Because I Say So

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 23:24:00 +0000

So many bugs, so little time.

If it's spring then that means I'm teaching a LOT of art and writing residencies. In one of my schools we'll be creating fantastic insects. Drawing fun bugs is a lot more fun than screaming and flailing about when one lands on your arm. Not that I've ever done that....much.

Aside from bugs, spring is also a time of new beginnings. Driving to one of my schools I was amazed at all the lambs and calves out in the fields. In addition to all those future meals, the daffodils are everywhere and the birds seem very happy that the late snows are finally behind us. We may actually see some sun too. But since this is Portland, it's best not to set weather hopes too high. They don't call us "webfoots" for nothing.

Incessant rain does make it easier to stay inside and write though. I'm using both the downpours and the feeling of new beginnings to try some new things myself. Working in new genres is both terrifying and exhilarating. The risk of failure looms large, like a cavern lined with sharp teeth, just waiting to eat you up. And it DOES eat you up once in a while. The good thing is that it also spits you back out. You're a little stunned, probably bummed, but if you don't get back in the saddle, you've let those sharp teeth win.

Never let the sharp teeth win.

There are no baby lambs or calves outside my studio window, but there birds and daffodils, tons of daffodils. And they're out there reminding me of beginnings--glorious, tremendous, terrifying beginnings.

At least they're not crawling on my arm.

Speaking of bugs! Check out my newest picturebook, AUNT ANT LEAVES THROUGH THE LEAVES. There's even a grown up lamb in there. A bonus monkey too.

http://www.amazon.com/Aunt-Ant-Leaves-Through-Homophones/dp/0823423530

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 15:47:00 +0000

Writers and artists can spend a lot of time alone. Alone with their thoughts, their dreams, their creativity, their boredom, depression and outright terror. A creative brain should have a big sign hanging on it saying something like "Here there be spiders" or "Abandon hope all ye who enter here".

It's not a place for the squeamish.

The little dogs that dance and wiggle around my studio and occasionally defy the strict housebreaking policy do provide company, but they're not really available for in-depth conversations about the meaning of art, life or Dancing with the Stars. All of that pretty much flies below their caring radar.

They do like music though, especially if I'm doing the singing. My favorite song to sing to them as they gaze at me with their adoring, slightly buggy eyes?

"Anything you can do,

I can do better.

I can do anything

better than you."

The second verse where there's supposed to be a back and forth of "No you can't!" and "Yes I can!" doesn't really work though. It's just me singing, "Yes I can!" and then waiting for a response that never comes. The buggy eyes blink at me and the old man wiener dog sighs and passes gas.

"See?" I tell them. "I CAN do anything better than you." That is of course if "anything" doesn't include using my foot to scratch behind my ear or eating disgusting things off the ground while on a walk.

My hat's off to there, you my furry friends.

Lately my hat's been off to many artists and writers - even more than it usually is. I'm a book hound and love to escape into a good story, whether is true, not true or probably more accurately - a combination of the two. But the last several months I've been studying a writing genre - one that I've never tried before - mostly because I'd wondered whether I was up to it.

Now that last statement is a total lie. I didn't "wonder". I was sure I'd suck at it - suck, suck, suck.

Reading these books (in the genre I'm purposefully not telling you about because it doesn't matter to my point here) has been a reverse of my routine of singing "I can do anything you can do better". As I look at these books, STUDY these books, pore over as many of the ins and outs of these books, I know that it's these writers and artists that are singing that song to ME.

But you know, that's not depressing one bit. It makes me WANT to try more than anything to create something so great. The hard work ahead feels like a wild journey where I'll visit wondrous places and occasionally lose my luggage. It means I'm still learning .

The little dogs can relate to that I think. They're still learning all the time - how to shred socks, beg at the table and find even more disgusting things on the ground to eat. I wish continued learning for everyone else out there too. Learning brings dreams, creativity, and entertains the brain spiders.

Here's my new favorite quote:

Listen to everyone.

Follow no one.

Look for patterns.

Work like Hell.

-Scott McCloud

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 20:38:00 +0000

I've had a bit of a break from classroom teaching the last few weeks and it's given me time to look back on the last year and reflect - not about what I taught the thousand or so children I had the pleasure of spending time with, but what I learned.

Boogers are funny.

Farts are funny.

Food that looks like boogers is funny.

Making fart sounds is funny.

I also learned that kids like mad skills and I brushed up on a couple of mine. I can now draw a fire breathing smoke belching very fierce dragon in under 15 seconds. I can now turn my feet backwards even further than before.

Mad skills I was introduced to and haven't mastered: popping elbows or shoulders or wrists or any other joint out of their sockets and right back in. Making realistic fart noises.

I also learned that kids have fears.

Farting in public.

Some cafeteria food.

Looking dumb.

The list goes on. They're also afraid of:

Being told they're dumb.

Being told they're too fat or ugly or not cool in the least.

Being told they're worthless.

But the best thing I learned from kids is how brave they are. I've seen them get hit square in the soul with some these very scary fears. And then I've seen them get right back in the game - amazing.

As an artist and a writer it can be hard to venture out into a new medium. Rejection looms and when it does hit us squarely in the soul we can feel dumb, not cool in the least - completely worthless.

But so what? We can change the way we feel. We're adults. We have CONTROL over the way we feel. Get back in the game. Work on your mad skills. Some things are scary, like zombies or leeches - or loss. Seriously, rejection just doesn't stack up against those heavy hitters. It's merely annoying.

Remember.

Boogers are funny.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 20:24:00 +0000

This weekend, two things happened. One was I turned 50. How did THAT happen? But here's the deal - I'm grateful. I'm grateful that I'm still alive and kicking. I'm grateful I do pretty much what I love. And I'm grateful that I'm surrounded by the best people in the world.

I'm also grateful for hair dye and that the old man wiener dog remembers to go potty outside -

most of the time.

The other thing that happened?

I had my first New York Times Book review!!!! Yee-haw!

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/05/books/review/childrens-books-bookshelf-growing-up.html?_r=1

For this I'm grateful to illustrator-fabotastic, Scott Nash.

I'm grateful to editor supreme, Emily Lawrence.

And I'm grateful to my agent, the amazing Edward Necarsulmer IV.

See? I'm surrounded by the best people in the world.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 09 May 2011 21:32:00 +0000

It has been a long time since I've posted. I would love to say that the reason for that is that I've been on a world-wide book tour promoting my blockbuster, New York Times Bestseller, Great American Novel, all around nifty new book.

Nope.

Instead I've been dealing with - bugs. (see above illustration)

No, I haven't been spending my time drawing that art either. That's a 2009 - a very good year for bug art I must say.

My bugs have been of a different ilk. Bug #1: Computer. Black screen of death? I has it. Or had it. But after struggling along with my handy-dandy netbook for a couple of weeks and knowing all my data was backed up online, I wasn't balled up into a knot of despair while waiting for my computer to be brought back to life by the computer fairies. So this was a couple of hundred dollars kind of bug instead of a LIFE CHANGING EVENT. So, if you haven't figured out a convenient and reliable way to back up your stuff - do it. Seriously.

Bug #2: Viruses. And I don't mean computer viruses. I mean icky, icky, working in 6 different schools and being touched by hundreds of children kind of viruses. I'm not going to go into disgusting detail here but I'm definitely going to will my body to science. After all these years teaching I bet I have, to paraphrase Carl Sagan, billions and billions of different immunities swimming around inside me.

Bug #3: Creepy crawly bugs. Each year there's this weird kind of waving antennae beetle that invades my house. I'll look over and see one lurking above the printer, or peering at me from the bathroom sink, or worse, have one dive bomb me from behind, RIGHT NEXT to my ear. And here's the thing, screams do not scare this bug. But Twig, the terrible min-pin puppy does scare them and when she does they let loose with some foul citronella type smell. Twig gleefully pounces, chomps and then spits the bug out while I run to open the windows. Good times.

Other kinds of bugs abound, and this time they come from people. There are the social networking reminder bugs. I guess these days, the worst thing you can do not have a strong internet presence. What happened to the good old days when the worst thing you can do is wear white shoes after Labor Day? Then there are the well-meaning questioner bugs. "So how's that book coming along?"

But I think the most wretched bugs of all are the self-doubt bugs. These vile vermin exist only to make you lose confidence in yourself. They not only want you to stop you from keeping with your craft - practicing ALL THE TIME in order to try to get better, they want to keep you from ever starting in the first place.

Sometimes these bugs wear old, familiar faces. Maybe it's a teacher from way back that told you you couldn't draw, or corrected your poem to the point it was nothing but a mess of red ink. Maybe it's a neighborhood bully that called you names because you won that writing or coloring contest. Bad, bad bugs.

But here's the good news. Unlike computer catastrophes, runny noses and invading stink beetles, you actually have control of the self-doubt bad, bad bugs. You can quash them, squash them, dance around their little imaginary bug resting places by just continuing to practice - to write everyday, to finally open that set of acrylic paints, to finally dare to possibly fail. Because failing really IS the worst thing that can happen. And if you do, you brush yourself off and you get right back in there and try again, and again, and again. Once those nasties get that then they'll leave you alone.

And then there's always Twig. She's all about killing bugs and available by the hour.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 00:22:00 +0000

I live in Portland, Oregon. That means I live in the rain. A lot of rain. This winter it's felt like most of the time I've woken up in the dark, walked the little dogs in a slightly less dark and by lunchtime, the dark has morphed to gray - still technically dark in my book.

But there's a change in the air. There's a shiny thing in the sky that people tell me is the sun. The crocuses (croci?) are clustered under the elm and robins are all about gossiping at full volume at an unspeakably early morning hour.

It's all kinds of awesome.

But the dark has been useful - creative wise. It causes you to turn inward, to think, ponder, muse. And a lot of creativity comes from that dark place inside - fears, worries, those tiny ants of nail-biting anxiety that work their way into dreams and make 3 o'clock in the morning cold sweat central. I don't care if you're writing a zombie apocalypse manifesto or creating a masterpiece of smiling rubber duckies. It all comes from that place.

Truth that.

But you can't stay in that dark forever. That's what makes spring so, I don't know - springy. That's when you kick up your heels like a spring lamb and gambol - seriously, you can gambol. Try it. That's when you get thee to your drawing table, easel, writing journal or keyboard. And you're ready for it.

I had the good fortune a few days ago to speak to a class of adults taking a picturebook course. The drive to the school was a dark one - gray, dripping skies. And I started my talk pretty much saying the writing and illustrating market is hard, hard, hard. Dark, man, dark. But then a student asked me what I'd be doing with my life if money were no object.

I didn't even have to think about it. I'd do the exact same thing I'm doing now.

I actually attended the school I was teaching at about 28 years ago. I wanted to be a working artist so bad I'd cry in class. I feel the same way now even though I've added writer and teacher to those wants. Suddenly I felt like the luckiest duck in the world.

When I left that talented class, I stepped out not into a gray Oregon day but into one that sparkled. The sun was out, the birds singing, and the grocery store down the street was having a big sale on cereal.

Does it get any better?

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 23:51:00 +0000

The title of this piece is "Balancing Act" and that's exactly the way I've been feeling lately. Switching back and forth on a daily (and usually hourly) basis between writing, illustrating and teaching has me feeling like this kitty - trying very hard not to spill my wine.

In my most recent residency with 4th through 6th graders we're working on "I am" poems, which is perfect, because what kid doesn't want to talk about themselves, right? But these I Am poems are more than just talking about themselves. It's a poem in three parts.

The first part is all about how they see themselves and metaphor plays a big part in how they're to express that.

The second part is a bit of a shift. Metaphor is still involved but this section of their poem is how these students think OTHER people see them. So, labels are probably going to come up. Kids hear them all the time.

The third part of their poem is what they wish to be. And you know, this is the section I'm most looking forward to. Getting a front row seat hearing the dreams, hopes and wishes of a pack of children is just what the doctor ordered.

Before I subjected these kids to my mad scientist writing experiment, I practiced it on another subject - the main character in my latest novel I'm revising. Now THAT was a revelation. By asking that 17 year old teenage girl character the questions in these three parts of that I Am poem, I learned so much about not only what she does - but who she IS.

Hmm. This crazy balancing act is totally worth it.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 20:39:00 +0000

A few years ago, I used to play at a tennis club that had regular hit groups on Saturday mornings. You'd go in for a couple of hours and just hit ball after ball - no games - just hitting. I always thought of it as a good opportunity to burn off some maple bar lbs. and at the same time get some good practice time in without the pressure of having to win in a match. And most people that came to these groups seemed to have the same attitude - except one.

She'd hit at the ball as hard as she could every single time it came to her. And a lot of the time, because she wasn't adjusting her reaction to the ball that was approaching, her balls would either go wide, long or in the net. And then she'd yell - loudly - every time that happened.

I liked to refer to her (in my own head of course because she was bigger than me and had a racket in her hand) as "Old Yeller".

It was actually pretty overwhelming to watch this happen over and over again throughout the course of two hours. WHACK! Super loud yell. WHACK! Super loud yell, and so on and so on and so on. But would she ever try to vary her shots - try to take the pace off, slice, anything? Nope.

I thought about Old Yeller the other day when I heard a writer complain about feeling discouraged about their work. They'd been submitting a story for about a year and received rejection after rejection. And this writer was getting ready to pay to have it published themselves. Okay, I know there are a lot of fans of self-publishing out there and I think it's a fine idea to go that route if your book fits a niche market. But this story and this writer didn't fit that category. And in addition, after all the rejections, had done ZERO revision work. They kept trying that same story over and over again, even when it was clear it wasn't working.

That writer was pretty much the literary equivalent of Old Yeller. And by going the self-publishing route they were doing the literary equivalent of taking the net down and getting rid of the base and side lines. Things that are there for a reason.

When I asked why they hadn't even considered revisions, they'd said. "But it's MY story." Okay, fine, and Old Yeller's saying that each time she lets out a holler when her ball hits the net.

This economy has made it harder than ever to make a living in the creative arts. I know I've had to vary up my creative skills (along with my tennis shots) to stay in the game. I started out as a fine artist, then learned illustration, then picture book writing and then how to write a novel. And along the way, I learned how to teach, because baby still needs a pair of shoes even if art isn't selling that particular month or a book proposal didn't fly.

There's a saying that goes something like "Perseverance doesn't mean knocking on a door until someone let's you in. It means getting out there and knocking on a ton of doors and finding the ones that let you in. "

Don't be Old Yeller.

Vary your game.

Happy tennis - I mean writing.

Or tennis....

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 00:02:00 +0000

I am so behind in my becoming a billionaire schedule.

Even so, this past year I have felt pretty good about keeping to a writing schedule. I revised a novel, wrote and revised three picture books and finished another novel. That all felt pretty good. But this year I feel a little more pressure to do, well - something.

I'm hitting one of those "decade birthdays" this year. And I'm not so much concerned with the actual number of this particular birthday but with the fact that 10 years have actually gone by since the last decade birthday. It seems like the tritest thing to say, but it DID feel like yesterday. I came home from a birthday lunch to find a pigeon flopping around in my front yard. After spying the perfect pigeon imprint on the picture window it wasn't hard to figure out what happened. And it wasn't hard for my family to figure out that I would take the flying rat to the vet where they taped her injured wing and splinted her injured foot. I had to prop her in a box to keep her upright, earning her the name "I-lean".

In the past ten years, number one son has graduated from high school and college and is out on his own. We've moved from the house we raised him in and the neighborhood where everyone knows your name. Family dogs (and cats) have died. New ones (not cats) have been welcomed. We've mourned lost friends and made some wonderful new connections. The tree across the street is now taller than the power lines and is a reminder every day that time IS happening - whether we notice it or not.

I am NOT a New Year's resolution person. I put enough pressure on myself as it is. But I have been thinking about what I'd like to do before the next big old decade birthday rolls around.

I'd like to chill out a little bit more. Not a LOT - no way. "Nancy speed" works for me pretty well. But I'd like to be more patient while waiting for the world to catch up sometimes.

I want to remember to pay attention. I'm a visual person. I get distracted by all kinds of shiny things. But developing a filter as to what is IMPORTANT to pay attention to is probably a good thing.

I want to develop a consistent slice shot. And if there's anyone reading this that thinks this is a trivial pursuit (sorry, couldn't help myself there) then we have nothin' to talk about.

I want to continue to remember I'm lucky. Yes, I am behind on my billionaire schedule but I have spent my adult life pursuing a career that I oh so love. I draw pictures. I color. I make stuff up. And I get to share all the joy and wonder of that when I teach. Any of my students that are reading this - please note: writing and or coloring may not be the most lucrative vocation in the world, but I'm laughing all the way while strolling in the opposite direction of the bank.

Continue to love craft. Appreciate that in others' work, strive for it in my own.

Laugh. Laugh a lot. In the last ten years I've come a long way in appreciating the five minutes of happy that come along on a regular basis. Wanting more than that is a recipe for the opposite of laughter.

Thank you, everyone that's been there these past ten years and more. And I'm ready for the next decade. Rolling up the sleeves and putting on the big girl pants...

I have a schedule to meet.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 03:31:00 +0000

So here's the best reason to have a kid -

tech support.

I like to think that I'm a fairly capable person. I can find my way out of a paper bag. I can draw a straight line. I CAN walk and chew gum. I well be able to do all these things at once, but computer stuff can stymie me - big time.

I'm way better about it than I used to be when I'd stab at a key with a shaky index finger and then touch the side of my mouth, waiting anxiously to see if I've somehow caused the end of life as we know it.

But the kid never had these reservations. He dove right into the first computer we had and never looked back. And like the language of books (that he loved) and the language of music (that he also loved) he became fluent in computer-ese.

I am definitely not fluent in that language at all. For instance, I haven't been able to access my dashboard of my blog for a few weeks. But after only about 30 seconds the kid's got me squared away. Arrgh.

When I started out as a fine artist and a writer, I'd never touched a computer other than Pong, Simon, Asteroids and Galaga. Oh, yeah - and Centipede. Yeah. Centipede.

But now, even though I still draw with an actual pencil and still make writing notes with an actual pen, the magical box that is my computer takes up most of my working time. And some of that working time is supposed to be keeping up on my blog. But since I've already established my serious lacking in computer-ese, I dropped that particular ball.

Part of me thinks it might be nice to go back to those times before the computer ruled my work day. But that's before I remember there were days when you couldn't Google Gilligan's Island to find out which episode had the Professor making a radio out of coconuts, or you couldn't send a jpeg of a sketch for immediate approval or you had to keep white-out at all times near your typewriter. Seriously, I'm never going back to the land before cut and paste.

So that leaves me a stranger (kinda) in a strange (most definitely) land. I'll pick up a few more phrases here and there in computer-ese, pretty much the equivalent of being able to ask in another language where the bathrooms are (most handy). But I doubt I'll ever really be fluent.

It doesn't matter though. A couple of decades ago I was smart enough to have a kid.

And now I think I'll Google where I can play a good game of Centipede in this town.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 00:50:00 +0000

When I was a kid I wasn't crazy about kids. Okay, I admit it - I really couldn't stand them. They seemed so, well -

immature.

But hahha! Now that I'm old, they're so much more fun. Here's the greatest part about getting older - you don't give one rat's hiney what other people think. You can be the biggest dork you want, run around screaming and yelling at the top of your lungs, having the time of your life acting like, wait for it - a kid.

I am not only so very lucky I get to write for kids but I teach them too. Or, rather, they sometimes teach me.

Here's one explanation why that's so fantabulous: http://therightbraininitiative.wordpress.com/2010/11/04/you-wrote-this-bringing-writers-to-the-classroom/

Happy VERY creative dorkdom!

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 01 Nov 2010 22:42:00 +0000

When I was a little kid I was all about the Saturday morning cartoons. I mean what's better than an overflowing bowl of Rice Crispies on your lap while you sit cross-legged on the shag carpeting, nose almost touching the convex screen of the console TV?

Actually, now that I'm NOT a little kid anymore I can think of a lot of things I'd rather do on a Saturday morning - namely sleeping or hoping someone who's not me feels like going out to the bakery and fetchin' mama some maple bars...

Mmmm.... maple bars.

But back then one of my favorite shows was a Hanna-Barbera masterpiece called "Wacky Racers". The premise was simple - 11 race cars ranging from Penelope Pitstop's Compact Pussycat 5 to Dick Dastardly and Muttley in the Mean Machine 00 vied to win a different race each week to be crowned the Wackiest Racer. Of course, action, intrigue and hilarity ensued as each villain racer tried to thwart the good guy racers and knock them out of the competition. Go, bad guys!

But who would have thought that 30 years later I'd feel like I had jumped right into that cartoon and become a Wacky Racer myself driving my very own vehicle, The Work in Progress 2010?

Not me brother. Not me.

But writing my latest novel definitely has its similarities to being in those races. Bang! The starting gun sounds and you're off, revving that creative engine, feeling all clever and stuff as you wind your way through your plot twists and turns. But suddenly you're forced to hit the brakes. Wait a minute, another one of the racers, cleverly disguised as a plot element in your book has switched the road signs "Go this way" and "Bridge Out".

No worries, you think, backtracking and rewriting your way back on the road and off you go again, keyboard sizzling as your word count soars like a pegged tach. But what is this? Another plot element has laid a mudslick down and yet another a stretched rubberband between two trees and you're catapulted backward again to fix yet more troublesome spots. Aaargh.

And then, just as you think you're ready to go, to get back out there, something really super bad happens. Your vehicle, the one you patched back together over and over, not only stops running - it falls apart into about 65000 words - all over the place. Double Aargh.

Surprise! Your vehicle was only as good as the patches.

But here's the good news. You still have all the parts of that vehicle. They haven't gone poof and when you've pulled yourself together enough to decide that all is not lost, you can get down the hard work of real revising. Because this time, baby, your Work in Progress 2010 is going to be rock solid from the ground up. And then you'll be ready to roll.

And be ready to be the Wackiest Racer.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 14:59:00 +0000

See Nancy.
See Nancy sit.
See the red chair.
It's burnified.
See Nancy deny any knowledge of how that possibly could have happened.

Actually, this chair stood in the lobby outside Portland's fantastic literary festival, Wordstock. For days, everyone bookish could attend author readings, publisher discussions, writer workshops or just peruse the many, many booths hosted by everyone from small university presses to Powell's City of Books. I succumbed right away at a sweet spot selling t-shirts and messenger bags, walking away with an army green canvas bag big enough to hold a couple of books as well as my netbook. Best part? The stenciled "Intellectual Freedom Fighter" on the front flap.

It's all kinds of awesome.

And then it was time for my reading and Q&A. I shared the stage with the lovely and talented April Henry, author of (among many other books) Girl Stolen. Here's the link to get this fabulous read.

But something interesting happened during our Q&A session.

We had a heckler.

As April, who writes YA thrillers was explaining what she was working on now, which involved a couple of murders, a man cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Hey! There are kids here!"

Actually, because both April and I were presenting YA novels, there weren't any "kids" in the audience - mostly adults and a couple of teens. There were some kids farther away that were happily visiting with the reading dogs. I seriously doubt we took their attention away from those fuzzy pups, but it got me thinking. Why did they have YA authors presenting on the kid's stage?

And here's a bigger question - why are YA books considered children's literature?

YA books often contain grittier stuff than adult books do. In fact a lot of the time the reason they're considered for teens is because of the age of the main character. If they're a teen, then it's usually a YA.

But teens are worlds' apart from the middle grade readers, let alone the chapter books and the picture books crowd. And the content of some of these YA books may not only be uninteresting to an early reader (a school dance? Yuck!) but may also be inappropriate. I've read passages in YAs that had me a little uncomfortable and I'm older than dirt. At least some dirt.

Maybe the reason that YA is still labeled as kid's lit is because that's the way it's always been done. I think that's lazy thinking. Since the advent of modern YA (think The Outsiders) the game has changed. These modern books for teens are fast paced, often hard hitting reads that aren't meant for children at all. And more and more adults are reading these books all the time.

So, new category?

What would it be?

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 01:18:00 +0000

Just so you know, this is going to be a short post.

Just so you know, I began teaching kids again today after a few weeks off.

Just so you know, there's a lot of kids in need out there - in need of resources, family and support.

Just so you know, there are many ways to get involved. Here's one.

http://www.getsmartoregon.org/

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 01:03:00 +0000

The long, not so hot days of a Portland summer are gone. This fall day seems to be a repeat of those summer days - cool, damp and gloomy.

Perfect writing weather.

And since City League tennis season has arrived in all its indoor court glory, it's perfect tennis weather too.

It's a bit of a dance figuring out the team line ups and just where you fit as a player. And then there's the whole figuring out your opponents. What are their strengths, their weakness? How can you minimize your weaknesses and maximize your strengths as a team? And the million dollar question?

How can your own weaknesses actually play out to be strengths?

Funny - that's exactly the issue I'm dealing with in my novel draft. My main character is gloriously flawed - hopefully, likable, but flawed just the same.

My tennis coach is extremely fond of pointing out how I tend to change the direction of the ball, whether it's warranted or not. And it's true, I totally do that. It's not always the best course of action, but you know - it DOES work sometimes.

My writing seems to to go the same way and my main characters follow my zig-zagging path. As in tennis, sometimes things work in my writing (BAM! A passing shot down the line) and sometimes it doesn't (BAM! I catch a ball straight in the solar plexus).

But that's how life works. You give something a shot and it works or it doesn't. You might evolve to stick with the sure things or just wait for those extraordinary winner moments, because they feel oh, so good.

It's all about choices.

I'm going with the long shots. I may not win the lottery, but I may end up with a couple of points for my team and a more interesting main character for my writing project.

Here's to daring to fail.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 18:40:00 +0000

The last couple of posts I've been talking about voice, whether it's in writing or in art. It's a subject that's been in front of me big time as the novel I'm working on contains artwork by two different characters - and neither one of them are me. And that means, I have to imagine myself as them when I'm creating those pieces of art.

You know, it's kind of nice to be someone else for a change.

I'm written different characters before, of course, but this feels different, as if the wall separating the writer and the character, that wall that enables that writer to observe that character objectively, has dissolved.

I can't decide whether this is a good thing or not. When my adult writing students want to write a story based on something that happened to them, I caution them that this can be difficult. Stories that are very close to a real occurrence can sometimes have that "you had to be there" feeling. If the theme of that story doesn't transcend the original event, then it might not be all that relate-able to a reader.

But what happens if as a writer, you have to imagine that you completely ARE that character in order not just to talk or think like them, but to create like them? Does that still risk that "you had to be there" pitfall? I guess that's where theme becomes the go-to point.

My subconscious is a busy bee and I'm grateful for that. It provides me with sudden insight at the times I think all might be lost with a story, when I've lost my way as far as theme. But with this project, I feel I need to help out my subconscious a bit.

I've made a list.

My studio is a rat's nest. Even on its neatest day, empty coffee cups loiter amid rubber bands, paper clips, cds that I have no idea what's on them - there are books, more books, mountains of oil pastels and a death maze of dog toys covering the floor. But the mess that also includes a myriad of scraps of paper, makes for handy scrawling places. Hmm. I like that. Scrawl space. I'm staking claim to it.

Scrawls include: love, loss, despair, elation, libido, terror, excitement (see libido), enthusiasm, denial, anger, rage, disappointment, want, need, atonement, acceptance, transformation.

These are just some of the words on my theme list - of what we all share in common as human beings. By staying connected to that connection I feel like I can become those characters enough to draw as them and still make them enough of "not me" to still be relate-able to someone else. And that givs me enough confidence to keep on keeping on.

But here's the funny thing...

I've also been illustrating a new picture book. My many prior books all shared a certain look - they contained my art voice. But suddenly -

that voice seems to have changed.

More on that later.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 16:30:00 +0000

Still drawing and writing in two voices - a very time consuming activity.

Back to work.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 14:34:00 +0000

While working on novels it's common to write in many characters' "voices". I mean, your MC has to interact with someone(s), right? And those other characters can range from a trolley car operator to (these days) a hybrid vampire/zombie/werewolf to a 2nd grade bully on the school playground. Even though you as the writer still maintains your own writing style, your own voice, these new ones you're channeling need to go over the top of it like icing on a cake.

Oooh, cake...

All these characters are not YOU, but because you're the one making them up, then they ARE you. Oh, my head. It can feel a little confusing at times.

I am a born eavesdropper. And that got me into trouble when I was a kid. I often heard the phrase "Little pitchers have big ears" before all that interesting adult conversation went silent and I was sent to my room - again. But now that I'm all grown up and stuff, that eavesdropping super power is a big help when creating voices in my writing.

It's amazing how differently different people speak. And I'm not even talking about the use of different languages or even strong accents in the English language. Some people speak in clear, full sentences. Some people jump around in their speech, using lots of sentence fragments. Some people are "hesitators", using an "uh" or "um" here and there. And that's just the style of their speaking, not the content which can range from dated to wildly profane. People, you gotta love 'em.

But lately I'm dealing with a different way of portraying different voices. For the project I'm working on now I'm DRAWING in two voices. And this has been a challenge. Way back in the olden days when I started out as a fine artist I was recognized pretty quickly because I had such a distinctive style (or drawing voice). My work, whether I was using my signature oil pastels, or pen and ink, or paint all still looked like I did it. But now, I have to coat my artistic voice with a big old shovel full of icing.

And eavesdropping in the real world doesn't really help me here. I can't skulk around the mall or the post office or the grocery store or downtown spying on what different people are drawing.
So I'm left with eavesdropping on the characters I've created for this particular story. I have use what I imagine I know about these people to try to draw like they would. And it doesn't help that they're from different decades or that they're different genders either. Oh, my head...

I've posted a few of my first sketches at the top of the page. They're still in my voice. But hopefully they're NOT too.

Happy eavesdropping!

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 18:30:00 +0000

I was feeling pretty good about myself. The color proofs for my new picture book coming out next year (illustrated by the wildly talented Scott Nash) arrived and look fabulous, I got my sketches in for the next picture book (that I'm illustrating) in a week under deadline, and my novel in progress is flowing - I mean REALLY flowing. So that means I'm doing absolutely everything right, right?

Nope.

These days that's just a part of a writer's and artist's job. Take a gander at Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, the whole world of social media out there that's not only used for keeping in touch and spouting banal updates - it's also being used for promoting work - big time.

Have I been promoting my work big time?

Letmethinkaboutthatno.

I'm on Facebook - Linkedin too, but mostly I go there to feel bad about myself. I see authors and artists talking up new books and projects and OMG, that just isn't in my DNA. It looks good when they do it, though and the better they are at it the more I wallow in that - a good old adolescent style wallow. I figure it's better than eating a ton of ice cream.

Like every other cool person on the face of the Earth, I'm a fan of Mad Men. I do NOT watch that show to wallow at all. I'm there to drool. And in the first episode of this season a couple of quotes stood out for me because they spoke to my lurking about watching these promotion tools. Don Draper (drool) had been interviewed by a magazine and he completely dropped the ball. He said nothing about himself which clearly frustrated the interviewer. Mr. Draper saw very little sense (and if you watch the show you'll know that he also saw very little wisdom) in divulging much personal info.

Mistake.

When called on the carpet by his firm's partners after the not so flattering article came out, Don Draper looked astounded - and then a little whiny. "My work speaks for itself!" he cries in protest.

And here's where he gets the big smack-down by Bert Cooper. "Turning creative success into business IS your work! And you failed!"

This day and age, that's true for us writers and artists. And lucky us we have the tools to do it. Those sites, blogs, book trailers, virtual launch parties...

But it seems so exhausting. I think I'd rather live in that Don Draper land where all that matters is that you work hard, do good work - and look pretty. But since I don't, I guess I'm off to visit Facebook and try to leave a non-banal update.

Happy promoting.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 14:42:00 +0000

I actually dragged myself out of my troll-hole, aka my studio this weekend to do of all things - socialize. I can get a little hermit-y (yes, that is a word because I just wrote it down) after months of teaching in the classroom. Don't get me wrong, kids are great - they're creative and funny and all that. But too much of a good thing is rarely a good thing.

I'm looking at you, giant bag of M&Ms.

Last year I attended my 30th high school reunion. It was a ton of fun and I saw people that when I was a teenager, I couldn't imagine NOT seeing every day. But 30 years later, after only a few minutes of catching up, it felt like I HAD seen them every day. Time does fly, but it also ebbs, flows and eddies.

This weekend, a few of those friends and I attended a party hosted by another classmate. He has a beautiful home on the river and we all wondered how the goof-ball we'd hung out with had carved such a sweet life for himself. He's also a drummer and had a stage set up. Then, in the pastel gorgeousness of a perfect Oregon sunset, time definitely flew - backward. And what was the magical time machine that made that happen?

3 words.

Journey cover band.

All of a sudden, my friends and I were 17 again. We remembered hanging out down by the river, or cruisin' in someone's boyfriend's car, music blasting from the cassette tape deck, or tripping on the frayed hems of our too-long bell-bottom jeans.

But even better, I remembered what it FELT like to be that age - all the excitement and worry and insecurity and a powerful sense of invincibility all rolled into a teen package of heady angst. Thank you, Journey cover band!

And then I realized that I get glimpses of that feeling when I write. When creating picture books, I get to be a little kid with their hilarious sensibilities of what's funny. The first graders in my workshop classes are also persistent reminders that burping, boogers, and any mention of a rear end are a gut-buster.

When I'm working on YA novels, I get to be that teenage main character - travel that road, experience all the highs and lows the story arc provides. Of course when I look in a mirror, that illusion comes to a screeching halt, which is a very good reason NOT to look in a mirror. I'm all for the State Of Denial to be our nation's 51st.

So, I wondered, what would happen if I played some of the music I rocked to as a teenager WHILE working on my YA manuscript?

It was pretty cool.

It was very cool.

The human brain is an incredible thing. Smells can unlock memories you never knew you had. And music, that long ago music, can unlock that teenager you never knew you still were. I'm going to keep playing that music while finishing up my first draft of my WIP. It's been nice to have the company of the 17 year old me.

Just a small town girl, livin` in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin` anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train goin` anywhere

Don't stop believin', baby.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 14:30:00 +0000

I used to love that saying "When my ship comes in". Those 5 words contained all the promises of fame and fortune - and that loot is waiting there, just over the horizon. But here's the deal. That ship seems to simply exist ONLY to wait there - just over the horizon. You squint your eyes, stand up on tip-toe to be taller, certain that if you could simply spy it, it'll come roaring into port.

Remember when you were a little kid and you and a bunch of other little kids decided after a rainstorm to find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow arcing above your neighborhood? Even when you roamed to the very edges of the parental established boundaries of your territory, that rainbow never looked closer. It's kind of the same thing as the ship, stories meant to tantalize, but ultimately disappoint. Life has one wicked sense of humor.

So, after years of at first, waiting, and then pondering the usefulness of waiting, and then thinking maybe I should be looking for a bunch of smaller boats that would add up to one giant ship, I had an idea.

Why couldn't I build my own boat?

And you know what? After I came to that conclusion, I was a LOT happier. Now I felt like I at least I had a smidgen of control. And as my friends and family will gleefully tell you - I'm all about the control. So here are some of the things I've done to build my raft, that someday I hope will reach ship status:

1. Exercise my brain. That can mean reading fantastic books, looking at art that makes you think, listening to people that have opinions, entertaining new ideas, and even just curling up with a crossword puzzle.

2. Exercise my bod. In case no one's noticed I do love me some tennis, but even when my schedule doesn't permit it, it's still important to move. It's been scientifically proven that the number one cause of idea constipation is lack of exercise. It's true. Okay, it's probably not true but it LOOKS true so that's what's important. On non tennis days I still try to move somehow. I play with the old man wiener dog and the horrible min pin puppy. I play with my hula hoop. Yep, I have a hula hoop. I'm a dork and proud of it.

3. Work daily. 2 very important words. Only with consistently making your craft a part of daily life will you BE that writer or artist rather than TRYING to be that writer or artist. But even though the "daily" part of that statement is clear, The "work" part isn't. Work can consist of sitting down and hammering out a couple thousand words. Work can be shopping for art materials. Work can be jotting down ideas, researching marketing opportunities, reading artist, writer, editor, agent blogs, or laying in the grass staring at cloud shapes. It can be hard work deciding whether that cumolo nimbus looks more like the Taj Mahal or a bunny rabbit.

4. Give while you're waiting to get. This can mean networking, sharing your ideas. This can mean offering what you've learned to someone starting out. This can also mean that you get out there in the world and find something that needs to be done. These days, there's a LOT that needs to be done.

And if you can't think of a way to give, here's one suggestion: http://memorywalk.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=336374&supid=298822955

Happy sailing.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 22:01:00 +0000

The title of this piece is "4 and Twenty Blackbirds". And even though I don't have a studio full of penguins, I do have a head full of distractions. I'm working hard at working hard on my WIP today. My week wrangling the 2nd and 3rd graders is over and so there should be no excuses not to be oh, so very productive, right?

Yeah, right.

Here are my 4 and twenty distractions making writing very difficult today:

1. It's sunny. Here in Portland we have two kinds of weather - raining and NOT raining. The word "sunny" is considered foreign and used about as often the the word "thence".

2. There's chocolate ice cream in the freezer. It calls to me and I have to say "Lalala, I can't hear you"- a LOT.

3. Email. When was this ever considered a time saver?

4. Telemarketers. The thesaurus suggests lice, vermin, foot fungus, bad clams and ecoli as synonyms for the word "telemarketer". At least my thesaurus does.

5. Dutch, the old man wiener dog who won't stop barking at the sky.

6. Twig, the terrible min pin puppy who keeps pulling paper out of my recycling and playing shredder.

7. Email. New messages! Ooops, nope. Can't read Chinese. At least I think it's Chinese.

8. Twilight Zone marathon on SyFy - awesome...

9. Suddenly wondering where my purse is. Must find and pat to reassure self that all is well.

10. More sky-barking.

11. Realizing that min pin paper shredding has morphed to rubber band chewing.

12. Crawling around studio floor looking for any more stray rubber bands.

13. Deciding keyboard is filthy and mostly likely rife with telemarketers, I mean vermin. Must clean.

14. Facebook!

15. Another email. Whoever told these people that I possess that particular body part and its in desperate need of enhancement is misinformed.

16. Min pins give sweet kisses.

17. Old man wiener dogs have gas.

18. Search for air freshener, see the vacuum. There's no time like the present.

19. Nancy.... I'm waiting in the freezer, basking in my chocolate dreaminess....

20. Lalala.

21. Check editor and agent blogs for latest market news.

22. Check other places for latest lol cats and cake wrecks news.

23. Convince self it's research.

24. Did I mention it's sunny today?

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 19:21:00 +0000

Falling in love is a wonderful thing. You feel all flibberty-gibberty, think more things are funny, are convinced food tastes better, and all of a sudden the throngs of people out in the world, the ones you normally see as freeway lane hogging, latte line crashing, cell phone yelling boors are suddenly beautiful human beings - BECAUSE YOU'RE IN LOVE.

As writers we get to feel that way a lot. There's that oh so special moment when a spotlight shines down from the heavens onto your monitor and angel choirs sing your very favorite song as you read over your work in progress. This might be good you think, hardly daring to breathe. And then everything goes into soft focus. It IS good. It's fantastic.

And this is what you want to shout from the rooftops: I'm totally in love with Chapter seven!

Or Chapter 3 or 33 or whatever.

But here's the deal with love. You need to put your heart out there to feel it. Sometimes that works out, I know it does - I've seen all the Meg Ryan movies.

But sometimes all putting your heart out there does is place it directly in the path of an oncoming steamroller. Ouch.

That glorious chapter you brought to writers' group or submitted to an editor? What happens if they're not feeling the love at all? What if their response is to dump it, dump it right now and run away as fast as the wind?

A normal reaction to such a scenario is to feel your heart breaking into teeny tiny pieces as you reread your beloved. They just have to be wrong, you think wildly. Can't they see how wonderful this is, how much I desperately adore it?

But then you sleep on it. And the next morning, in the harsh light of day, maybe you have a "Maggie May" moment. Maybe then you do see the warts and the halitosis and the bad toupee of that formally oh, so glamorous piece of writing.

You piece your heart back together with chewing gum and old 32 cent stamps and then dump it, dump it right then and run away as fast as the wind, all the while thankful that you received the feedback.

And then you start writing again, this time seeing your work for what it is, not for what you delude yourself into thinking that it is. That is until the next time...

you fall in love.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 13:59:00 +0000

It's been HOT, HOT, HOT in Portland. Yeah, yeah, I know it was even hotter around the country this last couple of weeks but we're just not used to it. Most people, and I count myself among those "most people", don't have air conditioning and I realized (on a 98 degree day) that I didn't own a single pair of shorts. Consequently, I ended up wearing a tennis skirt on an early morning trail run with my sister.

Look at me everybody! I'm running! In a dress.

It was in at least the high 80's this weekend when I had a garage sale along with a couple of old friends. I got rid of most of my clutter (see preceding post) and now I can see the floor of my studio again. That's good. My friends sold just about everything and that's good too - because they're leaving the Portland area and moving to a smallish town in the mountains of Mexico.

Mexico is far from Portland.

Before this weekend, this exhausting weekend, selling stuff and helping them pack up the stuff they're not selling, it hit me just how far away they're going. And not just them but Knock Knock, their old man wiener dog that is a doppelganger to my old man wiener dog, Dutch. They've been on play dates together their entire lives. Suddenly, the event of this move stopped becoming the thought of the event and became the feeling of the event.

That made this weekend even harder because I felt sad. Sure, there were lots of happy moments and crabby moments and some outright hilarious moments, but all were tinged with that hint of sad. We were all experiencing loss.

Afterward, in my clutter free studio I opened my work in progress and read through the almost finished first draft yet again. But this time I was looking for something specific. Was I telling exclusively about the thoughts around the events that unfold in my story or was I having my characters feel those events as well? And more importantly, was I giving a reader the opportunity to experience those feelings?

And glory be, I did find some spots where a character would have naturally had some pretty strong feelings about something. So this time instead of speeding through these scenes I hung with them a little longer, and kind of validated their feelings by letting my characters experience the emotions more fully. Hopefully, that'll also translate to the reader's experience too.

This morning, the weather's turned back to more normal Portland - cloudy, cool and marine air sending little freshets of breeze through the brittle leaves of the dying tree in my back yard. Yep, another loss...

I'm so very excited that my friends are living their dream by embarking on their Mexican adventure.

I'm very sad that I won't be seeing them like I've been used to the last 20 something years.

Today, I'll write in my much more comfortable studio, thinking about feeling - also knowing that a change in the weather is always just around the corner.

noreply@blogger.com (Nancy Coffelt) — Tue, 06 Jul 2010 17:10:00 +0000

Clutter.

I like to think of myself as a fairly neat person. I rarely have more than one scary item that gets shoved far to the back of the refrigerator. I make the bed, hang up my coat and put away my shoes. So if I can manage to keep the living area of my house squared away, why doesn't that happen in my studio?

My studio, otherwise known as the Troll Hole or on bad days, the Pain Cave, serves a few purposes. My drawing table takes up a fair amount of room as does my flat file for storing artwork. I also do most of my writing there, so my computer and desk hog up another wall. Then there's my teaching and my file cabinets for files and course materials. And I also pay my bills at the other desk at the other wall. Add to this a TV, a stereo, overloaded bookshelves and you got yourself a clutter magnet. No, not merely a magnet - a black hole sucking in the randomness of my, well, I guess it's the randomness of my own personal creative process.

I've tried to be organized around my workspace - really. And I am so totally jealous of people that can do that. But at the moment, my paper recycling's overflowing (the old man wiener dog was taking a nap in it earlier this morning), I still have a pile of printer cartridges to take back to Office Depot, files waiting to be filed are piled on my computer tower and I see that Twig, the terrible Min-pin has added 3 of my socks to her collection of dog toys littering the floor. Added to all of that, for some reason, I decided my studio was the perfect staging area to get ready for a garage sale this weekend. Genius, pure genius.

But here's the deal. Even though clutter drives me bat crazy insane in the kitchen, living room, bathroom or bedroom. It doesn't seem to distract me from my work. In fact, I've been more productive this past year than in any other. And because I've been so busy, I haven't had time to muck out the studio. And so on and so on. So which comes first? Creativity or Clutter?

Take that, "chicken or the egg" riddle maker-upper.

I recommend to my writing students that they keep a journal. And I practice what I preach - sort of. In the midst of my clutter are my "journals" which are completed crossword puzzle books - piles and piles of crossword puzzle books. For some reason, when I'm puzzling over an entry, that's when I get inspired, solve a creative problem, or figure out just what a pirate pig would look like. The margins of these books are filled with doodles, poems, snippets and idea gobbets.
They're clutter-tastic.

I have no idea if the way I work is different or weird than other people's methods. I actually don't really want to know because my clutter problem's most likely here to stay - the creative part at least. The other stuff? Garage sale! So if you're in the market for a tea pot collection, a Pez collection, collected pottery, art, Russian nesting dolls, collectible toys, I'm dumping it all this weekend.

Did I mention I married a former art gallery owning collector to beat all collectors?

Clutter, the gift that keeps on giving.