Today is the official release date for Come Fall. I’m very excited. The novel has gotten great reviews from Publishers Weekly (starred!) and Horn Book Magazine. I’ll be throwing a book party on August 28 at the Alphabet Garden Bookstore to celebrate its release.

But today, nothing much happens. There won’t be confetti. Or a special opening ceremony featuring a precious first box and a boxcutter. (Although it’d be pretty cool if there were.) Without any fanfare, bookstores will shelve the book with the many others in their store. Online booksellers will ship the book to customers. Libraries will quietly acquire it.

And people will have the opportunity to read the novel, if they wish.

Which I suppose is something.

Happy birthday!

Such a charming idea. But I want to change the rules slightly. I want to bring along one outside influence: a cheerleader. This person would pull up a chair beside me at the drawing table and at frequent intervals exclaim, “Yes! Yes! Way to go, Kate! You rock!” etc. These eruptions would occur not so often as to be annoying, and never without good reason. A cheerleader with poor critiquing powers would be worse than nothing.

Here’s an example of how it would work: Just last week I set out to paint a potted geranium in four different styles. Great project, right? But I ended up with four lookalikes. I promptly decided I was in a rut, and my spirits sank to the bottom. This is when my cheerleader would step in and point out everything that, in my state of gloom, I had missed: “Wow! Great color choices! Look how you handled those shadows! And say - you didn’t obsessively try to draw every leaf and stem! Rah! Rah! Rah!”

And having thus been hoisted out of the rut I thought I was in, I would see that the usefulness of the 4-geranium exercise was to give me confidence for the next experiment.

Of course I don’t really have an opening for a cheerleader here. Keeping one’s chin up is part of the job description for being self-employed in the arts. Luckily you get better at leading your own cheers the more you do it. And luckily there are writers’ groups to go to, where the chance to hear some real applause awaits.

So I won’t be bringing in that extra chair for my drawing table. But maybe I’ll think about investing in a set of pom-poms.

At NCTM conferences nationally, I present an interdisciplinary session about using children’s literature in the math classroom to introduce math topics, make math relevant and make it fun. In my lecture I adhere to two caveats: books chosen should not be twisted to conform to a topic but should contain relevant math; and they must be good books! If we’re going to introduce a child to literature, we have the responsibility to make it good literature.
“Eileen”, I wrote years ago after searching in vain, “have you nothing I can use to introduce a math topic?”
“Not really.”
It arrives, unannounced: an unanticipated yellow envelope containing a new Spinelli publication. Whenever I see the postmark, the return address, I tear into Eileen’s surprises eagerly, knowing that treasure awaits; but this package arrives as I’m leaving for an appointment. It waits.
And it is more than a gift of joyful story and bright illustration; this is a picture book about computation.
What better book for my session than an offering from Eileen Spinelli? The gift to all children of math and literature, story and computation. A joy.

My words, though, fail to express my feelings. I’m so thankful that we can all share the treasure my friends bestow, so thankful for their talent, so thankful for their friendship. Incomparable treasure should never wait.

EARTHQUAKE, A Story of Old San Francisco (Puffin 1992) one of my most successful books, was inspired by a chance visit to view the San Andreas Fault during a vacation touring California. I stood at the edge, overcome with awe at the extreme violence with which the Earth had wrenched itself apart. I literally felt it in my gut. I knew at that moment I had a book to write.

Twenty years ago I stood at the edge of the Grand Canyon. Looking into its depths I staggered emotionally. Against the time line that this canyon clearly, implacably displayed, my brief life was utterly meaningless. I reeled backwards. Nothing I did would ever matter. If I was nice to people? If I cared for my kids? If I taught well? If I ever wrote again? All was a wasted effort .
Had the breeze blown by at that moment, I would have floated away, the useless, empty shed skin of a once prolific author.

Instead, my gaze fell upon a donkey laboring up the trail under some sweaty tourist. That donkey, I thought, was just like Brighty, the main character in Marguerite Henry’s old classic, BRIGHTY of Grand Canyon. My world stumbled back into focus. If it had not been for Ms. Henry’s children’s book, I thought, thousands and thousands of children would never have felt ownership of this distant national monument. They would not, as adults, have had a deep, special fondness for the Grand Canyon and a knee-jerk reaction whenever mining companies filed to excavate, or resort corporations to develop it. One woman - one book - had influenced generations to save the Canyon’s pristine beauty. I knew at that moment I had to keep writing books.
Books take a year and more to research, write, and reshape, and then more time before they are finally publishable. It takes a very powerful inspiration to sustain any momentum for so many months. I try to stay always alert for those experiences that wrench deep inside my emotional core – and especially when I’m away from home.
Last weekend, I felt it again, unbidden, while driving through a covered bridge. The incident lasted only 15 seconds, but I am husbanding the deep soul-spark, fanning it into flame. I don’t know what book it may launch, but later, driving around a ratty mobile home park, I felt it again. Two spasms in one weekend? That’s a record. Do they connect? I have no idea – yet.
Vacation season starts in two weeks. Stay always alert while you’re away. I hope unexpected inspiration touches your soul, and you return with more book ideas than you know what to do with!

Have any of you gotten your books this way while on vacation? I’d love to hear your tales.

It gave him pause. Was he ready to go through all those instructions and do all those revisions? He did have another idea bouncing around his head. Perhaps if he sat down, worked on that one for a bit, he could get back to the manuscript. What he produced was the Newbery Honor book Wringer.

Later in the conference, he used that memory to talk about how not getting what you want the first time can give you the energy to win the second time round. Coming in second can drive you the way coming in first might not.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. We celebrated this year’s Tassy Walden Awards: New Voices in Children’s Literature. A round of applause please for the winners who have worked so hard: Karen Jordan (picture book, text only), Diane Warner (illustrated picture book), Pamela Farley (middle grade novel), and Lynda Mullaly Hunt (young adult/teen novel).

And for those who didn’t win but came in as finalists, a special round of applause as well: Anne Dichele, Pam Foarde, and Susan Montanari (picture book, text only); Tom Charla, Jospeh Dykas, Peter Nuhn, and Erin Scally (illustrated picture book); Barbara Mansilla (illustrator’s portfolio); Heather Sherlock DiLorenzo, Joan Jansen & Evelyn Flory, and Nancy Langdale Hough (middle grade novel); Joseph Briganti, Lynn Leite, Heather Lodge, Susan Montanari, and Steven Parlato (young adult/teen novel).

To these last I say, use that drive that comes from being in second place. And to all, I hope to see your works on library shelves sometime soon.

I’m sorry that these photos don’t show every step in our creation of George, the Scribble, at the  Zigler Head Start Center, in New Haven, Connecticut last month. Because he is quite a character: he wears a hat, plays the trumpet, and rides a motorcycle. A dozen different preschoolers helped draw him, beginning with one scribble. When is the last time YOU had this much fun?

I was a finalist, and after a friend suggested I try again, I won for a middle grade novel. This is the process of writing — write, edit, revise, submit, hold your breath, and, likely, edit, revise, write, and submit again. Do this while trying like the dickens to not give up before you get there.

Alice Bauer (of WUOA) gave a heartfelt and encouraging speech about the disappointment of being “only” a finalist some years ago. Now her third novel is shaping up for publication. That just goes to show you that the judges that year had foresight and Alice gets the prize for keeping on keeping on.

So often we work alone and in a tunnel of confusion. We write alone. We edit alone. We sit for hours with words all scrambled when we thought we ordered sunny side up. Before breakfast and during breakfast. At lunch with pencil in hand. And we sup more often than dine. No hairdo required, no fingernail polish pizzaz recommended for this vocation. Most writers do not have many opportunities to dress up their Writer within.

I say the ultimate glitter from an event like the Tassies, is to take your tender Writer out for an evening and shine. Yes, even for a work in progress (self or story), clean up the Text, follow the Rules, submit that manuscript, and submit it again. Then, at least once a year, polish up your Dreamer and come inhale stardust from the talks, the friends, and the Promise that if can just keep on going, you might get there.

Waiting for the print-publishing world to settle down and start buying again a a real downer. You can start to spend way too much time trying to read the minds of editors and publishers. You wonder if you should change your style. Switch subjects? Do a complete rewrite of the manuscript you love?  And surely if you mind-read long and hard enough you’ll discover the magic marketing strategy that will bounce you onto center stage.

It all makes my head spin, so I decided to set aside blocks of time in the studio when I’m free to do anything except obsess about the marketplace. All the outside stuff is banished. I’m unplugged. I get to play with colors, try new media, improve old skills, write nonsense, whatever, with no other purpose than to amuse myself. Thoughts about turning any of it into something to sell are Not Allowed. (Amazing how hard it is to keep them from popping in!)

So far it has been a heady experience. The other day I was leafing through an “unplugged” sketchbook and one picture actually made me catch my breath and think, “That’s beautiful! Did I do that?” It’s been a while since I looked my stuff with so uncritical an eye.

So for however long the publishing industry remains caught in a state of indecision, I’ll use these timeouts in the studio to take me in new, unexpected directions, and to strengthen my sense of having a direct line to my imagination, which is the key to everything. And maybe something I scribble or sketch will be the thing that bounces me onto center stage - oops, sorry - thoughts like that are Not Allowed!

Apparently Barbie has an annual career theme! Who knew? Even more astounding, an organized effort among female computer geeks hijacked the voting for Barbie’s annual career choice. They wanted to project an image of their career as glamorous, and Barbie became their vehicle.

In contrast, little girls overwhelmingly voted for Barbie as broadcast journalist. Been there, done both. Little girls were right. If you’re going to dress a doll for a career, journalist certainly delivers better wardrobe options.

As a former designer of software systems and a current user of the same, I can tell you that clothes don’t make the geek. Clothes don’t make the journalist, either; but since the latter appears in public regularly, clothes are far more important. Geeks often work in isolation; day to day wardrobe choices are irrelevant.

But do clothes constitute the glamour of either profession??? Journalism of any ilk is exciting; a combination of research and writing — on any and every aspect of the universe — cannot fail to be a fascinating career choice. Exploring the intricacies of software, too, is a challenging piece of mental stimulation. How can you not be excited about solving new puzzles every day? In binary, no less. Both careers could fall into the category of ‘do what you love’, with no help from a miniature icon fashionista needed.

Barbie as anything more than a fashionista strikes me as uncompelling. She’s a dress-up doll, for goodness sake, created to be clothed, accessorized and then retooled in another outfit. If she needs a career in order to completely accessorize, more power to her marketers. Giving her meaning above her true meaning in order to give young girls a role model strikes me as icing on a sports car. Not relative.

Picture a hulking sophomore guy, a football player with C- grades, barely. The school gave up on him. “Take more shop” the counselor said when he dared to ask about an art course. He came from a bi-lingual blue collar home with a carpenter father and a stay at home mom. There were few books at home and no history of college in the family, just stories of the old country, Poland. Good people. Salt of the earth.

One day he jogged down the road to a tag sale and found a real prize. A leather bound book of poetry from 1868. A teasure to keep. His parents never saw it. Neither did his buddies. They wouldn’t understand.

Fast forward 50 years. My husband strides to his bookcase and pulls out his “Poems of Imagination and Fancy” by Tennyson. In thirty-eight years of marriage, I had never seen it. I hugged the man – and that fragile little boy inside – who was so touched by a great classic poet.

Who says hulking teenage jocks don’t “get” poetry?

We all do, when we encounter it.

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