Autograph worthy?

We had an author at school the other day. He arrived during what is normally the grade 4/5 French period, so I had to take the students down to the gymnasium, and as we were about to line up, they all started grabbing pieces of paper out of the scrap bin. "Why are you bringing paper to the gym?" I asked. "We want his autograph," they told me. "Because he's an author." I had to laugh, because to them, I'm their French teacher, which makes me so not autograph worthy...and yet, the very next day, I was off to Maxwell Heights Secondary School in Oshawa to be (tah dah!) their guest author.

It was a great audience, including members of their "Girl's Group" and "Creativity Club". They asked good questions about writing and inspiration. And many of them hung around after for autographed bookmarks. (No scrap paper for my fans!) As always, I was touched and humbled to hear from so many readers who said that weren't in the habit of picking up novels, but who, after picking up Painting Caitlyn, said they couldn't put it down until they'd finished. But the story that touched me the most was this: one girl said she'd loved the book, and taken it home to her mother, who was now reading with her. After the students had left, her teacher told me that this is a girl who has rarely had any sustained interactions with her mother - let alone positive ones. But they have connected through this story. That's the transformative power of books. The autographed bookmark might not last - but I hope she has the good memories of this time with her mother forever.

...and life goes on...

Ever since my last post, about the sudden, premature death of my friend James Effer, I've been trying to figure out how to keep blogging. What can I write now that won't seem trivial? Self-involved? Pointless? Maybe nothing. But even though it feels - when something like this happens - as though everything should stop, it doesn't.

As a staff, we all went to school the day after we'd heard the news, and cried together in the staff room. Then the bell rang, and we had to tell the students. From then on, the rest of the week felt very unreal, and dream-like.

I spent two nights going through eight years of archived school photos, looking for pictures of Jim. It wasn't easy - because usually, he was our photographer. But I enjoyed the pictures, and felt a small burst of satisfaction every time I found one where we'd caught him for a change. It made me feel useful during a time when it feels like there is so little one can do. Then, on Wednesday night, I pulled an "all-nighter" getting a memorial slideshow ready for our students. At ten o'clock, I had the basics together, and probably could have burned it to DVD. But the music didn't line up the way I wanted, and I was hoping to add a few more photos. So I kept working. At midnight, I discovered a problem with my Windows Media Player, which I needed to convert some music for the show...I spent a long time mucking around with it, and then finally turned everything off, re-booted, and all was well. By 3 a.m. I'd hit that point where the adrenaline kicks in, and I couldn't have slept if I'd wanted to. I was creating something. I wanted it to be perfect. I wished I'd had more time to record voiceovers with the students who worked with Jim, but I reminded myself that what I had (no rehearsal, one take!) was authentic, and that counts for something, too. At 5:30 a.m. I put a disc into the computer and prayed that all would burn properly. At 5:45 I went to bed, and at 7:00a.m. I got up again.

The DVD burned properly, and I set up the data projector at school just the way Jim showed me. But I wanted a cable to connect the sound through the gym speakers, and nobody, at first, knew where the cable was, or how it worked. Made us miss Jim a little bit more, and wonder what other "soft knowledge" we'd be looking for without him.

I have never seen our students so solemn and respectful as they were that day. A teacher who told me she never cries - not even for her own father's funeral - said the tribute I'd made brought her to tears. My principal took my hand and said it had been perfect.

I will make copies for Jim's family. But I haven't done so yet.

We had a funeral to attend that afternoon. Then, because nobody felt quite ready to go home yet, we went out together as a staff. I needed a break from the sadness, and I couldn't do the DVDs that night anyway, as I had prepare for a conference the next day...

Life goes on. Forever altered, but still - thankfully - it goes on.

Our school pictures will be missing something now. So will our staff.

A Little Perspective

Rainbow Over Beaverton Public School
by James Effer

I was all set to post about March Break - how great the weather was, how my sinuses are still inflamed and making me headachy, and how many things I have to do once I get back to school.

And then I got a phonecall saying that one of my colleagues has died.

James (Jim) Effer worked with me for eight years. He took the author portrait on my website, and here, on this blog. And he did it for free, because that's just the kind of guy he was. He actually LIKED helping people, and the pleasure he got from that showed on his face when you thanked him.

Jim had just returned from a week in the Dominican Republic when he collapsed. I hope it was a good holiday for him, and for his family. I hope they won't be traumatized by having been there, and not being able to help.

I was only fifteen when my own dad died. And while I would never wish cancer on anyone, I am grateful that I had time to prepare myself, and say good-bye. When the time came, as bad as it was to lose him, I was actually relieved to see his suffering end. I live with the sadness of not having him in my life, but I don't have any regrets about things that were unsaid, and in that, I am lucky.

Just last night - perhaps while Jim was passing on - my husband and I were talking about events that happened ten years ago. "We're getting old fast!" he said. And, as is my habit, I reminded him that "the alternative is worse", using the examples of his brother-in-law, who died at 34, and my dad, who didn't make it out of his forties, where I am now.

I meant it when I said it, but I mean it more today, because Jim's last gift to me was a fresh perspective on making the most of the time you've got.

Why I Read "Why Cats Paint"

Wow - I'm turning into a devotee of Travis Jonker's "100 Scope Notes" blog!

His latest post included a number of links which he admitted might have been crazy to amass...but when I saw the picture of - Why Cats Paint, as a link to "Literary Oddities", I began to wonder if maybe I'm the oddity,because I own - and adore - it.

The general hypothesis of the book is that cats sometimes deliberately create art. So when my kitten, Nutmeg, tipped over the coffee cup of red Georgia sand that I kept on my bookshelf when I was a child, and then swept it back up into a perfectly neat pile, maybe it was art, and the sweeping didn't actually have anything to do with the fact that he peed in it first. That dead mouse I once found on the couch just before the company arrived? An installation by Sacha Cat. The scratch marks on a sofa? "Upholstery Art" that "represents the first stage of their artistic growth" as they explore non-traditional mediums.

Yeah, my husband never bought that one, either.

But honestly, books, cats and art all together? Anyone who knows me knows it's perfect. And when I pulled the book out to photograph it for this post, Majik/The Great Catsby seemed to agree.

Celebrations and Book Spine Poetry - My Entry

First, a celebration - Maybe Never, Maybe Now, (which was starting to feel like a really ironic title) WENT TO PRODUCTION TODAY!!! Hooray! This means I can't tinker with it anymore, and (drumroll please) it WILL be out as scheduled this fall, with its companion novel, Definitely Not Camelot [huge sigh of relief growing into giggles of excitement].

I'm feeling very Zen tonight, as I spent the day on the slopes in the sunshine. Most of the day, anyway. Part of it I spent alone in the car, singing along with my Glee CD, with the sunroof open. And just after lunch, I found a lovely Muskoka chair beside the chalet, and I settled in comfortably in the sunshine with my MP3 player, my sunglasses, and a big smile on my face. The rest of the time, I soared down slopes of slushy snow. So I returned from my Wednesday night yoga class completely ready to "write" book spine poetry.

Here's my first poem:

Just in case you can't make some of it out, it says:

Your Many Faces
Speak
The Language of Goldfish
Awake and Dreaming
Negotiating with the Dead
In Summer Light
As I Lay Dying
Somewhere off the Coast of Maine

What does it mean? It means that tonight, I'm Zen.

Book Spine Poetry

Okay - a two for one posting tonight, since this stupid flu, the report cards and my edits have kept me away so much in recent weeks. Also because I just found this awesome fun Book Spine Poetyry challenge at 100 Scope Notes and entries have to be submitted by Thursday!

Beginnings, Middles, and Endings

Beginnings:
- March Break (in two days!)
- ski season! (hear me out). Despite my ski pass at Snow Valley, I've only made it out ONCE all season. Lack of snow, lack of time. But tomorrow is ski day at school, so I'm headed out to Horseshoe Valley for the day. In 10 degree Celsius weather - which is, like, ridiculously warm, and will make the snow mushy, but whatever. Hopefully, tomorrow will be the beginning of the season for me, and I can make up for lost time during March Break. I only learned to ski five years ago, so I feel like I need to make up for lost time!
- Term 3 at school - busy with extracurriculars, but usually easier than second term because the days are long and the end is in sight
- serious book promotions on my end, in anticipation of my *TWO* new releases for fall.

Middles:
- the week (tomorrow is Wednesday)

Endings
- (I hope) the flu virus that has been hanging on inside my bocy for almost three weeks. Sinus involvement. Chest congestion. Body aches. Fatigue. Loss of appetite. Not the H1N1, because I got vaccinated for that. Stubborn, though.
- Term 2 at school - report cards go home on Thursday.
- Book edits (for now). I thought they were done in December, but then they came back at me, hard and furious, in February. Simultaneously with the flu and the report cards (see above). But tomorrow, I believe, all will go to production, and I can sit back, and think about the next books.