Prairie Writer's Day

I don't often have a sense of myself as a Midwestern gal. But this past Saturday, I took myself off to the Priory in River Forest--a beautiful old building--to hunker down with a other Midwestern folks like myself--writers, illustrators, and others who care about children's literature. The annual, regional SCBWI conference. Being there, listening and learning, I thought: there's something to be said for regionalism, after all! It was a great day--with the likes of Amy Timberlake, Laura Ruby, and Brenda Ferber sharing what they've learned over the course of their journeys as writers. Taking notes, I found myself jotting down ideas for new books. Can I write a ghost story? A mystery? Am I willing to takes risks and turn the work into play?

I hope so.

Flooded

Soon after my last post, too many moons ago now, our house flooded. The sky unleased over this part of Illinois, and nearly quick as a lightning flash, our backyard transformed into a small pond--standing water of about six inches. Our basment windows became channels for waterfalls. Water gushed in no matter how much we bailed--and we did bail, through far too much of the night. The next day we emptied out much of the basement and ripped up the carpet. Nearly a month later now, we're still putting the place back together again, in slow motion it feels like. But really, I have nothing to complain about. Some folks had their upper stories threatened. And then there were the families who were refugees from Hurricane Katrina, hit hard again. It's hard to find words, thinking of them.

In the midst of my relatively minor domestic crisis, I've also been flooded with new experiences related to the publication of Dream Journal. Book readings and signings. Celebrations. School visits. Reviews trickling in--positive, on the whole. (Though not gushing, thank goodness! I do believe folks should be able to come up for air in between reviews!) And a wonderful trip to Portland and Seattle--my first time in the splendid Northwest--to visit a few bookstores and forty-two inspiring eighth grade girls. Sometimes it's hard not to feel overwhelmed by all this, mostly in the best possible way. Only once in a while do I feel a bit like I did when I looked at my kids' sodden books and soaking dress-up clothes, strewn across the basement's marshy carpet--a disoriented feeling that leads to the question: what do I do now?

Well, in this now I know it's time to write, right here. A friend in Seattle warned me that my website was already in danger of becoming "mummified"! And she's right. So here I am trying to open that sarcophagus, unwrap those bandages, breathe a little life into this notebook again.

Ooooh, that's sounds kind of spooky--but tis the season, after all! And the kids and I did just spend the afternoon stringing orange lights and stretching cottony cobwebs over our scraggly yew bushes, to decently scary effect.

The Yellow Rose of Texas

I probably shouldn't reference a song I don't know all that well . . . suffice it to say that I mean it as a compliment to Cynthia Leitich Smith who happens to live in that big old state, y'all. Cynthia works hard to support the community of writers and readers in the children's and young adult literature world. She's created this amazing website from which I've learned more than I can say, and on this site she does things like post online interviews with authors. Well, thanks to Cynthia's generosity, my interview is up today. Please feel free to check it out!

Link: http://cynthialeitichsmith.blogspot.com/2006/09/author-interview-karen-halvorsen.html

Oh . . . and let's let them eat cake, shall we? At the Magic Tree Bookstore in Oak Park, IL on September 30th at 11AM, I'll be celebrating the release of Dream Journal and the central character Livy's birthday with a cake and 17 candles! Come join the party if you can!

Cheers!

free falling

Yesterday my son Teo broke his arm falling from our neighbor's monkey bars. He's only four; he didn't know life could hurt so bad. It was a nightmare taking him to the ER; Greg drove, and I sat in the back seat balancing Teo's little, crooked arm too precariously on a pillow, which was balanced (a gruesome choice made in my frenzy) on a cutting board.

After the morphine set in and Teo went under, we started our five hour wait until his bones could be set. He'd eaten a peach (this seemed like a decent, healthful choice at the time) just before falling and that blasted, organic fruit had to go through his system before he could receive anesthesia--the hard stuff, the stuff that would make him vomit and hallucinate when he came to, though (mercifully, I guess) we didn't know this at the time.

So what did we do for five hours in that cramped ER room, while various other emergencies rolled by outside? Well, we:

1. Ate hospital cafeteria food: limp Ceasar salads and bottled water.
2. Talked obsessively about Teo's birthday--soon he'll be five and we were thinking of purchasing some kind of basketball hoop, but wouldn't that be ironic and a torture, so what to do now? And what about that dinosaur pinata? I mean, his friends will be able to clobber the thing and grab some candy, but will he? (At least we know what to draw for his card: a T-Rex in a race car wearing a superman cape and throwing a football. This has been Teo's vision for weeks now, and thankfully can still be respected.)
3. Made lists of things to do.
4. Made phone calls to people's answering machines and checked up on our daughter, who was safely with friends, not falling anywhere.
5. Thought. Specifically, I thought about my novel DREAM JOURNAL, due out in, um, five days. In the last weeks I've been travelling hither and yon, frequently with Teo in tow, talking with the kind folks who work in bookstores about letting me sign stock, do readings, help them shelve the books, do cartwheels in the aisles . . . you name it. I've been working with some good friends in Portland, too, scheduling a few readings out that way. I always seem to be trying to do something, learning what's next as I go. It feels like I'm free falling toward this book's release sometimes--time flashing by like air, and all my emotions changing from one split-second to the next: boy, this is fun, what a rush, it's like flying! no, wait, I'm scared to death, I'm not a bird, after all . . . I'm more like a dinosaur in a cape, driving a car, throwing football and nothing makes sense at all! What's it gonna feel like when I land?

Not like two broken bones in my right forearm, I hope. Not near as bad as that.

Teo woke up then and freed me from my solipsistic little tailspin, bless his heart. Loopy on morphine, he wanted to play I Spy. We played I Spy for nearly an hour and a half in a sterile room the size of large walk-in closet. There really wasn't that much to spy. But somehow we were laughing and seeing it like it was: us, playing a game like it was just any other Saturday night. Making the best of things in spite of the free fall.

Branching out

I’m branching out. That’s what I keep thinking when I see the photo on this home page. It was taken by Greg Halvorsen Schreck, kind and gentle photographer husband o’ mine, on a cold Thanksgiving day. We’d just taken turkey in the upper reaches of Michigan, and we were heading off on a hike to the beach with our children, Magdalena and Teo, and our good friends. Through a forest and up, then down a sand dune to the blustery shores we went. On the way, Greg asked me to hold up a little tree, give it some life.

Et voila, le photo.

Now in Illinois it is warm and still, not blustery at all, and the largest body of water close at hand is the public swimming pool, where I’ve been taking M and T nearly every day. In only a few weeks, count ‘em, less than four, my first novel, Dream Journal, enters the world, maybe your hands. Hurrah! Hallelujah! Woohoo!

Good. Golly. Miss. Molly.

Branching out? I’ll say. I just received my hardback copy of Dream Journal, and I’m thrilled, stunned, grateful, overwhelmed. I feel like a good wind could blow me down. Or maybe like I’m about to take a big bite out of a piece of fruit from the tree of life.