Those in need

I've been gone for days and was going to post some pretty beach pictures and haiku or musings, but I've chosen just one sunset. I hope the defused, bronzed light and enameled surface of the sand will soothe me. And you, if you please.

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My thoughts are with the people of Christchurch, New Zealand, who've suffered another massive earthquake, but this time with numerous casualties.

For those who know my blogging/writing buddy, Wen Baragrey, she and her family survived but not without terrifying moments. Recently, she had a give-away contest to celebrate the homecoming of her grandson, Jayden, who has spent most of the first few months of life in hospital. He was there again when the quake struck and the hospital was evacuated. You can read Wen's post here and the NZHerald here. Please send her and all the people of New Zealand your prayers or healing thoughts. Thank you.

P.S. One more link. Walk Through Sorrow is so heartbreakingly eloquent.

A quieter place

Historical fiction is usually a quieter read than paranormal, dsytopian or fantasy. But that doesn't mean it can't transport you to another land and leave you breathless.

I just finished Jennifer Donnelly's A NORTHERN LIGHT, a Printz Honor book, and a while back I read Kirby Larson's HATTIE BIG SKY, a Newbury Honor book.

They are lovely, nuanced stories that are not without traumas. One of the things that intrigued me was that the authors had been drawn to write these novels by real-life events. Kirby Larson's tale grew from a family story about a great-grandmother who homesteaded by herself. Jennifer Donnelly, too, had family stories handed down from relatives who lived in the Adirondacks--the site of a murder that made sensational news in 1906.

Both authors also researched historic documents so the books are filled with authentic detail and a sense of having walked in the shoes of those who came before us. My editions include bibliographies of works the authors read to better know the time and place of their stories.

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I'm going to give you teasers. A bit of blurb and sample to perhaps lure you into these fine books.

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For most of her life, sixteen-year-old Hattie Brooks has been shuttled from one distant relative to another. Tired of being Hattie Here-and-There, she summons the courage to leave Iowa and move all by herself to Vida, Montana, to prove up her late uncle's homestead claim. (from back cover)

Snippet:

One minuscule step at a time, I battled toward the barn, praying for help: "Lord, I can't do this alone." But no help came. It was up to me. I drew in an icy, ragged breath. I couldn't fail. Couldn't lose my way. Or lose my cow. That thought propelled me forward the last few steps. Finally, finally, I reached the barn, gasping and sobbing for air. My face was raw. I tasted the salt of blood trickling down my cheeks.

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A NORTHERN LIGHT is set in 1906 against the backdrop of the murder that inspired Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy. Donnelly's novel puts a teenager trying to escape a hardscrabble life in the middle of the mystery surrounding another girl's death.

Snippet:

It was dry and remarkably warm for the start of April, and I was tired and dirty and dripping with sweat. The muscles in my arms ached and my hands were raw from guiding the plow and I was just as mad as a hornet. Pa had kept me home from school again. . .

Can't resist another sample:

I sat slumped on my milking stool, knowing that the last chance I had to go to Barnard was on its way into the till of some bartender. Knowing that my uncle was off on a three-day spree. Or four. Or five. Or however many days it took to spend a hundred dollars. It was a hard and hopeless thing.

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So, yeah. We learn a lot about our present by delving into our past. Hope you pick these books up if you haven't read them yet.

For the sake of love

I'm celebrating Valentine's Day as concept--a day to appreciate love. I don't have a valentine at this time in my life, but I know too well the spark, slow burn and glow. I'm forever grateful to have lived and loved.

I took this photo a few years ago of friends of mine. I'm not sure I've even shown it to them. I saw them wander off from a huge family/best friends sort of party for a quiet moment together, and I loved the love I saw.

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Last night, I re-watched The Last of the Mohicans. You know the one, where Daniel Day Lewis runs magnificently through forests and up mountains to save his love. There's the heart-stopping scene where he must leave her to be captured so that he can live to save her. His final words, "I will find you. I will find you," before he jumps into a waterfall and is carried away. Le sigh.

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I'm going to post poetry snippets from some great writers (please search them out for the entire poems and where to purchase their collections) and a couple of badges I received from Rebecca/WordsCrafter. If any of my readers (whom I love) wish to pass along the badges, please bag 'em and share 'em. It's all about the love today. Bloggers=Love was made by Jules at Trying to Get Over the Rainbow for everyone.

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she

stolen from my bone

is it any wonder

i hunger to tunnel back

inside desperate

to reconnect the rib and clay

and to be whole again--(a portion of adam thinking, which appeared in the collection, quilting, by Lucille Clifton. Ms. Clifton died last year. Her voice will be missed but can be savored again through her books.)
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I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

--(a portion of If You Forget Me by the great Chilean poet Pablo Neruda)

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This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,

I fell in love with a wren

and later in the day with a mouse

the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,

I fell for a seamstress

still at her machine in the tailor's window,

and later for a bowl of broth,

steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.

This is the best kind of love, I thought,

without recompense, without gifts,

or unkind words, without suspicion,

or silence on the telephone.

--(a portion of Aimless Love by Billy Collins or his site. This poem is so incredible. Read it all in his Nine Horses collection.)

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This post is not complete without haiku from a couple of the old masters.

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By flowering pear

and by the lamp of the moon

she reads her letter

--Buson (1715-1783)

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Slung over a screen,

a dress of silk and gauze.

The autumn wind.
--Buson

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I wish she were here

to listen to my bitching

and enjoy this moon.

--Issa (1762-1826)

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Love to all the storytellers in whatever form they write!

Let's hear it for the guys

I recently got around to reading John Green’s PAPER TOWNS and Scott Westerfeld’s UGLIES. Why did I wait so long? Two very different YA novels--one dystopian, the other contemporary. In surprising ways, both explore personal image and misconstrued perceptions.
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PAPER TOWNS—part mystery, part coming of age, part crazy road trip--is meant to be explored, layers peeling back as you go. It’s smart, witty and unnerving.

Green dragged me unwillingly through the first part of the book. Not because it wasn’t well-written but because the character Margo made me anxious. I worried about what she was going to get Quentin, the first-person narrator, into. And that’s the point. She’s not easy, but she sure is fascinating.

Margo is bigger than life, walking the edge, and perceived by her classmates as magnificently fearless and cool. Some significant revelations and changes take place in both characters during the story, but I won’t give spoilers.

A nerdfighter stuck a post-it inside the PAPER TOWNS I purchased in a bookstore. I’d heard that some of Green’s followers were doing this, but I looked when I bought it and didn’t find a note. Then when I was half-way through reading, I untucked a page stuck in the jacket flap and there it was! The discovered note added to the experience of reading a mysterious, thought-provoking story.

One thing I love about Green’s writing (also evident in LOOKING FOR ALASKA) is that his young adult characters have substance. They read, they contemplate, they have conversations and still care about important teen stuff like the opposite sex.

In PAPER TOWNS, Quentin believes Margo left him a clue within the lines of Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.” He studies it over and over, looking for a breadcrumb trail to where she’s gone. And the novel’s title, too, is worth pondering. It refers to developments that never get built, to towns that exist only on paper.

Here’s a sample, which I hope whets your appetite:
And so we sat there, she with her nail polish balanced on the dash, and me with a shaky finger on the pulse of myself. It was a good color of nail polish, and Margo had nice fingers, thinner and bonier than the rest of her, which was all curves and soft edges. She had the kind of fingers you want to interlace with your own. I remembered them against my hip bone in Wal-Mart, which felt like days ago. My heartbeat slowed. And I tried to tell myself, Margo’s right. There’s nothing out here to be afraid of, not in this little city on this quiet night.
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Westerfeld tackles body image and plastic surgery in a bold way in UGLIES. In this future world, everybody gets an extreme transformation from ugly (as in all of us) to picture-perfect pretty when they turn sixteen. Tally can’t wait, especially since her best friend’s birthday came before hers and he’s already gone to live in New Pretty Town.


Once again, I don’t want to give spoilers, but one of the things I appreciate as a writer and reader is the clear structure of this novel. It’s divided in parts like a play in three acts. Each part has a title and an accompanying quote that is spot on. So I’m going to share that much.

Part I
Turning Pretty
“Is it not good to make society full of beautiful people?”—Yang Yuan, quoted in The New York Times

Part II
The Smoke
“There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.”—Francis Bacon, Essays, Civil and Moral, “Of Beauty”

Part III
Into the Fire
“Beauty is that Medusa’s head
Which men go armed to seek and sever.
It is most deadly when most dead,
And dead will stare and sting forever.”—Archibald MacLeish, “Beauty”

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Yeah. These are great reads. Let’s hear it for the guys.
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Addendum: There's a contest going on at Wen's On Words and Upwards that you don't want to miss. Signed copies of Helen Lowe's books, and--horse lover alert--a gorgeous drawing of a horse by Wen, who is an artist as well as a writer. Gallop on over!

Seeing things

Masks intrigue me. They can be beautiful, terrifying, mysterious and powerful.

I found this nature-made little mask on the rocky shores of Dana Point. Does it not look like a predatory bird?

I know it's a little airy-fairy of me to believe in signs and portents, but when I discover something unusual like this I imagine the hand of Fate, the presence of guardians or, at the very least, good luck in the finding.

People, of course, have long made masks of animals and birds into which are woven stories of creation and moral beliefs. The creatures are given qualities that have become symbols, so that even in our own writing, we may use an owl to signify wisdom, intuition, mystery or protection. A hawk is sometimes seen as a messenger, a bringer of visions and of intense energy.

Any time I hear the raspy scream of a hawk overhead, I look up, feeling a surge of energy. I've watched them swirl and glide and swoop but also seen single hawks hang without moving, as if suspended in space. Watching, I experience.

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This is another view of the sea-borne mask.

Perhaps, it would fit a leprechaun or a tallish fairy. Perhaps. I'll wear it in my dreams and soar high and far.

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On a boulder, I saw a fading pink rose held down by a small rock. There's a story behind that; we are free to make up our own.

A snowy egret fished the dark tide pools.

I let my tennies get wet to get this shot. I wanted to be part of the surging sea as the sun disappeared. To take a bit of magic home with me.

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Again and again with pleasure

The prompt today on YA Highway is what books you'd pick to read over and over for the rest of your life.

As I thought about it, I decided to list books I already devoured more than once--time tested to make me hungry for their landscapes, their tales. One thing they all share is a magical sense of other worldliness. It's escape that may, at times, be terrifying but is always fascinating.

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HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE by Diana Wynne Jones

I don't know how one author can be so prolific, imaginative and funny as Diana Wynne Jones. I adore Sophie, a young girl who gets turned into an old woman by a witch in Howl's Moving Castle.

Some people love the movie, but for me the spunk, humor and fantasy are best in the book. This is where Sophie shines.

Here she is soon after her transformation, aching, cold and feisty as she discovers the castle bumping along on the moor:

She raised her stick and waved it imperiously at the castle.

"Stop!" she shrieked.

The castle obediently came to a rumbling, grinding halt. . . "

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A WIZARD OF EARTHSEA by Ursula K. LeGuin

I don't know if I will ever love a wizard more than the conflicted Ged/Sparrowhawk of LeGuin's masterpiece.

I've often quoted her opening verse, "The Creation of Ea," because it is the essence of great fantasy and of real life.

Only in silence the word,

only in dark the light,

only in dying life:

bright the hawk's flight

on the empty sky.

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THE HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins

Katniss. 'Nuff said.

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STARDUST by Neil Gaiman

I have listened to this on audiobook numerous times. For one thing, I love the way Neil Gaiman reads his stories, and I've disappeared with him into the worlds of NEVERWHERE, THE GRAVEYARD BOOK, CORALINE, FRAGILE THINGS and the wonderful THE WOLVES IN THE WALLS.

STARDUST feels like an old-time fairy tale with the nuance of an omniscient storyteller taking you to a faraway land that somehow has roots in ours. Every character has multiple layers, intriguing inconsistencies.

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THE CHANGELING SEA by Patricia A. McKillip

McKillip has her own shelf in one of my bookcases. She is amazing at weaving fantasy in all sorts of different tales.

What enchants me about this little book is the sea as an extension of the characters' lives.

The tide was low that afternoon as Peri walked home, so low that even the great jagged spires stood naked in the glistening sand, and all the starfish and anemones and urchins that clung to their battered flanks were exposed.

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Have you books you read again and again?

A soft day

In Ireland, a soft day brings a muted mistiness to the landscape, a pattering but not buckets of rain pelting down, mind you.

It's a time to go out, walk the hills, climb the cliffs. I happen to be in Southern California, but today was a soft day, and I took to my favorite little mountain.

At first, I needed only my hat, then my hoodie and finally my umbrella. The drops sounded like small pebbles falling, gently. Later, it would turn splattering and splashing, but not then.

Here you see my favorite boulder and my favorite umbrella bought in Toronto during a rainy trip. It makes me smile, no matter what the weather.

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Filmmaker Alan Parker ("Evita," "Angela's Ashes") said, "Rain is very difficult in film, particularly in Ireland, because it's quite fine, so fine that the Irish don't even acknowledge that it exists."

In my new mode of trying to observe something new in my environment every day, I was delighted to find raindrops clinging to this chain railing.

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And how about this tiny hobbit hole in the cliff? Two plants no bigger than peas have taken up residence on the doorstep.

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One of Alice Hoffman's characters, Elinor in The Probable Future, has a name for all variations of rain. Fish rain. Rose rain. Daffodil rain. Swamp rain. And the fearsome stone rain.

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A haiku I wrote some time ago fits this day.

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a gust of wind,

the rain-beaded branch

bare again

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The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (1904-1973) said, "I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped in the forests."

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I'll leave you with this rock moss that looks like a strange hand and a couple of witty songwriter/singer quotes.

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."--Roger Miller (1936-1992)

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"Don't threaten me with love, baby. Let's just go walking in the rain."--Billie Holiday (1915-1959)

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Mad with joy

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"People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us." --Iris Murdoch, author (1919-1999)





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I often wonder how people can do this. . .

















. . .to this planet of wonder and beauty. We live on a miracle in the universe. If I imagine a world without flowers, I feel empty. It amazes me that something whose purpose is to propagate and, in doing so feed other lifeforms, can also be so dazzling. How did we get so lucky?

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Here. I'll spread a little mad joy and wonder. Just because.


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I've got an idea. *light bulbs bursting*





I think I'll start a small journal that's just for noticing a wonder in my personal universe. It could be as simple as observing the veins in a leaf or watching the moon rise.



It's not that I don't see these things regularly. That's why I write haiku. Still, I'd like to make a point of seeking out what makes this a world worth praise and passion.










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I hope this doesn't sound googly-eyed or preachy. I simply believe we can make
our world better by seeing it for what it already is and glorying in that.



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That brings me to the lovely Julie Dao who bestowed upon me the Happy Blogger Award. This award is about blogs that make you feel good when you visit. I feel that way about Julie's site, which is filled with fantasy and gorgeous music. I always want to pull up a chair and stay awhile. I also second the other bloggers she named, many of whom are my favorite hangouts.

Since I should add more (and this is impossible always), here are few bloggers who make me smile on a regular basis.

Stephanie Thornton


VR Barkowski


Karen Amanda Hooper



Carolina Valdez Miller


Sarah Wylie




Tracy/Phoenix

Just chillin' and a great panel discussion Monday

In the grab bag of life, I got some wonder and some pretty awful the last few days. Someone did a hit-and-run on my parked car doing $1,000 in damage.

But I got a rental and spent one afternoon at the gorgeous cliffs of Dana Point. More photos below.

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And I went to a fabulous party last night hosted by my crit partner, Rilla and her husband Satish. Besides great food and conversation, they had everyone bring a photo and story of travel adventure. It's amazing how wildly different the stories turned out to be--a fictional dig to China, a proposal in Paris, a gasping crawl up Mt. Kilimanjaro.

As for me, I flubbed the telling of finding a stone circle on a foggy moor in Devon. I've told it lots of times, but I think I babbled incoherently this time. Ah well, I'll blame my distraction on my poor injured Miata.

Anyway, the evening itself was picture perfect.

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The sky tonight is pink-and-blue stripes. I think Dr. Seuss dreamed it up. I feel like I should hold someone's hand and skip.

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WriteOnCon alert!
Tomorrow, Monday, Jan. 24 at 5 p.m. Eastern there will be a live panel discussion with Pippin Properties, Inc. agents. Holly McGhee, was formerly an executive editor at HarperCollins and Joan Slattery was an editor at Alfred A. Knopf.

If you've never been to a WriteOnCon chat, it's easy-peasy. Just sign in and type a question. The moderators pass on the questions.

I, sadly, will miss this one, because Monday afternoon I'm at my very own live critique group, which is actually cause for happiness. We rock, just sayin.'

The good news is anyone can visit the WriteOnCon site later and read the transcript. I know I will.

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More Dana Point, because it's awesome. The trail around the tide pool hugs this cliff, but it's been mangled by flooding and landslides since heavy rain in December.

Those massive boulders tumbled down from above. And, there are houses hanging on the edge of those cliffs!

The trek over all the rocky shore is actually invigorating. There's always some wobble and give when you step and the crunching of stone on stone.

The tide pools were really fun to explore this time. And I saw dolphins enjoying the waves with two surfers. Everybody was chill.

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A nice fan of mussels.

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And stunning anemones, sea grass, hermit crabs and more.

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Eye-opening moments, heroes and vanquishing fear

How can I portray a dream?

I've kept dream journals, awakening in dead of night to jot down words that can hardly contain the images. I've tried painting them. But the essence usually slips back to that other world.

This photo is nothing like a recent dream I had, but it does convey the surreal-ness and ethereal-ness of it. I tried to put it into haiku. It didn't fit, but here's the attempt.

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peering from cavern--

sky-blue sea hits white granite,

dashing all darkness

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I'm not going to bore you with the dream details, but I will say what was most wonderful was the sense of leaving behind darkness, fear, despair, in order to brave a new world, full of possibility. That's how it felt when I woke up and what picturing the expanse of blue water and snowy-white cliffs still conveys.

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I hit a snag--not a wall, just a bump--in the fairy tale I'm currently writing. I knew where the next chapter was going but felt like it needed something. In other words, I wasn't enthused, and figured it lacked tension.

I just didn't know what to do.

So I picked up Donald Maass' Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook, which I'd left languishing on a bookshelf. Maybe I'd find a way over the snag. Well, you know what? This workbook really works.

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The first exercise asked me to name personal heroes. Abraham Lincoln popped to mind first. I've always admired him. I also thought of Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King, Jr.

But what did these bigger-than-life public figures have to do with my teen protagonist in a fairy tale? As I continued the exercise, I wrote down what qualities made them heroes: courage, fortitude, conviction, compassion, eloquence.

And I knew that's exactly what I want my heroine to embody as she grows into her place in the world.

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But it was another exercise that freshened my journey into the chapter that had stalled me.

The prompt was to write something your MC would never say, never do.

I don't want to reveal my plot, but I struggled with this until I realized that I already had the perfect answer. All I had to do was go back and expand an issue with another character that was in the story. Once I did that, I'd added new tension, new obstacles for my protagonist.

I'm not only writing up a storm, I'm thrilled with the layer this has added to the entire story. Thank you, Mr. Maass!

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Gotta do a huge shout out.

Beth Revis' ACROSS THE UNIVERSE has hit the NY Times bestseller list at #7! Yay, Beth!

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A day in the life

Yesterday, I climbed the little mountain in my town, as I do, and found rejuvenation waiting--the sky scrubbed by wild winds the day before, the earth sprouting where last month's deluge had soaked in, unseen birds singing. So words popped in my head to form haiku.

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a sudden trilling,

wild burst of exuberance

on a still morning

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ancient granite

yields a foothold to fragile

wild grasses

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Today, I have a crit group meeting all afternoon. Our stories will take me to Wales and India and the rural South. I will climb mountains with them and find hope along the journey, because that's what writing and writers bring to my life--a sense of new beginnings and wonder, words developed and shaped to form worlds where we make sense of ours.

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And, today, I remember a man of tremendous courage and foresight, who brought hope and rejuvenation to the world. May we all learn not to judge by the color of skin or country of origin or religious belief or physical impairment or anything except the content of character, the goodness of spirit. And may we all, someday, be free at last.

In memory of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Google-fu with Beth Revis on release of Across the Universe

I asked Beth Revis just three questions for the following Q&A. This week is the release of her debut YA novel, ACROSS THE UNIVERSE, and I knew she'd be crazy busy. Yay, Beth!

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Beth is one of the first bloggers I met online when I started blogging less than two years ago. She is funny, smart, interesting, caring and honest, which has made me love her blog and now her book.

If you don't know her publishing story it's an incredible one. In the time I've known her she's gone from aspiring to agented to major book deal to published with starred reviews. She tells this journey best in her own words, which she does on her blog, including a five-part series of posts in June 2010.

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My three questions for Beth:

Q: You wrote a wonderful post once about how you realized a writer doesn't need to be a scientist to write good sci-fi/dystopian stories. Please tell us what allowed you to strap on your personal jetpack and step into far reaches of space.

A: Honestly, I think it was just doing it. It's like the old writer's mantra: butt in chair. When I started thinking about my story, I realized I needed a sci fi setting--so I started writing a sci fi setting. When I came to something that I didn't know or understand, I'd trot off to the internet. A little Google-fu, a little emailing to people who really WERE scientists, and I'd get enough info keep writing.

If I had thought about it, I would have talked myself out of writing sci fi. I'm so unqualified. But I didn't think about it, I thought about the story, and that led to the words, and that led to a novel, and the rest is history.
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Q: What was the first idea for Across the Universe? How did that concept take off for you?

A: Oh, I can't be too specific here! The first idea was the end. I thought of a neat twist, and I built the story around it.

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(Drat! *pouts* Guess we have to wait for books two and three to find out.)

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Q: If you have one piece of advice for other writers from what you learned this year, what would it be?

A: Write the next book. I had so many trunk novels, so many rejections. But I kept writing. And you know what? I always thought the book I was working on would be "the one." I'd write my heart out, then edit, and rewrite, and revise, and submit....and nothing. But doing that for all those failed novels helped me to write one that didn't fail--and kept me writing, which was the most important thing.
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Thanks, Beth. As always, I appreciate your words.

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So Beth has this Launch Contest, which nudged me take this photo of me with the reverse side of the book jacket for ACROSS THE UNIVERSE.

Other people are going to be a lot more clever, I think, but I did hang up my swirly cosmos scarf-like cape thingie.

And that's the super-cool diagram of the spaceship, Godspeed.

Everybody's got until Jan. 25 to buy the book, take a photo with it and try to win some fabulous prizes.

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In case you've missed the blurb on ACROSS THE UNIVERSE, here 'tis:

A love out of time. A spaceship built of secrets and murder.

Seventeen-year-old Amy joins her parents as frozen cargo aboard the vast spaceship Godspeed and expects to awake on a new planet, three hundred years in the future. Never could she have known that her frozen slumber would come to an end fifty years too soon and that she would be thrust into a brave new world of a spaceship that lives by its own rules.

Amy quickly realizes that her awakening was no mere computer malfunction. Someone—one of the few thousand inhabitants of the spaceship—tried to kill her. And if Amy doesn’t do something soon, her parents will be next.

Now, Amy must race to unlock Godspeed’s hidden secrets. But out of her list of murder suspects, there’s only one who matters: Elder, the future leader of the ship and the love she could never have seen coming.

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Wishing you a long, star-filled journey, Beth!

Mushing with author Terry Lynn Johnson

Um, what's a snow hook? I know nada about mushing, but have just learned that a snow hook is like a parking brake. And in dangerous moments a dogsled racer might toss the metal clawed hook into the snow to quickly stop a team.

I found out about snow hooks and other fascinating things in the debut novel by Terry Lynn Johnson, DOGSLED DREAMS. The book will hopefully soon find its way into the hands of middle grade readers and onto shelves of school libraries. Terry also has a terrific teacher's guide with educational and fun activities available on her website.
You want a thrilling taste of this story? Read the first chapter.
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Anyone who loves dogs will be drawn to this tale of a twelve-year-old girl's yearning to race sled dogs. She has to overcome her own self-doubt as well as blizzards and wild animals. The story is packed with realistic details, which is not surprising when you find out that the author raced her own team of eighteen Alaskan Huskies. Besides dogsledding, Terry steps out in snowshoes, paddles kayaks and canoes and sails. She lives on the edge of wilderness in Whitefish Falls, Ontario, Canada.
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I asked Terry, who writes for outdoor magazines, a few questions about how DOGSLED DREAMS came to be.





Q: When did you decide you wanted to write a book for kids and why?
A: I took a correspondence writing course three years ago with a mind that I wanted to write my memoirs. My writing tutor suggested I try writing fiction for kids after she read some of my magazine articles. I'm so glad, because I don't know if I would have tried it.
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Q: Why do you believe sled dogs will interest kids who may live where it never snows or where neighborhood dogs may be viewed as threats, not friends? What do you hope kids may learn about a relationship with a sled team?
A: I believe kids are interested in learning new ways of seeing things. That's the best part of writing for kids. And if you put them in the scene so they can hear the dogs, smell the dogs, feel the dogs, then hopefully they will care about the dogs. Dogsledding is about more than going fast down a trail. I hope readers learn that the trust mushers and their dogs must have in each other is a magical thing - that's what makes this sport so special. The book is full of technical information too, including a diagram at the back with dog positions, parts of the sled, etc along with a list of resources.
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Q: How would you sum up the changes the dogs bring to your main character?
A:Perhaps that Rebecca is more confident in her own abilities, that she is a good musher who cares for her dogs. And maybe she's learning to live more in the moment like the dogs do.
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Q: If there was one thing you'd like people to take away from reading your book, what would that be?
A: That most mushers love their dogs beyond words or explanation. Also, if you work hard, you can achieve your own dreams.
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Q: What are your dreams for this book? Where do you hope it will go and into whose hands?
A: I'm currently gearing up for a junior musher video contest on my site, so I'm dreaming that there will be lots of cool entries to watch of great kids with their dogs! I am also hoping that it is read by all those that approached me when I raced my own team and asked about the lifestyle.
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Q: Any booksignings or events coming up?
A: My local bookstore Chapters in Sudbury will be hosting an event next month. As well, I'll be in Cannington Feb.26 at the dogsled races there signing books and doing a reading at the library. I'll post more specifics and other dates on my website.

Random haiku

silent pair of crows--

scraps of black velvet soaring

on an updraft.

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That's it. A random haiku written in my head while walking. Now back into the land of my fairytale to see where the updrafts take me.

Turning mountains into a mission statement of sorts

Two of my favorite walking trails were closed after the week of non-stop rain in California before Christmas. The lake route reopened as soon as flood waters ran downstream, but the small mountain trail is still barricaded.

Um. Yeah. So I went around the caution tape like some other intrepid hikers and found out why.

Most of the trail is clear. But there are areas where erosion underneath the path may cause collapse and then there is this. Whew, that's a big boulder.

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No wonder it's still closed.

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But I'm glad I ventured up, and you know I'll go again. . .

Because . . .

This is what I get for a treat when I do. . .

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Climbing mountains rewards me with gorgeous vistas, a sense of accomplishment, a stronger body and a mind that becomes free of trivia.

I've done a lot of writing in my head while walking. But I haven't thought of it as a mission. Until now.

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I'm not a Mission Statement kind of person. Too many years of corporate-speak, I guess. But when Susan Kaye Quinn posted her Mission Statement as a writer recently she got my attention. It makes sense to develop self-awareness, to know what we want from all this effort we expend writing. What purpose does it serve in our lives?

Susan is an engineer, and I always struggled with higher math, physics, that sort of thing. My talents, I think, are more in the art realm. So instead of calling what I've written a Mission Statement, I'll refer to it as my life-goal as a writer. Here's what works for me, but, please, also read Susan's, which was my model.

To use my life experiences and background in creative non-fiction, poetry and fiction to write stories that reach beyond the day-to-day into the land of possibilities. To interact with other writers and editors to constantly improve my craft. To be supportive and helpful to others. To reach as many readers and impact as many lives as possible without allowing numbers of any kind to define me or my work. To always leave my readers with hope.

Yay, it's time for No Kiss Blogfest

No Kiss Blogfest today! That means dozens of writers are putting up scenes where lips come close but are denied connection. Mean writers.

The fest is hosted by Frankie Diane Mallis, and the scenes are bound to range from sizzlin' to hilarious.

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The art I chose for my fractured fairytale with modern sensibilities is John Waterhouse's La Belle Dame Sans Merci.

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The scene I'm sharing takes place after a princess is forced to leave her father's castle to go on a quest. She is supposed to fulfill her destiny alone and has already had to fight an ogre. This scene occurs when she searches for someone who's following her.

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Sword in hand, Princess Charming stepped soundlessly to an opening in the brush. A person, wrapped in a cloak, slept beside a dead fire. A horse dozed nearby.

She crept forward until she could put the tip of her sword against the person’s neck. The cloak covered most of his face, but he was surely male. “Who are you, and why do you follow me?” she demanded, her voice quavering only on the last word.

The man jerked and gasped. Charming stumbled back, tripping on a root. For a moment, she felt suspended in air and then she landed with a thud on her rump, but she managed to keep the sword pointed in the man’s direction.

She scrambled to her feet, feeling an unwanted blush flare on her cheeks, and stared wide-eyed at the young man peering out of the cloak. “Conner? What are you doing here?”

“Gah. You scared me, sneaking up like that, Charms. Although your pratfall took the edge off.” He smiled and sat up, rubbing his eyes and then running fingers through his tangled, blond hair.

“I scared you. Haven’t you been following me--like a sneak thief?” She wanted to erase the fact she’d fallen. But she needed to brush off the dirt, so she ran her free hand across her backside as stealthily as she could.

“A sneak thief! I’m trying to protect you.” Conner flung aside the cloak and stood, towering a foot taller than she.

They glared at one another for an instant until both became aware that Conner was in his long, wool underwear. “Drat. Beg your pardon,” he murmured.

Charming averted her eyes, staring at the dark loam and fallen leaves around her feet. She could hear Conner struggling into his leather breeches and doublet. But even when he was dressed, with boots on and hair tied back, she was too embarrassed to hold his gaze.

She attempted bravado. “You know you must go home, Conner, but you may as well come to our camp for breakfast first.” She kicked at the cold branches in his campfire to scatter them.

“Our camp?” Conner put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head so she had to look at him. “I thought you were alone.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated where you’re concerned.” Conner dropped his hand from her chin.

“Who’s with you? I requested to be first choice. I thought no one was allowed to accompany you.”

“So did I, but this woman showed up in the middle of the night.”

“A woman?”

“She’s not exactly ordinary.” Charming was unsure what she was allowed to say about Selena.

“She says she can teach me things that will help me on the quest.”

Conner frowned. “I want to meet her, question her.”

“I said you could come for breakfast, but don’t try to be Princess Defender or whatever role you think you must fill.”

“I can’t help being your defender, don’t you know that?” Conner’s voice sounded softer, deeper. He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead and let his fingers linger on her cheek.
Her skin tingled where he touched her. His eyes were the same color as pine trees. Why had she never noticed how rich and mysterious the color was before? And his lashes were long enough to cast shadows.

His hand cupped her chin while his thumb grazed her lower lip, feather-soft. “Charms, we never get to be alone. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” His face dipped toward hers.

Time seemed to stop. She’d never been alone like this with any boy. As she looked into Conner’s familiar face, she was fascinated by how changed he looked--the way his eyelids were heavy, his lips slightly parted.

It seemed that the world held its breath, and there was no one but the two of them in all time and space. But there was so little space between them now. She lifted her chin, offering her mouth to be kissed, longing to know what his lips would feel like on hers.

A tiny gust of wind came out of nowhere, whipping a strand of her hair loose. It danced across her nose and then Conner’s. When they both reached to rub their noses, their hands collided.

Charming giggled. She felt as she was breaking a spell as she took a step back, out of his reach. “Conner, I must return to camp.”

“Just one kiss, Charms. Who knows when we’ll have another chance.” He moved forward, closing the space again. “Just one can’t hurt anything.”

As soon as he said those words, she knew, without a doubt, that within the world of magic, a kiss might change everything. She could not. “We should have breakfast and then you must go home before they come after you.”

She turned her face away from the hurt in his eyes. She ached for that one kiss, too.