stories. And hey, now I know where to get my Thin Mint cookies. :)

"Don't think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity. It's self-conscious and anything self-conscious is lousy. You cannot try to do things. You simply must do things."

- Ray Bradbury

THOUSAND WORD THURSDAY

How cool is this? I told my brother I needed a pic of a hickory leaf, and this is what he did.

Don't you love the change of perspective? It's exactly what I do in the classroom with kids using the jeweler's loupe. Just try looking at things close-up, and your brain will start making all these unusual analogies... like, don't you see water here, and mountains, and a map? Sand dunes, maybe? Crop fields? Highways and neighborhoods? Talk about opening the mind and feeding your creativity.


"There is no better high than discovery."

- E. O. Wilson

SPEAKING OF YELLOW

Michelle said I should share pics of my new and improved garden, so here you go.

The tree with the yellow leaves is a sugar maple (and the inspiration for the "November" poem posted last Sunday).

The Bird Girl is a favorite of mine... and she is the inspiration for another poem, one entitled "Suicide Ghazal." I'll post that one next Sunday.

The little tree that's shaped like a goblet and has a smattering of red leaves is my new dogwood. Can't wait to see how it all looks in spring!

"Character is like a tree and reputation like a shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing."

- Abraham Lincoln