Greg R. Fishbone

WOTD: Grad School

2009-06-13T04:57:58Z

Today's word of the day is "Grad School" because I'm going back for a master's in teaching, starting next week. You may notice fewer posts from me about writing, but you will now find posts about teaching on my new teaching blog.

So, how long exactly until I'm allowed to stop shaving?

WOTD: gods

2009-05-14T21:09:25Z

Today's word of the day is gods. With a small "g".

It's been a while since I put a post up on "The Spectacle", the speculative fiction group blog I share with fellow authors Parker Peevyhouse, P.J. Hoover, Jo Whittemore, Linda Joy Singleton, Joni Sensel, and Steve Brezenoff. My current entry is some thoughts on gods and their use in fantasy. My experience is that pantheons of gods seem to be showing up in more than ever in literature including contemporary fantasies where you wouldn't expect to see so much mythology. There are two individuals I blame for this, only partially tongue in cheek: Edith Hamilton and Gary Gygax.

Conference

2009-04-29T02:48:14Z

Today's word of the day is Conference.

Years ago, I got some advice that went something like this: "If you want to write for children, you have to join the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. Attend the conferences. Meet people. Network. Get involved. Get informed. Get inspired. Volunteer. GIve back. But don't ever, ever, ever volunteer to run a conference because that's a year of your life you'll never get back."

I've followed that advice well enough until now. This weekend I got to enjoy the 2009 New England SCBWI annual conference in a relatively relaxed and stress-free mode, providing tech support, AV support, and web support as needed. But they've hooked me as a co-director for 2010--how could I resist a technology theme? Now that the 2009 conference is nothing but a warm glow of good memories, I can officially start feeling anxious about next year.

Actually it almost certainly won't be so bad as my old mentor made it out to be. 2010 will be the 24th annual New England regional conference, so there are systems firmly in place and a crowd of former directors to lean on as resources. And New England has a system by which an apprentice co-director is paired with an experienced co-director from the year before.

Over the next year, between conference planning and my master's program, I will be blogging less about writing but expect me to blog more about the awesome conference I'm helping to put together.

A-Twitter

2009-04-25T10:45:53Z

My word of the day is a-Twitter, a state of euphoria that you want to broadcast in 140 characters or less. Usage: When the Red Sox pulled out that 11th inning win against the Yankees last night, the fans were all a-Twitter.

I don't really get Twitter. It seems like a pointless waste of time, and not the fun kind like spider solitaire that occasionally turns your screen into a fireworks display. But the hype has been crazy over the past couple months as news outlets have scrambled to sign on, then Stephen Colbert came up with an off-colored past-tense for the verb "to twit" that nearly knocked Meridith Viera out of her seat, and then over a million people decided they just had to cyberstalk that guy from "Dude, Where's My Car?"

I'm at the New England SCBWI conference in Nashua this weekend, where folks expect me to know about all things techy that could potentially be used to reach an audience of book lovers, so the topic has come up in casual conversation. Twitterers have been trying to win me over to their ranks while non-Twitterers have been generally disappointed that I couldn't give them my first-hand experiences with the site. By the end of the night I just gave in. You can follow me @tem2

The conference is going great, by the way. This year I can relax and enjoy the workshops and festivities. Next year (May 14-16, 2010) I'll be co-directing so I expect very little in the way of relaxation. By then Twitter will probably be plugged directly into my brainstem, insideous as it is.

Marathon

2009-04-22T14:47:41Z

Is it Earth Day already? It feels more like Groundhog's Day and I'm the one peeking out to see a shadow. I've been so swamped with things to do and not enough time to do it all.

Monday was Patriots Day which is also Marathon Day here in the Boston area. We staked out a spot on Comm Ave across from Newton City Hall within earshot of the Poland Springs DJ. Poland Spring was pumping out the jams! We brought 'Xi, who had a great time running around and gathering last fall's leaves with another toddler she'd just met--that girl can make friends anywhere! We also brought Flat Stanley, from the Flat Stanley book series. With better planning we could have arranged to have Stanley carried along the route by a runner, but we probably wouldn't have gotten good pictures for his travel journal. Lots of great shots from the Boston Children's Museum yesterday, too. Flat Stanley flies back (via first class mail) to Florida on Friday.

At the marathon ten years ago, I volunteered to hand out beverages and snacks to the runners after they crossed the finish line in Boston. It's inspiring to see so many people accomplish such a daunting goal. All that preparation. All that effort. All that sweat. And I was the one who got to say, "Congratulations, dude. Have a bottle of water and a bag of corn chips!"

Writing a book is kind of like running a marathon sometimes. All that preparation. All that effort. All that sweat. And at the end, a bottle of water and a bag of chips!

Reinvention

2009-04-10T04:06:57Z

Today's word of the day is reinvention. Every once in a while, you need to reinvent yourself to keep things fresh and current. For example...

In 2005, I got married. (Four years ago today. Happy anniversary, honey!)

In 2007, my first book was released. (Penguins! Doom! Yay!)

In 2008, our daughter was born. (And she gets more beautiful every day. Just like her mom. Did I mention that it's our anniversary today?)

These were huge transformations in personal identity and lifestyle, and way, way, way for the better. As a result I'm almost a completely different person than I was five years ago, and there are more changes to come. Here's a sneak peek...

In 2009, I go back to school for a master's degree in teaching. (I've started a new blog to talk about that.)

In 2010, I'm co-chairing the 24th annual New England SCBWI conference in (drumroll please) beautiful Fitchburg, Massachusetts!

In 2012, I reveal myself as a cyborg sent back from the future to kill John Connor.

I can't wait to see who gets cast to play me in the movie version. Thanks, TerminateYourself.com!

Subtext

2009-03-30T19:36:58Z

Today's word of the day is subtext, which is an important writing tool as well as the reason those new Comcast commercials have been bugging the heck out of me. You know, the ones with the cartoony fantasy town where Comcast cable service makes everything magical.

These commercials feature imaginative details, an earwormy song, and a fun way to promote the features of Comcast's digital phone-internet-tv product. This should be one of the most effective and amazing commercial campaigns in years--but instead it comes off as creepy and annoying. It took me a few repeated viewings to figure out why...

Notice that these fantasyland customers who are extolling their "happy high-tech automatic exponentially ecstatic" lives in Comcast Town all have unnaturally deadpan expressions and emotionless robotic voices. It makes us wonder, on a subconscious level, whether they've been drugged or hypnotized or both. The context is that everything is wonderful while the subtext is that these people have been assimilated into some kind of cult. As a result, while our conscious mind is admiring the scenery, our subconscious wants us to run away before we also become plastic-faced techno-zombies.

Subtext is a double-edged sword for writing. When it's used purposely, it can be a powerful way to enhance a reader's experience without them even realizing what's going on. But when an unintended subtext undermines the intended meaning of an author's words, it can ruin an otherwise well-constructed story. Or commercial.

Also, I happen to have the Comcast triple-pack and haven't noticed any singing squirrels, giant monster battles, or rooftop hot tubbing going on in my neighborhood. Just saying.

Purim

2009-03-16T16:13:33Z

Last week I did a book signing at our synagogue's Purim carnival culminating with a dramatic reading of an all-new Purim story I wrote for the event, and guess whose photo graced the local newspaper on Tuesday morning. Go on, guess!

No, not me--my wife and daughter. It's probably because she's so much cuter and more photogenic than I am, and so is our daughter. Our 13-month-old prodigy loves walking around with a balloon in her hands and a handmade Queen Esther crown on her head, which apparently attracts newspaper photographers better than just some guy signing his own name in a book. She is also cutting her first molars, climbing her first stairs, and pronouncing her own name as "SEE". I'm spelling it 'Xi as the new Internet nickname she'll almost certainly one day grow to be embarrassed of.

'Xi loved the Purim carnival, and my Purim story was generally well received. It's the second in my Jewish Holidays series, which could be well on the way to becoming an entire book. I learned a lot about Purim in the process, including the kind of insights you never seem to have about a topic until you start writing about it. For instance, it turns out that Purim is probably the least religious holiday on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a historical event that, unlike Hanukkah or Passover, does not require a miracle to resolve. Human courage and resourcefulness triumph over human greed and wickedness without the need for divine intervention. It's like God decided to take the day off, trusting that people would be able to solve their own problems for a change. Also, in my version of the story, there's a mutant alligator deathtrap.

I even met up with an former co-worker who brought her children to the event. "We're not Jewish," she confided, "we just love a good carnival." And that's what we had--crafts, face painting, games, stories, food, prizes, and music--all the ingredients of a good carnival. 'Xi can't wait until next year!

Chart

2009-03-06T20:19:04Z

Actually, the inverse is true. Lots to do this week.

Making a Spectacle of Myself

2009-02-11T14:52:05Z

Reproduced below is my latest post to the Spectacles group blog, which I recommend reading in it's natural habitat. I'm enjoying the group blog for the discussions being spun off and the ability it gives me to crack open a format that's wider than doing my usual "word of the day." For example, I can go off on a roughly drafted pseudo-angry pseudo-rant about a movie I haven't seen yet and just have a great time with it.

Do Movie Critics Hate Authors?

The answer is no, movie critics don't hate authors. At least not as far as I can tell. What many movie critics hate is fact checking, which is another reason why film studios shouldn't bury the name of a story's creator deep in the mile-long credits at the end of the film. (See "Does Hollywood Hate Authors?" for my previous rant.)

Because the marketing for the new movie Coraline plays down the Newbery-winning, Hugo-winning, Nebula-winning, Eisner-winning author who wrote the story, lazy critics across the country are assuming that only Tim Burton could combine dark themes with feature-length stop motion animation. Assuming to the point of printing their opinions on "Tim Burton's Coraline."

One of my old Superguy buddies, Randy Milholland, imagines that Neil Gaiman isn't happy. He also imagines that Neil Gaiman has access to a sniper rifle. In the world of Randy's webcomic, "going postal" has been replaced with "going authorial."

Update: Actually we don't have to imagine Neil Gaiman's reaction to such critics (or to the above webcomic) because Neil has a frequently-updated and incredibly popular blog.

Neil isn't upset for himself, recognizing that the small credit he gets in the marketing material is already more than most authors receive. He's upset for the director, Henry Selick, for reasons going back to The Nightmare Before Christmas.

A couple of days ago the front page at CBC (Canadian Broadcasting) website announced that it had interviews and reviews about Tim Burton's Coraline. Which I saw moments before I saw a piece on the Chicago Tribune print edition front page announcing its reviews of Tim Burton's Coraline. And my hackles started rising.

The hackles were, I should point out, not on my behalf, but for Henry Selick, who directed The Nightmare Before Christmas: he worked on the story with the screenwriter, Caroline Thompson (another person whose contribution tends to be forgotten), and the songwriter, Danny Elfman, to turn Tim's character sketches and poem into a film script, then he spent years in a warehouse in San Francisco overseeing people moving dolls around a frame at a time, with Tim off making fine movies; and, then, a couple of weeks before the film came out, the title was changed to Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas. Which tends to mean that people assume that Tim made the film and if they even notice Henry was involved as director, they assume it was in some strange kind of junior role. (Nope, he was the director. He grew Tim's poem and character sketches into a movie. Tim produced it.)

Injustice and disrespect abound in movie credits, marketing materials, and reviews alike. Sixteen years ago Henry Selick got a raw deal that still overshadows his career on entirely unrelated projects, like Coraline. But I'm still outraged on behalf of Neil Gaiman and the larger majority of authors who get even less credit for their work.

Gaiman got his revenge, by the way, without the use of bullets:

So I was already not impressed with the CBC website or the Chicago Tribune, and then someone sent me a link to an online newspaper in which the reviewer's first paragraph explained Tim Burton's career and then went on to explain, in an extremely dim sort of way, why Coraline was a Tim Burton film, and I twittered about it. And then watched the delighted twitterverse pile onto the poor gentleman in the comments page with surprise, realising that this power must only be used for good.

I never thought I'd say this but... Hooray for Twitter!

WOTD: $8,539?!!

2009-02-06T03:16:48Z

Today's word of the day is $8,539, the suggested retail price for the hardcover edition of R.R. Gupta et al's 463-page instant classic, Chemical Shifts and Coupling Constants for Silicon-29.

The reviews are awesome, and at that price it'll earn out its advance in no time. Free Super Saver shipping is available through Amazon!

via The Loom.

WOTD: Spectacle

2009-02-01T01:22:26Z

Today's word of the day is Spectacle, which is something worth viewing, as opposed to spectacles, which are something to view a spectacle through.

With a new baby in the house, I haven't had much chance to read any of the crop of books eligible for this year's ALA Youth Media Awards, so it wouldn't make sense for me to offer award commentary in a blog entry. But I never do the sensible thing, so...

I was psyched that Neil Gaiman won the Newbery Medal for Books About Motherless Protagonists (don't get me started) and that Terry Pratchett and M.T. Anderson both had Printz Honor Books--which makes three award-winning books from three of my all-time favorite authors that I'll need to bump to the top of my "must read" list.

Elizabeth Bunce, a member of the Class of 2k8 group, won a William C. Morris Award for debut authors--exciting because we in the Class of 2k7 have been watching her and the other Class of 2k8ers all year and now the Class of 2k9ers as well.

Here in New England we're proud of New Hampshire's Beth Krommes for winning the Caldecott Medal and Maine's Melissa Sweet for her Caldecott Honor Book. Also Floyd Cooper, who won the illustrator's Coretta Scott King Award, will be a keynote speaker at this year's New England SCBWI conference while Laurie Halse Anderson, who won a lifetime achievement award, was a keynoter at last year's conference--showing the quality of our conference faculty, in case anyone had any doubts.

Aside from the spectacle of the ALA Awards, I've written my first article for the all-new group blog, The Spectacle, featuring authors of speculative fiction for teens and pre-teens. In addition to myself we so far have Parker Peevyhouse (Last Midnight, et al.), P.J. Hoover (The Forgotten Worlds series), and Jo Whittemore (The Silverskin Legacy series). It's exciting to be part of such a great group of blogging authors!

My first entry is "Does Hollywood Hate Authors?" where I get to vent a bit about the ad campaign for Coraline.

I'm hoping Neil Gaiman’s Newbery Medal win will soon be reflected in the advertising for the new Coraline movie. The book was creepy and cool, chock full of idea hooks, fun characters, and plot surprises–just what we’ve come to expect from Gaiman's work. But for some reason the studio’s marketing department thought more viewers would be drawn to "a film directed by Henry Selick" than "a story written by Neil Gaiman."

Attention Hollywood: If an author of Neil Gaiman's caliber is in any way connected to your movie, you will sell more tickets by including his name in your ads!

Okay, I feel better now.

WOTD: Inauguration

2009-01-20T15:41:07Z

Today's word of the day is: Inauguration, a new beginning.

I'd be there in person, if I could, if there were room for another person to stand anywhere on the Mall. But from what I can see on CNN, the entire city of Washington D.C. looks to be as crowded as a rush-hour subway train.

This is the most amazing day in the life of our democratic system. Today one President willingly gives up power to another. Think about that for a moment. George W. Bush has spent eight years getting comfortable with being Commander in Chief of the most powerful military force in history, about a dozen intelligence agencies (that we know of), the planet's wealthiest central bank, embassies and offices around the world, and a small army of bureaucrats and federal workers. Oh yeah, and he's also keeper of the launch codes to a nuclear arsenal that could kick-start Armageddon with the press of a button.

Can you imagine how difficult must it be to step aside from all that power, privilege, and prestige? And how humbling it must be to stand on the other side of the lectern, to be the man inheriting the office with a few words and a hand on Abe Lincoln's old bible? With the daunting problems facing our country and our world, and with all the expectations people have for him, it must be a struggle for Barack Obama to fight the urge to run away and hide. I'd run away and hide, if it were me, and they wouldn't find me until my four years were up.

The fact that a smooth transition of presidential power can ever occur is a genuine miracle.

And as a bonus, we get all the history embodied by the election of Barack Obama. A mere 146 years after the Emancipation Proclamation, just six generations after the abolition of slavery, the voters of America have elected a president who is only 50% Caucasian. We have come so far so fast!

Okay, I lied. It's actually a painful embarrassment how long it's taken to get to where we are, how much farther we have to go, and how much our societal advancement has been impeded by knuckle-dragging yahoos who refuse to acknowledge that nobody is better than anybody else just because of their skin color, gender, religion, sexual orientation, or cultural identity.

But today is a big step forward that we can all be proud about. It's a day I've been looking forward to for eight long years, in one way, and my entire life in another way.

WAHOO!!!

WOTD: Audition

2009-01-16T22:38:31Z

Today's word of the day is: Audition, a process in which an eager applicant often makes a fool of him- or herself in public.

There's a new "American Idol" season starting that I caught a few minutes of this week. The first few episodes of a season are the only ones that interest me because of all the desperate characters who come crawling out of the woodwork when the production visits their city.

Some believe they can win a talent competition using questionable wardrobe decisions to distract the judges from their lack of singing ability. Others honestly believe they can sing but sound more like a rusty hinge than the next big pop star. Most entertaining are the ones who go off on the judges for being "wrong" or "jealous" of their obvious talent, all the while cursing and complaining as black-shirted security staffers pull them out of the audition room and dump them onto the street.

Once the competition moves to Las Vegas, where the second stage takes place and all contestants have some level of actual ability, the show no longer holds my attention. That's why I can't name more than two previous winners. Let's see... There was a Kelly Whatsername who won one of the early seasons and put out an album or two and also a big guy named Rupert, or Rubin, or something like that. See? I told you I could do it.

I've been thinking about my work on Project M as a type of audition as well, since I'm not under contract yet and might not actually get the job. I sent a revised first chapter and a brand new second chapter to the packager this morning. If they like it well enough, they will include my sample chapters in their series proposal to publishers--who will be free to say how much they'd love to print, market, and distribute millions of copies of these books if only some other author were writing them.

This makes it a two-stage audition where I have to win both parts of the competition or go home. Metaphorically. Since I'm already home. You know what I mean.

The prize would be a wicked cool writing gig on a project that's already singing to my brain. In order to write these two chapters I had to think ahead to chapters to come and set up plot and character arcs leading to a dramatic conclusion that right now only exists in my head. So if I don't get the contract, believe me, I'm taking my dramatic conclusion and cursing the Simon Cowells of the publishing industry to the cameras on my way out of the arena.

See you in Vegas, baby!

Random observation: Speaking of music, the radio stations around here suddenly increased the amount of 90's music they play, starting on or around January 1st. Did somebody officially decide that 2009 would be the year when we're all ready to hear Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam again?

WOTD: Moving Fast

2009-01-14T05:12:01Z

The word of the day is: Moving Fast.

The M in Project M should stand for Moving Fast. I got the information for this series last week, spoke with an editor, and drafted an opening chapter over the weekend. I sent it in for comments on Monday and had a conference with the editor on Tuesday. Now I'm working from revision notes on another draft chapter for the end of the week.

This is not what I'm used to. Usually I have an idea, start writing at a leisurely pace, and take a few weeks or a couple months before I show it to anyone at all. I'm insecure about openings. I spend a lot of time worrying that I'm off on a complete wrong track that nobody would ever want to read. And the part where I'm talking with an editor has always come long after the book is finished and completely revised two or three times.

Not that I'm complaining. I'm getting into Project M and having a blast with it. This is still just an audition, by the way, but even if I'm not picked to write this series I've already learned a lot about writing for the mainstream markets.

One of my strengths has always been writing quirky characters--the more quirks the better! I'm having to reign myself in with this project to make the main character more normal and easier for kids to identify with. There's still humor in the characters and the situations they get themselves into, but I'm having to work harder for it. I'm picking fruit from higher up in the tree and I think that will make me a better writer.

I'm also not used to writing with an eye to what's marketable. On the one hand, I don't think anyone can ever tell what's going to be "the next big thing" that takes the world by storm. Who would have predicted that phonebook-sized middle-grade books about a British wizard school would sell as many copies as the "Harry Potter" series has? Nobody! And most of the books that were touted as "the next Harry Potter" haven't turned out very well at all. But on the other hand, editors have market knowledge and experience that can't be ignored. And the editors at a book packager are like uber-editors because their job is to put together projects that make ordinary editors salivate.

My challenge will be working within those constraints and still ending up with a well-crafted book I can be proud of.

WOTD: Finally!

2009-01-13T05:34:58Z

Today's word of the day is Finally, an expression of relief after years of outrageous injustice.

When I was growing up, Jim Rice was one of my all-time heroes. Rice played left field for the Boston Red Sox from my childhood through my teen years. He never played for any other team. Rice put up some totally sick numbers during his career, including a tremendous MVP year in 1978, when he powered the Sox to a regular-season tie for the AL East pennant (and we won't get into the result of that tie-breaker game right now, thank you).

When I was twelve I made a complete fool of myself in an attempt to get his autograph. Meeting Jim Rice was the closest I've ever come to meeting Superman in person.

Then Rice had the bad luck to retire just before the start of baseball's "steroid and growth hormone era." By the time Rice's name came up for Hall of Fame eligibility, guys with artificially pumped-up forearms were crushing previous records for hitters. Suddenly it no longer seemed as impressive to have 382 career homeruns, 2452 hits, 1451 RBIs, and 4129 total bases, all juice-free.

So Rice was overlooked for the Hall of Fame. And again. And again. 14 years in a row. He could have "campaigned" for a spot in the Hall, because other players apparently do that. Votes are cast by a relatively small group of baseball writers, and it's entirely possible to plead your case to them all individually over the course of a year.

But that's not how Jim Rice wanted to earn his place in history. He let his numbers speak for themselves, and for the past few years he's gotten more and more votes each time. These are votes cast by, substantially, the same small pool of BBWAA members, based on career numbers that do not change over time--so it's a big deal that the "experts" have been slowly changing their own minds in Rice's favor and coming to the same conclusion I did when I was 8. My childhood memories demand that Jim Rice should be a Hall of Famer.

Finally, today, in his very last year of eligibility, Jim Rice was inducted into Baseball's Hall of Fame. I just have to ask, what took them so long?

WOTD: Project

2009-01-11T05:36:14Z

Today's word of the day is: Project. It's not a book or a manuscript yet because most of it still only exists inside the author's head. "I'm working on a new project" sounds just as impressive as "I'm working on a new book" but also covers those times when "new project" is writerese for "new game of Minesweeper."

My new project is a magical mystery book. We'll call it Project M for now. This week I was contacted through my agent by a book packager who read Penguins of Doom and thought my style would be perfect for this particular project. My audition is a sample opening that I'm working on over the weekend. If I get the job, that's exactly what it will be--a job. Work for hire. Bringing somebody else's characters to life and running them through somebody else's plot. But I don't mind because it's a fun story that plays to my writing strengths, and I'm sure I can make it an entertaining read.

At the same time, my old project, Project G, is newly-revised and ready for submission to editors. This is the book that takes place over seven time zones and across the Solar System. I'm extremely pleased with how this book came out. It's been a long time coming and, as it turns out, a science fiction novel that takes place in 2011-ish is different from a book that takes place in 2007-ish. For one thing, I had a heck of a time writing around the fact that NASA is planning to decommission the space shuttle fleet, which was my main character's transport to a rendezvous in orbit. Also, I started writing Project G back when our Solar System had nine planets instead of just eight. Now every book referencing "Planet Pluto" is hopelessly dated and obsolete!

2009 is shaping up to be a promising year. Hopefully I will have good news to share very soon. Fingers crossed!

WOTD: Bingo!

2008-12-12T14:28:31Z

Today's word of the day is: Bingo!

I've never won a game of Bingo in my life--not that I've even played in the last twenty years--but I was at a holiday party last night and there were Bingo cards to be had and one thing led to another...

My card was unlucky for the first few games, going deep into each session without a hit while other cards filled up with chips and went five-in-a-row. After each game we had a chance to trade in our cards for a new one, but I kept mine because I'm stubborn that way and had a feeling that it was due.

Then, in the last game... Bingo! Grand prize!

I've never had an iPod of my very own before. It's just a Shuffle, but at least I get to wear the white earbuds now like all the cool kids have. Yay, Bingo!

WOTD: Website (Part 1)

2008-11-28T21:16:08Z

Today's word of the day is: Website, your virtual face.

I maintain the New England SCBWI website, which undergoes a facelift and feature enhancement every few years...

Version 1.0 (2000-2002):

Version 2.0 (2002-2005):

Version 3.0 (2005-2008):

Version 4.0 (2008-):

More to come...

WOTD: Cranberry Sauce

2008-11-26T15:24:09Z

Today's word of the day is: Cranberry Sauce, food of the gods!

You know that gelatinous red goo that plops into a serving bowl, still retaining the perfect shape of the can it came in? That's not a complement to your Thanksgiving dinner, it's an insult! You can't even call it cranberry sauce, any more than you'd pry meat out of a can and call it turkey.

When I was a kid, I taught myself how to make real cranberry sauce--which was not hard at all because the basic recipe is just to combine cranberries with sugar and boiling water, heating for ten minutes and then refrigerating overnight. Cranberry sauce was among the first three recipes I ever mastered, along with the combining of cereal with milk and the toasting of bread.

I feel guilty about how easy this stuff is to make, contrasted with how my family raves over it, so I usually punch it up with extra fruits and nuts to increase the level of difficulty and make it my own.

Here's what we're having this year:

THAI CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add lychee nuts and shredded coconut.

TROPICAL CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add pineapple, kiwi, and sliced almonds.

ORCHARD CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add peaches, sliced almonds, and mandarin orange.

DATE NUT CRANBERRY SAUCE
Add peanuts and dates.

Anyone else have a favorite kind of cranberry sauce?

WOTD: Howl-a-Day

2008-11-22T05:04:00Z

Today's word of the day is Howl-a-Day, combining two parts holiday with one part full moon.

I'll be signing copies of THE PENGUINS OF DOOM today (Saturday) at the Howl-a-Day Craft Event in Waltham, Massachusetts, from 10AM to 4PM to benefit Greyhound Friends, a non-profit organization dedicated to saving racetrack greyhounds and placing them in responsible loving homes. Come on by if you're looking for crafty-gifty items and like to support a noble cause.

As a general rule, I've never been much of a dog person, but greyhounds are all right. They're quiet, non-aggressive, medium-sized, playful, good with children, and only a little slobbery. They're also fast, fast, fast! That makes them a logical choice for bus company mascots and a prime target for exploitation by the gambling industry.

One of our ballot measures during this past election was whether greyhound racing should be banned in Massachusetts. Proponents of the ban claimed that dog racing was cruel and inhumane. The other side claimed that it wasn't. And that's pretty much how the TV commercials went:

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not, is not, is not!"

"Is too, is too, is too, infinity-squared, no backsies!"

Maybe dog racing is inherently cruel. Maybe racing regulators have been lax in their duty to protect the dogs. Maybe certain trainers or owners pushed their dogs to the point of injury, neglected their health, or pumped them full of drugs. Maybe the track kennels are inadequate and unsanitary...

Or maybe not. I've never been to a dog track, so all I have to go on are those "is not" and "is too" politically-motivated commercials.

What I do know is that when racing dogs pass their prime and start to slow down, they get kicked to the curb--or worse. That's where Greyhound Friends comes in, finding homes for as many of these former racedogs as they can.

My sister and her fiance recently adopted a greyhound through Greyhound Friends, a very sweet dog named Susie who has really become one of the family--and I'm saying that as someone who's never been much of a dog person, so you know it's true.

That Massachusetts dog racing ban passed, incidentally, so over the next few years Greyhound Friends will help rescue some of the last-ever racing greyhounds in our state, until the dog tracks either shut down or switch to another animal. Like maybe cheetahs. Dude, cheetah racing! That would seriously rock, except they'd probably go through jockeys like crazy.

WOTD: Pitch

2008-11-12T18:01:01Z

Today's word of the day is pitch, the process of throwing a book against the wall to see if it will stick.

After a manuscript is written, "the pitch" is what gets it turned into a book. The pitch, in the form of a query letter, is made to an agent. The pitch, in the form of a submission, is made to an editor. The pitch, in the form of accounting projections, is made within a publishing house to put together an offer and allocate resources. The pitch, in the form of brochures and sales materials, is made to buyers at the chain and independent bookstores. The pitch, in the form of blurbs and marketing, is made to the public.

So it's a good idea for authors to study the art of the pitch.

I was watching TV last night instead of writing, but I'm calling that professional development time because what else are TV commercials but slick professionally-packaged pitches for us to learn from?

Case in point, commercials for two different cell phones, either of which could easily kick my current cell phone's butt. But which pitch is more likely to make me want to dump my current contract?

Pitch A: "Our phone has a feature that can identify any song it hears. Just hold the phone up to a radio, a speaker at the mall, or a TV set while a song is playing in the background. In just a few seconds you'll get the title and artist as well as a link to purchase a copy of the song and listen to it any time you want. Wow!"

Pitch B: "Our phone makes clicking sounds when you press the touchscreen. You may think you pressed too hard, so that something inside the phone is breaking, but no, it's supposed to sound like that. This is, apparently, the phone's most notable feature."

So, which pitch works better for selling cell phones? "Solving life's dilemmas one app at a time" or "What mad genius and his ten thousand co-workers would think up these stupid clicking noises?" The equivalent pitches in the book world would be something like this...

Pitch A: "When you hold my book up to a TV screen, the book characters come to life and interact with whatever show you were watching!"

or

Pitch B: "When you tear pages out of my book, it makes a loud ripping noise. You might think you're causing irreparable damage...and you are! Aaaaaugh! Why would you do that?!!"

I know which pitch I'm using with my next book.

WOTD: Sesame Street

2008-11-11T15:14:37Z

Today's word of the day is: Sesame Street, brought to you by the letters B and H and by the number 6!

Every time I'm feeling old, which is more and more these days, I remind myself that I'm still younger than Sesame Street, which is celebrating the 39th anniversary of its 1969 debut.

Happy 39th birthday, Big Bird!

Happy 39th birthday, Oscar the Grouch!

Happy 39th birthday, Ernie and Bert!

I spent many childhood hours watching this show, and many more looking out the car windows on every trip we took in the hopes of glimpsing that crazy street where all the Muppets lived. Not to mention the hours I spent theorizing about the alternate universe Sesame Street where Oscar was rust orange instead of moss green, like in the first-season Sesame Street picture book I had. Or the hours I spent drawing people with big oval-shaped noses interacting with monsters. If you add all those hours together, you'd get the first five years of my life.

Cookie Monster made his debut in a 1966 snack-food commercial that Jim Henson did for General Mills, so he's 42 years old.

And Jim Henson first started to perform with Kermit the Frog in 1955, making him the oldest Sesame Street Muppet at 53 years old.

So now I'm feeling young again, though old enough to remember when Snuffleupagus was merely a figment of Big Bird's deranged imagination. Thanks, Sesame Street!

WOTD: Election

2008-11-06T02:26:54Z

I've written before about being reluctant to blog about politics on a writing-oriented blog. Today is a rare exception.

While I was trying my best to keep my political views to myself, to my friends, to a few listserves, and to a political blog I maintain under a pseudonym I'll never divulge, Maureen Johnson was gathering together a community of YA authors and readers to support Barack Obama and try their darnedest to help put him in office. I was tempted to join in, given the authors involved--ones I respect enormously like Scott Westerfeld, Tamora Pierce, Judy Blume, Hank Green, Holly Black, Libba Bray, and good friends like Greg Neri, Carrie Jones, Jo Knowles, Sara Zarr, and on and on!

1,650 people joined "YA for Obama" and 28 joined a second group called "YA for McCain," with most of that difference directly due to Maureen's enthusiasm and organizational skills. I've been a fan of both Obama and McCain since long before either one was ever given an outside chance of taking his respective party's nomination, so I went ahead and joined both groups.

I won't tell you how I voted except to say I went with the candidate who consistently impressed me with his message of hope and the way he kept his cool as the economy melted down around us all. I gave the other candidate a fair chance to win me over but instead he consistently disappointed me with his erratic behavior, negative campaigning, and dubious vice presidential choice.

But, to bring this discussion back to writing, I was interested in how the characters in The Penguins of Doom might approach this election, so I posted a series of letters to YA for Obama from the point of view of Septina Nash. And here they are!

On a Day of Political Awakening
28 October 2008

Dear YA-YAs:

Hello! It’s me, Septina Nash, star of the smash middle-grade novel, The Penguins of Doom, which the New York Times referred to as "a book." If you've been preoccupied with battling a mad scientist and looking for your lost triplet-sister, you might not have realized that this is an election year--but don't feel bad because I kinda forgot too, until today.

"So, who would you vote for?" asked my triplet-brother, Quinn, on our bus ride home from school.

I'd been struggling to think up Halloween costumes for my pet penguins but I perked up immediately. "Is the new 'American Idol' starting up already?"

"I mean, for President," he said.

I stared back at him blankly.

"Of the United States," he said.

I stared back at him blankly.

"The Head of the Executive Branch? Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces? Leader of the Free World?"

"Um..."

"One of those guys on the big poster in Mr. Gray's social studies classroom." My sister, Sexta, looked up from the graveyard scene she was drawing on the back of the seat in front of her, for just long enough to give me a good hard sneer. "I don't pay attention in class either, but even I know that."

"Oh, those Presidents of the United States! I'd vote for James Garfield, of course, because he's named after a cartoon cat. Or maybe Chester A. Arthur for that fabulous facial hair."

"Dead Presidents of the 19th Century aside," said Quinn, "Mr. Gray's assignment was for us to write a five-page essay about the candidate we'd vote for in the current election, and why. I'm picking Barack Obama because of his economic policies."

Kim Siegel popped up from the seat behind us. "It figures you'd support Obama."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Quinn.

"He's a total socialist. He wants to take money from hard-working Americans, like my parents, and spread the wealth around to poor people like your parents!"

"That sounds pretty good," I had to admit. "Free money!"

"It's not free money," said Quinn. "Our parents work just as hard as yours," he told Kim. "What Obama wants to do is make up for the last eight years, when the richest Americans have gotten way more than their fair share of tax breaks while the bottom 95% have gotten the crumbs."

"Crumbs can still be pretty tasty," I noted.

"You stay out of this!" Kim and Quinn both shouted at me, and immediately went back to their debate. If you could call it a debate. Mostly it was Quinn citing facts and figures while Kim called Obama a socialist, a Marxist, and a class warrior, all the while referencing something called "RNC Talking Points 4 Through 8." It was just like one of those shows on the cable news networks!

"And if Obama socializes health care, we'll end up just like England!" Kim exclaimed.

"Eating fish and chips during a cricket match?" I asked. They both glared at me. "I know, I know, stay out of this..."

"No, wait." Kim smiled, which was a startling experience because Kim never smiles at me. "What we have here a truly undecided voter, the rarest of rare birds."

"Like the dodo?" I asked.

"I couldn't have said it better," said Kim. "Our assignment is due on Election Day, next Tuesday, so each of us has a week to convince Septina to see things our way. May the kid with the best candidate win: John 'Patriotic War Hero' McCain or Barack Hussein Obama!"

"Barack, who's sane, Obama?" I asked. "Why make such a big deal over the fact that he's sane? Are you saying the other guy is crazy or something?"

"Exactly," said Quinn, with a chuckle. "This wager's going to be easier to win than a Democratic majority in the Senate."

I stared back at him blankly.

Quinn sighed. "It'll be really, really easy," he clarified.

So I guess I have a lot to read about over the next week, and a lot to learn, and a lot to think about. Anyone who wants to help me, feel free to drop a comment or two. Thanks!!!

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Swing Voter

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Sexta appears in Letter #1, so I guess it takes place after the novel continuity and I probably just spoiled the ending of the book for some people. Oh well. I tried to stay true to the characters, so Quinn is a well-informed deep thinker, Kim is an over-the-top antagonist, and Septina is her lovable oblivious self. It's not a fair debate, between Quinn and Kim, but we also never know what kind of argument will ultimately win over Septina.

On a Day of Fighting Terrorism
29 October 2008

Dear Ya-Yas,

There's not much an ordinary kid can do to fight terrorism. Ordinary kids like me, Septina Nash from The Penguins of Doom, have nothing going for us but our sense of right and wrong, our determination, our pet penguins, and our magical number-based super powers. That's why I'm so pleased to say that today I successfully defeated a terrorist.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was in school today, worrying about a big math exam and the weird things that tend to happen just before a big math exam--like an invasion of elves, aliens, mole-people, robots from the future... You know, all the usual stuff that's kept me out of the exams all year. So I wasn't at all surprised when I opened my locker and someone jumped out at me.

All right, I might have been just a little surprised because it turned out to be Kim Siegel with a sheet of paper folded into the shape of a knife. "Random terror attack!" she shouted. Then she tripped over a stack of textbooks, smacked her head against the wall, and fell unconscious to the floor.

I could have left Kim right where she landed and still made it to the math exam on time, or I could have dragged Kim's body down the hallway to the nurse's office and missed the exam entirely. I picked the second option because, as much as I love numbers, it's never a good idea for me to be in the same room with them.

When we got to the nurse's office, Nurse Bradley was busy filing the four-and-a-half inch tongue depressers down to exactly four inches long. Apparently this is an important part of being a school nurse. She huffed at the interruption, bandaged Kim's head, and went right back to her filing.

Kim's eyes fluttered open and the first thing she said to me was, "And that's why you should vote for John McCain!"

"Is this about universal healthcare?" I tapped her bandaged forehead.

"Ouch!" She winced. "No, this is all about terrorism. I just proved that terrorists can strike anywhere at any time and only a Republican president can protect us."

"From where I was standing, all you proved is that you're a klutz with a talent for blacking herself out."

"Performance art certainly can be subjective," Nurse Bradley butted in. "My brother's girlfriend's cousin does a one-woman show up in Manchester, where she paints herself blue and plays Disney songs on a xylophone made from auto parts. It's supposed to be about global warming, but I just don't see it."

Kim and I stared at her for a while, but she'd moved on to counting cotton swabs and wasn't saying anything else. I turned to Kim. "I could try to catch the end of that math exam, or I could stay here and let you talk to me about terrorism and the election."

"So which are you choosing?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Kim grinned. "Nash, you're nothing if not predictable. All right, you know all about 9/11?"

"Of course. Give me some credit, will you?"

"Just checking. I never know how much reality filters through your shell of rainbows and penguins. Okay then, if you know about 9/11, you also know that everything is different in a post-9/11 world. Our government must be allowed to tap our phones, read our emails, and access to our library records, in order to fight terrorists. Our government must be allowed to detain terror suspects in Gitmo forever, without charging them with a crime, and without giving them access to the legal system. And our government must invade other countries who support terrorism, with or without the support of the international community. Only John McCain has the political will to stay in Iraq for a hundred years and to expand our war on terror to Iran, Syria, Pakistan, Venezuela, Cuba, and North Korea. On the other hand, Barack Obama would rather engage in diplomacy, improve our reputation and moral standing in the world, and spend our money on domestic programs instead of weaponry."

"If you're trying to convince me to write my essay about John McCain instead of Barack Obama, you're not really winning me over."

"Why not?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. "Barack Obama pals around with terrorists, and therefore he is a terrorist, and therefore anyone who supports him is a terrorist. Are you a terrorist, Nash? Because if you're a terrorist, I'd have to punch you in the face."

"What?"

"Every citizen has a duty to punch terrorists in the face," she explained. "Pow! One shot, right in the kisser!"

"That's very true," said Nurse Bradley. "I have a boxing glove under my desk just in case Osama bin Laden walks into my office some afternoon." Kim and I stared at her until she added, "What? It could happen, especially on days when there's a big math exam. I'm still trying to get the elf footprints off my ceiling!"

I looked up and really couldn't argue with what she was saying. It looked like an elf parade had marched through!

"It seems to me," Nurse Bradley continued, "that a terrorist is someone who uses violence or threats of violence to create an atmosphere of fear, in order to advance a political cause."

"Right," said Kim.

"Sounds like a good definition," I agreed.

Nurse Bradley put down her container of swabs. "So if you jump out of a locker at someone in order to get them to vote for a particular candidate, wouldn't that make you a terrorist?"

"Oooh, yeah!" I exclaimed.

"Now wait a minute," said Kim, edging away from me.

"Feel free to borrow my boxing glove," Nurse Bradley told me. So I did. Pow! One shot, right in the kisser! Fighting terrorism feels even better than I ever imagined.

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Counter-Terrorism Expert

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Nurse Bradley didn't appear in the book, but I like her. A real-life nurse would take Kim's condition more seriously but Kim does have a track record of knocking herself unconscious quite frequently and how dare she interrupt the daily cotton swab sorting activities!

On a Day of Television Watching
30 October 2008

Dear Ya-Yas,

I walked into the living room three nights ago and found Quinn and Sexta watching something on TV. "What's on?" I asked.

Immediately, Sexta dove to block my view of the screen, while Quinn jumped up and tried to push me out of the room. "Nothing you'd be interested in, and shouldn't you be working on that election essay for Mr. Gray?"

I probably should have been working on my essay, explaining which candidate I'd vote for in the 2008 Presidential election if I weren't under 18 and entirely fictional, but I could tell from the sounds of cheering and sportscastering that my triplet-siblings were watching some kind of sporting event. "Is that baseball?" I asked.

"Sep, please," said Quinn, "don't mess this up for us. It's the World Series, the fifth game in a best-of-seven format, and maybe the last game because the Phillies are up three games to one. The score is tied at two in the middle of the sixth inning with the number nine batter due up in the second half--"

"Quinn!" Sexta snapped, but it was too late. The numbers were already running through my brain, transforming each other, and moving out into the universe. That's my talent, and why I'm usually not allowed to watch baseball: math and I don't mix and, between the scorekeeping, player statistics, and field geometry, baseball is math in its purest form.

"Sounds great," I said. "I'll get some microwave popcorn. Keep the game paused until I get back!"

"You can't pause a baseball game!" Sexta called to me, but she didn't have to worry. Hundreds of miles away, the skies over Citizens Bank Park started dumping rain onto the field. The umpires postponed the game, while both teams sheltered in their dugouts to keep dry.

I meant to restart the game after five or ten minutes, but I couldn't find any microwave popcorn in the cupboard, and Spots had a new comic book he let me read, and then it was time for bed and I forgot all about baseball for a couple days--until last night.

My parents and my oldest sisters, Una, Dua, and Tria, were gathered around the TV, watching a shivering, mackintosh-wearing sportscaster talk into a soggy microphone through his chattering teeth. "We're into our 46th hour of continuous rain delay here in Philadelphia. The stands are empty, the field is under three feet of water, and most players on both sides are suffering from terrible colds. It's got to stop raining sometime. It's just got to! But while we wait, we're going to show a thirty-minute paid political advertisement for Senator Barack Obama."

"Ooh! This might help me decide!" I said.

"Me too," said Dad. "Let's watch." And we did. It was a pretty good show, with interesting characters and a decent soundtrack, all about Obama and his plans for the economy, taxes, energy policy, and healthcare. It really made me wish I was old enough to vote!

"Well?" I asked Dad. "Did you hear what you needed to?"

"I did," he said. "I always vote for the candidate who runs the most positive, most truthful campaign, and this year that's been Obama by far. In the entire half-hour commercial, he never mentioned John McCain at all. Instead, he talked about his own ideas and plans in detail and how they would make people's lives better, so tonight he earned my vote."

"I go by the numbers," said Mom.

"Ooh, numbers!" I exclaimed.

Mom smiled. "Here's one you might like. John McCain's running mate spent $150,000 on new clothes during ten weeks of campaigning. So at that rate, during a four-year term as Vice President--"

"She'd spend three million, one-hundred-twenty thousand dollars, just on clothes! Where would she keep them all?"

"Probably in John McCain's closets," said Una. "The guy has so many houses, he can't even keep track of them all."

"Are there any more numbers in the campaign?" I asked.

"Yes, but not for you!" snapped Una. "You and your number-powers aren't going to ruin this election."

"I don't ruin things with my number powers," I said. The World Series came back on, with a driving rain that splashed into a lake that covered the entire field. "Well...not on purpose," I added.

Dua came back in with a big bowl of popcorn from a secret stash of hers, and that made it finally stop raining in Philadelphia. They quickly pumped all the water out of the ballpark, resumed the game, and the Phillies won. Sorry for the delay, everyone!

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Rain Goddess

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Confession time... I didn't check my notes on the oldest Nash sisters, Una and Dua, so they're probably out of character a bit. I didn't want to compound the problem by giving them too many lines, which is why we don't get their perspectives on the election, but they are over 18 and they did cast their votes.

Mr. Nash has a rational approach to the election that doesn't require him to get bogged down by the issues. He votes for the candidate who runs the most positive, most noble, most truthful. least negative campaign. If all voters followed this, campaigns would be a lot more civil. Mrs. Nash isn't going to spout off too many of numbers within Septina's hearing, but you know she's thinking about how those middle-class tax cuts would help a family of nine.

And as far as Major League Baseball is concerned, that Obama infomercial really did take place during a rain delay!

On a Silly Halloween Day
31 October 2008

Dear Ya-Yas,

It's Halloween! Today the halls of O.W. Holmes Middle School were jammed with ghosts, ghouls, witches, and goblins--not just because the students are encouraged to dress up, but also because the school is built on top of an old cemetery.

Kim Siegel pushed her way toward me through a gaggle of rotting zombies. Her hair was up in a bun, and she wore rimless glasses and a red pantsuit with a gigantic American flag lapel pin. "Great Tina Fey costume," I told her.

Kim scowled. "I'm Sarah Palin, you idiot. The Alaskan Maverick!"

"Oh." I remembered something my mother said the night before. "Hey, did you know she just spent $150,000 on a brand new designer wardrobe?"

Kim sighed and got a dreamy look in her eyes. "Yeah. That's why she's my new role model, you betcha, wink-wink!"

Quinn, standing next to me, rolled his eyes. He was wearing long red robes and a large red hat, like a church cardinal from the Middle Ages. "As if anyone really casts a vote based on who the Vice President is going to be."

"Hey! The Vice President is very important," said Kim. "She runs the entire Senate and makes them do whatever she wants."

"No she doesn't," said Quinn.

"Sarah Palin would, and she'd just be biding her time until John McCain gets too sick to run the country." Kim lowered her voice to a whisper. "Just between you and me, the guy's as old as dirt. He has no energy or vitality when he speaks, he tends to get confused, he wanders around aimlessly, he's already had cancer four times, and still refuses to release his medical records to the public. There's no way he'll hold on for four more years, and that means we'd have the first female President of the United States! Hooray for women's rights!"

"Sarah Palin supports women's rights?" I asked. "Is she pro-choice?"

"Of course," said Kim. "Sarah Barracuda supports the right for her to choose to prevent other women from having the right to choose--if that's not a choice, I don't know what is."

"Whatever," said Quinn. "McCain and Palin don't even matter anymore, because Barack Obama is so far ahead in the polls. There's no way he can lose."

"That's where you're wrong," said Kim, smugly. "You're forgetting that Sarah Palin has an ace up her sleeve--Hillary Clinton!"

Quinn blinked in surprise. "What?"

"During the primaries, Hillary Clinton boasted that she had 19 million rabid supporters who would do anything she told them to. They're all backing Obama right now, because she endorsed him at the convention, and that's the only reason why he's so far ahead of McCain. But there's still a few days left for Hillary to announce that she's changed her mind. When she does, all 19 million voters will instantly shift over to John McCain and he'll win in a landslide on Election Day!"

"That's just stupid," said Quinn. "Why would Senator Clinton do that?"

"Why not? The woman has 40 years of experience making change, so who are you to say she can't change her own mind? Who are you to say anything?"

"What is this," I asked. "The Spanish Inquisition?"

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Quinn exclaimed, right on cue.

Kim frowned. "Huh?"

"Quinn and I figured that you'd probably dress up as the Republican Vice Presidential candidate, so... Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin, meet British Comedian Michael Palin!"

Quinn twirled around to show off his cardinal robes.

"That's a stupid idea for a costume," said Kim. "Monty Python's Flying Circus ended a zillion years ago and nobody cares--"

"Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam, spam," Quinn sang, drowning her out completely. He was joined by a dozen skeletons wearing Viking helmets. "Lovely spam, wonderful spam! Lovely spam, wonderful spam!"

Other kids and teachers gathered around us. Kim tried to get their attention by pretending to shoot a moose, but nobody was paying attention to her anymore. Quinn shrugged off his cardinal robes to show that he was wearing a flannel shirt and denim overalls underneath. He shifted to another song:

"Oooooooh, I'm an Obama fan and I'm okay.
I vote all night and I vote all day!"

The skeleton Vikings were joined by a chorus of zombies dressed as lumberjacks:

"He's an Obama fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day!"

Quinn sang:

"I eat my lunch, I skip and jump.
I want our troops out of Iraq.
I back a middle-class tax cut
To bring our economy back!"

The zombies and skeletons were joined by a coven of witches:

"He eats his lunch, he skips and jumps.
He wants our troops out of Iraq.
He backs a middle-class tax cut
To bring our economy back!"

"Cuz he's an Obama fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day!
Yes, he's an Obama-fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day!"

Quinn sang:

"I want better schools, I want better laws,
I want universal health.
I dislike Joe the Plumber
Cuz he won't spread his wealth!"

The zombies, skeletons, and witches danced around and sang:

"He wants better schools, he wants better laws,
He wants universal health.
He dislikes Joe the Plumber
Cuz he won't spread his wealth!"

"Oh, he's an Obama fan and he's okay.
He votes all night and he votes all day.
Yes, he's an Obama fan and he's okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay..."

"I vote all night and I vote all day," Quinn finished. Everyone applauded while the ghoulish background singers dispersed back into the school hallways.

"Yeah, whatever," said Kim. "I'll see you freaks in class."

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Halloweenie

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: I didn't think there had been quite enough silly before I wrote this one. And I really wish my school had been more like this!

3 November 2008
On a Day in the Dumps

Dear Ya-Yas,

I was down in the dumps this weekend because of the election. I like the dumps. One of our landfills has been capped and turned into a nice park that's never crowded because of the smell from the incinerator. The other has all kinds of neat stuff that people have thrown away. If you're looking for new furniture with just a few stains or toys with one or two broken parts, all for free, it's the only place to go. And then there's our town's recycling center where they're helping to save the world--it's so inspiring!

My dad works for the Sanitation Department and so does the smartest person I've ever met, Stan the Rat Man. Some of my teachers think they know everything, but Stan's got them all beat. So I went to talk to him about my election essay, and that's why I was down in the dumps.

I found Stan making his daily rounds, checking the rat traps around the edge of the dump. "Could I ask how you're voting in the election?" I asked.

"For which office?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"The Presidency and Vice Presidency comes up for a vote every four years, Congressmen and women in the House of Representatives are elected every two years, and each Senator is in for a six year term. Then there are state legislators, governors, mayors, clerks, judges, sheriffs, and ballot initiatives on tax issues, civil rights, and a variety of other laws."

I felt like my brain would explode from all those choices. "I had no idea it was so complicated! How does anyone ever decide what to do when they get into the voting booth?"

Stan opened a trap with his rubber gloved hands and dumped a fat Norway rat into a burlap sack. "If they're like me, they get a sample ballot in advance along with the state's voting guide. Then they look at each candidate's website and campaign literature, watch the debates, and talk to many different types of people to get their input on the issues that matter to them most."

"And if they're not like you?"

Stan shrugged. "They might vote along party lines, or only for incumbents, or for candidates with cool-sounding names. I'm convinced that's how Senator Pizza McNinja got elected."

"One more question," I said. "Are you voting for Obama or McCain?"

"That's like asking whether I prefer Brown rats or Black rats, just because they happen to be the two most popular rats. But what about Polynesian rats? What about Giant-pocketed rats? What about Bandicoot rats?"

"Um..."

"That's not such a good metaphor, because Bandicoot rats aren't members of the Rattus genus, but you know what I mean. There are six candidates for President on our state's ballot this year. You'll only ever hear about Barack Obama and John McCain, but what about Ralph Nader? What about Bob Barr? What about Chuck Baldwin or Cynthia McKinney? Our world is a better place when we have a wider variety of politicians, just like it is when we have a wider variety of rats. It's the same general principle!"

After talking to Stan the Rat Man, I'm more confused than ever. Quinn is pressuring me to write about Obama, Kim wants me to write about McCain, and now I'm trying to figure out whether Bob Barr is more like a Bandicoot rat or a Polynesian.

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, Dazed and Confused

TO BE CONTINUED...

Comments: Stan the Rat Man appears in the book and he makes a great gadfly here. Just when Septina finally thought she was getting a handle on the election, she learns that everything is far more complicated than she ever imagined in a way that can be explained with rat metaphors. Gotta love Stan the Rat Man!

Dear Ya-Yas,

Election Day is finally here! After today I won't have to worry over this election essay assignment anymore. I have to admit it's been a good assignment because it's forced me to learn about the candidates, about the issues, and about the whole voting process. After high school, I might even want to apply to attend Electoral College, where students from every state get to be the ones who actually decide who gets to be President.

On the bus to school, Kim Siegel claimed the seat across the aisle from me and Quinn. "Why are you taking the bus anyway?" Quinn asked her. "I thought your parents sent you to school in a limo."

"Yeah, well..." Kim fiddled with her bag. "A lot of our family fortune is tied up in the stock market, so I offered to cut back my car service to three days a week. We all have to make sacrifices."

"Hey, hey!" shouted Ralph the bus driver. "There will be no human sacrifices on this vehicle. No bonfires, no stone circles, and absolutely no sprinklings of chicken blood!" I don't think he really thought that was what Kim had meant, but enough weird stuff happens on his route that he has to make sure.

Quinn pointed out the window. "Look! It's happening!" People were standing outside our school parking lot with signs and balloons in red, white, and blue. A line of voters stretched from the gym entrance to the sidewalk. "History is being made right here in our gym, and in polling places all across America!"

"And we don't have physical education classes today!" I exclaimed, equally excited.

"Hey, Septina! Have a look at this map." Kim handed me a sheet of paper with the United States in red and blue. The map was covered in numbers that started dancing around in my head before I had a chance to stop them. "What do you think of that?" she asked. "Isn't it interesting to count up the electoral votes in the red and blue states?"

Quinn scoffed. "FiveThirtyEight.com says Obama has a 98.9% chance of winning and will probably get 349 electoral votes to Obama's 189."

"That's not what this map says," I told him.

"What? Let me see that!" He ripped the paper from my hands. "These are the results from 2000. Why would you show that...to Septina?! Oh my god, you're trying to trick her into flipping the election with her powers!"

"What's the point in having powers if you're not going to use them?" Kim tilted back her head and laughed while I felt the mathematical forces flowing through me and out into the universe. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

Kim's laughter ended suddenly as she fell back into her seat, through her seat, and into a black hole that had appeared under her seat. "Aw, no!" exclaimed Ralph the bus driver. "There will be no rending of the fabric of time and space within the confines of this vehicle. Don't make me turn this bus around!"

None of the other kids were listening to him. They all gathered around the place where Kim had vanished, but the hole was now gone as well. "Portal to an alternate universe," I explained to them. "She'll be all right. Looking at old numbers will do that sometimes."

Ralph pulled the bus up to the school, near where a reporter from the local news was reporting on the turnout for our school's polling station. "A record number of voters are turning out at this location and at locations across the state. Our preliminary exit polling indicates that the vast majority are voting for Barack Obama. Voters we've spoken to say that they're worried about the economy being in a recession, our growing national debt, the wars in the Middle East, the threat of terrorism, the high cost of energy, jobs going overseas, restrictions of civil liberties, increased global warming, and our country's lowered standing in the world. After eight years of President Bush, it would seem like folks here are overwhelmingly ready for a change. Back to you, Tom."

A few kids from our bus started to cheer, led by Quinn. Suddenly, a black hole opened in the air and Kim Siegel stumbled out. "See?" I said. "I told you she'd be all right."

Kim's face was ashen white. "It was horrible... Just horrible. What have we done?"

Quinn looked at me with one eyebrow raised. He was probably wondering what could possibly shake Kim up so much, and I had no idea either, so I peeked through the portal before it disappeared again.

The air on the other side was a little cooler than in our own universe, and maybe a little cleaner. Our school was there, and our school bus, and the same long line of voters, and the same local TV reporter.

"A record number of voters are turning out at this location and at locations across the state," she said. "Our preliminary exit polling indicates that the vast majority are voting for Barack Obama. Voters we've spoken to say that they're excited about our booming economy, our budget surpluses, peace agreements in the Middle East, safety at home and abroad, innovations in energy conservation, new American jobs, a reduction in greenhouse gases, and our country's increased standing as a beacon of hope and prosperity in the world. After eight years of President Gore, it would seem like folks here are overwhelming ready for more of the same. Back to you, Tom."

I pulled my head back into our own universe just before the portal disappeared, which is a good thing because being ripped apart by multiversal forces can be quite painful.

"Well?" asked Quinn.

"I think both universes are going to be all right."

Thanks for reading, now get out there and rock the vote!

Sincerely,
Septina Nash, On the Side of Democracy

THE END

Comments: I wanted to do seven letters, as a lucky number, but couldn't get that many done. Ralph the bus driver also does not appear in the book, but if there's a sequel...

This is a good illustration of the limits of Septina's powers--they can't swing an election but they can call an alternate universe into being. Now if anyone needs me, I'll be in that alternate dimension.

WOTD: Rays again...

2008-10-25T17:19:45Z

Something else we noticed during the Sox/Rays series...