the trees, the trees, the trees....

Trees are everywhere in my world. Yours, too. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the Bodhi tree which shaded Buddah's enlightenment, the Christmas trees, my father's fruit orchards, my screwy Scotch-Irish family tree, the silk oaks, pindo palms, beaucarneas ,and bananas outside my door. The pine trees I grew up with in Colorado and the pine forest where Sadima is hiding. I will be with her there all day, but first...

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This is a baobab tree on Oahu, in a botanical garden. Lynne Wikoff was kind enough to provide contrast in scale. It was amazing to just stand there and look up. This is a smallish Baobab. This is a big one, in Africa, their home. I have a baby baobab. My son started it from seed. It's about six inches tall in a four inch pot. Amazing.

teachertube

My friend Katie Davis has a great interview up on her blog, about her new book. Take a look!
In the interview, she mentions teachertube.
Wandering around there, I came across this slide show, basically, of statistics.
Sigh.
I am writing something called Free Rat. Well, I will be writing it as soon as I turn in Sacred Scars and a few other things. And it is about the future the slide show describes, the connectivity implied. I thought I was exaggerating.

Guess not.

research: Mmm...mmm, good!

I have written over forty historical novels for middle grade readers. Research is an old friend, a good friend, and I employ all its tricks and tools to enrich my fantasy novels. Two great sources:

http://www.bookfinder.com/
which links thousands of small rare and used bookstores
(and a few large ones)

and
http://www.uidaho.edu/special-collections/Other.Repositories.html
The University of Idaho maintains a massive, worldwide list of primary source repositories. I have used it extensively; it's remarkable.
Primary sources are diaries, old newspapers, rent receipts from the 1800's, illuminated manuscripts for the 1200s, any kind of record left behind by real people. Fascinating!

Book-building, again

Fez, Morocco: South-End, Limori
South-End is a dockside slum in Limori, the city where my novel Sacred Scars takes place. This is the second in a trilogy, and the first title (Skin Hunger) took place in the largest part of Limori, the center, with Market Square and the public wells , where most of the shops are.

Limori rises like this, from a bay. The buildings are like this, old, jumbled, brick and mud. Limori has a second, higher hill--Ferrin Hill--that is visible in from the highest parts of South-End as line of tree-covered foothills that shelter the mansions of the wealthy. And beyond that are the black cliffs at the north end of the city.

South-End is where the ships come in with all kinds of goods. Hahp's father's fleet has made a fortune.
Sadima is there now. I am so worried about her. Inside the stone cliffs, Franklin is frantic, torn, caving in on himself. In those same cliffs, 200 years later, Hahp is fighting for his sanity, his life. Gerrard's secrets are keeping them both alive.

And I must go back to work.

If you enlarge the picture, you will get a real sense South End. The piles of stuff in the foreground are heaps of sheep skins. Fez is a tannery town, the home of the worlds oldest university and a thousand other interesting things. Look closer. On the thousand-year-old brick and adobe-wash buildings--there are hundreds of satellite dishes. The King provides internet access.

Back from ALA, back to work

My camera died. So this picture was taken in the Emirates, but it is the same variety of palm that lines the walkways of the Anaheim Convention Center where ALA was held this year. They are 40 or 50 feet tall and truly magnificent.
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I saw lots of friends. LOTS. I love writers--they are generous and kind and funny: All good things. My signing was great and encouraging--a lot of people came up to me with kind words about my books, and I feel very ready to get back to work on Sacred Scars. Before I went I was wussing out on a tough scene. I can write it now, I am sure.

The Newbery/Caldecott acceptance speeches were incredible, just-flat-out, goosebumps great. I am so glad I went. I wasn't going to, but Ellen Hopkins had an extra ticket, so last minute, I did. Thanks Ellen!!
ALA rocks. Librarians will save the world if we just fund them well and get out of their way.

Fern and Me, we talk

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Australian tree fern fronds un-spiral themselves to become lacy, lovely, arching 5-6 feet long. This one is just outside my office door.

We discuss characters, plot points, all sorts of things. Jux is trying to get himself killed and I can't bear to lose him. Fern says I should relax and trust the little street kid. I am trying.

Tomorrow is the day, 6 years ago, that my son Seth died. He was twenty-five. I still cry every day. I can now weed the garden or do the laundry while I cry; you learn what you have to learn. But I would do anything to bring him back, to let him have the rest of his life.

Anything.

Happy News.

The deal with S&S Aladdin just closed. I will soon be writing the four book set: The Faeries Promise. It's set in the same place as The Unicorn's Secret, an eight book set, also from Aladdin.
Lord Dunraven's lands were the focus of my dreams in the 3-4th grades. For about 18 months, I went to sleep here and woke up *there*. And when the stars came out there, I would fall asleep and wake up *here*. It was like having two lives. I can't wait to start.

.The picture is the North side of Lord Dunraven's castle (currently in either Bologna or Modena, Italy, my photo notes got lost.) A girl with wings is trapped there and has been for a long, long, time. She has a terrible responsibility. She didn't ask for it, and she doesn't want it. But there it is.

time, time, time...

These cobbles are in Paris. I have moved them to Limori's slum South-End, a dockside squalorous place--and where Sadima is now.

The writing is flying again. The time line is resolving itself. About 200 years pass in one story and less than 10 in the other. I have been pacing a lot, considering various devices. But the every-other-chapter format is enough. I don't want devices and visible structure to upstage the characters. Not even a little. So I am going straight at it, and I think (hope, want to believe) it's working.

fan,fanatic,fancy....

I get emails and letters from people who read my books. It's wonderful. It keeps me going. I am so grateful. Some of them say things like, "I am such a fan " or, from the youngest readers, "I'm your biggest fan!!!!!!!!". (Current record number of exclamation points 62). Sometimes people send me stories they have written using my characters. Sometimes I get wonderful artwork.

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This morning there were more missives than usual, and it set me wondering. Mr. Google, Ms. Firefox and friends, always eager to help me avoid real work, led to this:

There are two proposed etymologies, which seem to me like phases in the same process.
1. Fan is a shortened form of "fanatic". Fanatic, in 16th century England, meant "insane person". The Latin root word is fanaticus, which also meant "insane person" but adds the nuance of "divinely inspired". Similarly rooted words meant "sacred place" or "temple" Somewhere around 1647 'fanatic', the adjective, began to mean "extremely zealous" and a few years later, it slipped into noun-hood.

2. The word "fancy" was used in 19th century England to describe a longing or wish. Then it was used to describe boxing enthusiasts. The first shortened form was "fance", then, later, "fan"--both words born to describe boxing enthusiasts. Since most boxing enthusiasts then were very, very enthused, the word fan was later transferred to people who were excitedly devoted to other things.

and now, off to write about a fanatic...

Limori's neighborhoods

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.Limori, once you are up the hill from the docks, out of South -End's squalor and jumble, is a city of wood and brick. Beyond that, Ferrin Hill has estates, massive homes of quarried stone, built, like castles, to last generations. I realized this morning that I pictured the neighborhoods around Market Square like some of the older ones in Boston-a city I have visited only three times.

Writing about book-building here has made me notice where things come from, how I paste realities together to form a tangible fantasy, while I think I am just following the characters around. The Eridians have basis in fact, too. Writing all those middle grade historical novels left me with piles and e-piles of research, all of which include great stories I couldn't use at the time. America has a long history of cultural experiments.

cottonwoods: life, not death.

I am writing about water. Which made me think about cottonwood trees.

Which made me remember the Alamo.

Left, the Alamo. Right, the Alamo museum,

Alamo, in Spanish, means "cottonwood tree". The Omaha tribes named them maa-zho. Lakota call them canyáh'u, which means "peeling off the bark". Alamo, in Texan, means, "never give in" which is far different than "never give up." The Alamo, which was moved to San Antonio, is associated with death--brave, stubborn, glorified death.

But the cottonwood tree meant life on the great plains in the millennia before wells and dams. If you see them at a distance, you know you won't be thirsty long. They line up along creeks and rivers. They put little white mary-poppins umbrellas/flotation devices on their seeds so their children can root downstream. I have had two close cottonwood friends. One was scared and scarred by a fire in Grand Junction, Colorado. The other one still holds a rope swing across Clear Creek, in Golden Colorado.

This is a ceiling, a dome that is part of a hotel lobby in Abu Dhabi, a hotel built, in part, to receive royal visitors. I took the shot straight up, bending backward to try to get the kaleidoscope effect that was so amazing standing beneath it. The curved balconies are really balconies and the gold is really gold.

This dome found its way into Sacred Scars yesterday. It is now part of the palace in Limori, part of the king's library. The arrangement of the books is designed not for ease of use, but for difficulty. Knowledge is power there. And power, in that world, it not shared. Nor in ours, sadly. Not often enough.

Keys to...?

These keys are part of collection belonging to a wonderful school principal in Abu Dhabi. I stayed with her for a week--it is an astounding and interesting city. The big key on the left is the key to the cage in Sacred Scars. The other two are tucked in Sadima's bodice as she runs. I have no idea what they open yet. I don't think Somiss knows, either...

BEA (book expo america) Independent booksellers are to literacy what water is to gardens.

Just got back from BEA. Thanks to everyone who stood in line so long at the signing. All the kind things you said about Skin Hunger will make Sacred Scars better.

I love BEA because I love being around book-people. Independent booksellers are to literacy what water is to gardens. There's a state by state list of children's bookstores--and bigger stores with great children's departments--on my website: wonderful bookstores. If you know a great, community-active store that I have missed let me know, please, and I will add it.

Peripheral Amazing moments:

1. The shuttle bus driver was Mayan, a life-long student of his people's history, both written and oral.

2. The Grand Central Market had Queen Ann cherries for 69 cents a pound.

2.a. I can eat 1 1/2 pounds of cherries in one night.

3. The Pharmacy at third and Broadway had hundreds of magic oils, labeled for intent and purpose: Curative; I will destroy you; strengthen love; bring gold/wealth; ambition restored; protection; etc. There was an altar with a skeleton wearing a red cape and somber-eyed patrons sitting beside it. The counter guy recited a roster of Catholic saints, then told me their names in three other languages, one of them African. He kept saying, "They are the same. All the same, all over the world, the same with different names. You can ask them for help." I sort of knew about this amalgam of religions mixed with early/primative (or new age, take your pick) belief that focusing thought and ritual can change the facts, but it was amazing to see. We all do it, one way or another, when life thwacks us hard enough...I was looking for chapstick. I found a book spark.

4. Universal Studio's backlot burned. The areal shots were astounding. The MTV awards were not delayed, the theme park never closed, the show must go on.

5. Mine, too. Back to work...

This is a student's window overlooking a courtyard in the oldest university in the world. It is deep in the maze of the medina in Fez Morocco, the old city, a labyrinth built to discourage and repel invasions. Unesco Word Heritage Project has a quick video. It's an amazing place. Parts of it are in Sacred Scars.

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click to appreciate the incredible delicacy of the wood carving.

This is a Moroccan Palace door. I just stood in front of it thinking: That's it. The rest of the doors can just go home now. This one wins...

Click on it to appreciate the mosaic details.

It's here in the blog today because I woke up thinking about it ...and about doors, what they mean to me. I have hundreds of photos of doors from everywhere I have ever been. Not sure why. But this one has found its way into the new book...the one to follow the Resurrection of Magic trilogy. It's just a note file now, but it glows in the dark for me. I know the title and much of the story. This door belongs to a man who is holding my protagonist captive. It is the door she must somehow open. So she can run.

the exit?

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These stairs are in Volubilis, the ruins of the southernmost outpost of the Roman Empire, in Morocco.

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I am moving them into my book, Sacred Scars, near the ancient city of Limori, placing them where Sadima might find them. But I don't think she will. Not yet.

May Gray

May Gray, That's what the locals call these wonderful foggy mornings. I love them. I get a lot of writing done. Which is good because I have a lot to do--several projects in motion. Sacred Scars is primary.

It's time to get back to work.

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I live in southern CA.

This is the Atlantic , Rabat, Morocco.

writing is so weird

The woods, the woods....

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I was flipping through old pic files just now and stopped to stare at this one. This is exactly where Sadima is, where I left her last night at midnight, not because I was tired, but because it hurt. These are the trees, the fading light. She is running, jerking her long skirt free, stumbling, running...

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The photo was taken in the Shenandoah Forest, several years ago at an SCBWI writers' retreat. Enlarge it and look at the horizon line, left of center. You can see her silhouette. I can.