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Growing up in the Devany family, I was beholden to my mother’s Look Beyond Yourself Birthday Tradition, which stemmed from her philosophy to always think about other people. On their one special day in the year, the birthday child had to buy (or make) gifts for their siblings. In my case, there were three. Grabbing anything off a shelf was not allowed, she wanted us to think about what each person would really enjoy. It was a lot of pressure, and some years we tried to outdo one another.

 

My second birthday without my father was yesterday. Last year’s was tough. I had no desire to celebrate. I let the phone ring without answering. I spent hours alone by a reservoir, watching birds. My gifts sat on the table unopened. Not until I saw two great egrets, one landing high in a tree while the younger one fished, did I realize the problem. I’d been waiting for something. When the elder flew off, as if confident that the younger bird would be okay on its own, I knew.

 

I’d been waiting for my dad to call and wish me a happy birthday.

 

Yesterday, I rose early to write. I wrote for four hours, my way of connecting with my father on the day I long for him the most. Then I thought about my mother’s birthday tradition. I looked beyond myself and discovered what makes a birthday joyous are simple, unexpected moments. When you find yourself cheering for others on your special day, and moments like these:

 

The hummingbirds returned.

A momma bird laid her final egg in a nest atop our porch fan. My seven-year-old granddaughter made a sign, warning everyone to Not Turn on the Fan because babies are sleeping.

Ava and I wandered your yard, searching for hidden beauty. Both of us with cameras. She discovered tulips, which I don’t recall planting.

An overwhelming number of people wished me a happy birthday, which meant so much to me. Truly, I can’t thank you enough.

My eldest daughter scored a 97 in her nursing exam.

My youngest daughter was invited to teach at the prestigious Gathering 2013 for Paul Mitchell as an educator.

We saved a bumblebee that was trapped in our window.

Ava’s excitement over spotting birds in our yard—cardinals, yellow finch, hawks.

Gorgeous sunrise at the start of the day.

To be captured by a child’s wonder. “Grandma! Look how blue that flower is!”

 

The day ended with a wonderful Italian dinner out with my family. I returned home with my husband to find colored pencils strewn across our living room table, and a picture, Ava had made. Perhaps she knew what I’d wished for earlier that day when she picked up a dandelion. My greatest treasures are handmade by small hands with the purest of love.

 

“Grandma, do you know this is a wishing flower?” she had whispered, as if she held magic in her hands.

 

“It is?”

 

“Yes,” she said, holding it to my lips. “Make a birthday wish.”

 

Sometimes, wishes do come true.

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More months than I would have hoped for have passed since my last blog post. It’s not as if I haven’t been writing. I have. For hours on end. At this time in my life, the work I do on my novels bears more importance because ultimately, I want to leave something behind on this earth. Something beautiful. Whether it be through published works, photographs, or by inspiring the children I encounter on a daily basis, this is where my main focus remains. Still, I enjoy blogging, so I am jumping back in with hopes that I can resume a more regular routine. Thank you for bearing with me.

I recently returned from a three-day stay at The Writing Barn in Austin, Texas. This inspiring place of sanctity is run by author Bethany Hegedus, who couldn’t be more kind, welcoming, or talented. The Writing Barn is just as welcoming with its endless shelves of books, calming figurines, and the artwork of E. B. Lewis, all of which greets you when you walk through the front door. Before you even unpack your bags, you know you won’t want to leave. You want to breathe everything in, read the array of fabulous novels, books on writing, all there for visitors to enjoy. You want to sit outside and watch hawks soar above the grounds, traipse past cactus plants in search of a bunny you spot on the drive in. And the baby deer romping through the thicket, you want to enjoy their presence.

You unpack your bag and get to work, because that is why you are here. To learn. To grow. To absorb the energy that exists in this beautiful place. To look deep into your current WIP and be truthful about what needs to change. Because in order to grow, one must change, even in the way we approach our writing.

I was fortunate to have a dear writer friend with me. Both Nanci Turner Steveson and I had important revisions to tackle. We read each other’s manuscripts ahead of time. We took vows to be honest, painfully honest about what didn’t work, while emphasizing the positive qualities. I struggle with preferring to know where I’ve fallen short in my writing, probably because I thrive on revision. It makes me feel alive and brings out the best in me. I ask my wonderful agent to hold nothing back in terms of questions or asking me to delve deeper. The more intense a revision, the more I grow as both a person and a writer.

My stay at The Writing Barn did wonders for my soul. It could have been the colorful lanterns that swing in the trees, the sound of Nanci tapping on her laptop with her headphones on, or the moments of clarity that would happen after taking a photography break outside. There is a sense of peace here, and the best writing juju. While not quite tangible, you feel the wisdom left behind by previous writers, many of them published authors. In the porch beyond the kitchen, the wooden beams hold the signatures of published illustrators/writers. Every now and then I’d look above me, knowing that I, too, would sign a beam one day.

We have to believe in our writing, even when we close ourselves around our work, protecting it. Do not be afraid to do this. Think of your work as precious, like a baby fawn not ready to be on its own. For the most part, all else is beyond your control. The only thing that matters is that you do the work. Day in and day out, to the best of my ability. My father always told me to protect the energy surrounding a story, to keep it safe, until it was strong enough to send out into the world.

So that’s what I’ve been doing since I returned from The Writing Barn. Revising, revising, revising. Writing, writing, writing. Aside from that, I am living life, always thankful for the people I hold closest to my heart, thankful for the wonderful books I read each night before falling asleep, and thankful that places like The Writing Barn exist.

My deepest gratitude to Bethany Hegedus, who believed in creating this barn of wonder and inspiration and much beauty. Thank you for sharing your joy of writing with others.

For more on information on booking an individual writing retreat or attending one of their classes, go to: http://www.thewritingbarn.com.

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It seems like forever since I’ve last posted on my blog. So much has happened over the past four months, and I apologize for not including you in my recent journeys. I have, in fact, been writing each and every day, for up to five hours at a time. In addition to working the long summer hours at the toy store, my brain was focused on ripping apart a beloved novel because I had a “bit of worry.” (I am forever grateful to the editor who used this phrase in their rejection letter, as their worry led to my worry.) I’ve spent May and June being brave, and doing something I’d never tried before. I bid a heartfelt adieu to a character in Savannah’s Mountain, and then found the courage to sit back and wait for Savannah to return to me. Whisper to me. And she did, and I listened, and I discovered that another character belonged within the pages of her story. As I tossed aside chunks of the manuscript, my father’s words echoed in my head. And this gave me strength and hope that I could face the challenge.

Set aside your personal feelings and do what serves the story best.

I hope, dear readers, to share more about this process and about other journeys, I’ve traveled since May. But for now, I have something important to do. I need to tell my father my good news: news he’s been expecting for almost twenty years.

 

 

Dear Dad,

It has been nearly a year since I last held your hand, stroked your head, and told you that it was okay to leave this earth. I know you wanted so much to hang on, and those words “I need to live long enough to see you published” stay within my heart. It is okay that you let go. You deserved to be in peace, without pain. And perhaps that is what needed to happen in order to allow each of us to grow. Since your death, I’ve worked even harder, and my writing has gone to places I’d never imagined. Maybe a bit of your immense talent was left behind on this earth, and now tiny pieces are growing within the hearts and souls of your family.

Lately, your presence is strong, and it brings me much comfort. Perhaps a bit of your spirit was in the dragonfly that insisted on sitting on our jade plant, twisting and turning his head, giving me a quizzical look. It stayed with me for nearly an hour, as if to watch and make sure I was writing on the porch and doing my work as I promised you I would. You may have been the butterfly that posed for over twenty minutes among our flowers or the red-tailed hawk soaring in the sky above me when I learned some good news.

These are moments when I look up at that great blue sky or wonder at the beauty of a sunset or lose my breath over a glorious full moon or take great joy at seeing your great-granddaughter in awe of a beluga whale. This is when I become the little girl sitting next to you in our backyard long ago, watching your fingers fly across a yellow legal pad as you tried to keep up with the setting sun. I remember swinging my growing legs, not knowing how the deep desire to write was finding its way from where you sat in a sagging lawn chair into my heart. This is when the creative seed was planted, only to grow and grow over the years, until I could no longer ignore the passion.

Now, it is still dark outside, and I have been awake since 4 a.m., because before I can go on to the stage of becoming a published author, I need to hear your voice and tell you what you’d been waiting for all these years. You saw something in me that I didn’t yet understand. At times, I still don’t. So I settle on my porch in a lawn chair and listen to one of the recordings of that wonderful, musical voice of yours. Hearing you speak gives me much comfort, and I thank you for letting me record you over the last year of your life.

Are you listening, Dad? I got the call, and I now have a brilliant and loving agent (Emily van Beek with Folio Literary), who speaks of my writing with a tone so familiar, I poured over all your emails, I can never delete. And there it was. My Emily’s words reflect yours. So perhaps you had a hand in this. Perhaps you sent her to me so I can be pushed, and will then ultimately give my best work to the world. Know that I am listening, and that I will continue to listen to you, Dad.

Know that I’ve kept my promise.

Lastly, I want you to assure that we are all good here on this earth: your children, your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. And Mom, we are watching out for Mom.

Not a day goes by when I don’t miss you, when I don’t give thanks for having had you in my life. I am so, so lucky.

I love you oodles and boodles and Skittles galore.

Your daughter, Betsy

P.S.- Dad, I’m doing great. I hope you are too.

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The New Jersey SCBWI annual conference approaches. Are you attending? I hope so!

As excitement builds for the event, so does anticipation for what will be offered at the Silent Auction this year.  Plus, there will be critiques to bid on, offered by our generous NJ-SCBWI published members, as well as editors and agents. Great opportunities for writers! All proceeds go to the scholarship fund.

Donations are needed and being accepted up until the conference dates. Let me know if you would like to be a part of these auctions. Your participation will be most appreciated! There will be a Power Point Presentation with slides of what is donated and by whom. At your earliest convenience, let me know what you are bringing, and include a picture, please.

If you would like to donate but are unsure what to do, consider making a basket. Each year, the Whispering Pines Writer’s Weekend Retreat has a silent auction featuring baskets made and donated by the attendees. Always fabulous! First, you pick a theme, and then fill a basket or container to your heart’s desire. Add ribbons, colorful tissue, and whatever else to make the presentation pop. Finish off with a creative sign listing the contents of your basket. Each year, I love putting together the baskets I donate to both regions: NE-SCBWI and NJ-SCBWI.

Don’t you want to have fun? AND, this year, WE ARE HAVING A CONTEST FOR THE MOST CREATIVE BASKET/CONTAINER! Every conference attendee will get to vote on their absolute favorite, most creative basket being offered in the Silent Auction. The lucky winner, who kindly donated a basket/container will receive a $25 gift certificate to Barnes & Noble.

Now that I have your creative mind thinking about the challenge, here are some suggestions:

1. A Relaxation Basket for Weary Writers – include a bottle of wine, or two, bubble bath, chocolate, more chocolate, an eye mask, and perhaps a relaxation CD.   2. Basket of All Things Dinosaur – (for those writers with young children or grandchildren) include dinosaur books, dinosaur toys, perhaps a dig-your-own dinosaur fossil.  3. Think Pink, Pink, Pink For Those Precious Princesses in Our Lives – include a crown, nail polish, a princess book, etc.  4. I Got Another Rejection, Now What? -  a ‘no’ button, a box of kleenex, stamps and envelopes for sending the submission right back out into the world, chocolate, bubble bath, and a mirror to look into, which has the words Only Your Manuscript Has Been Rejected, Not You.  5. Basket of Award Winning Children’s Books

These are only examples to help you with ideas. Now, what can you come up with?

If you are attending the conference, please partake in the Silent Auction. You could look as happy as Carlyn Beccia is in this photo after her winning streak at Whispering Pines.

So start thinking about basket themes, and I look forward to hearing from you! Thanks for all the generous donations we’ve received thus far! NJ-SCBWI greatly appreciates your support!

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This year’s NE-SCBWI Conference (my sixth) was different for me. As the On-the-Spot Critique Coordinator, I was one of numerous volunteers responsible for making a successful conference. In my position, I felt deeply obligated to the attendees, wanting to facilitate proper connections to editors/agents, and I’d promised these same professionals that I’d do my best to secure them additional critiques. In truth, I was scared. Since becoming the On-the-Spot Critique Coordinator less than a month ago, I have secretly fretted, while my daily early-morning writing time turned into early-morning e-mail communication, chart-making, and teaching myself how to make a spreadsheet. (I am also a committee co-chair for the upcoming New Jersey SCBWI Conference.) My manuscripts lay untouched; my muse went on strike.

Preparing for the conference reminded me of my earlier years in the business of writing for children, when I was unsure and questioned my abilities. Self-doubt hinders your growth as an artist. So I stopped thinking about What Might Not Happen (that the on-the-spot critiques would be a failure) and I began to believe that I could, indeed, pull this off. But to do this, I had to call on my Inspired Frame-of-Mind, which is strong, determined, and follows the muse with much delight, like a kitten chasing an unraveling ball of red yarn. I write what my characters tell me, and on some level, believe they are the ones shaping their stories, not me. I continue to struggle with writing for my blog, for that voice comes from a different place, where self-criticism has rented a tiny room and ignores my weekly eviction notice.

So in my Inspired Frame-of-Mind, I faced the task of being a successful conference coordinator: I worked diligently and focused on being positive, while doing everything possible to sell these critiques. The bar to succeed is set high due to the tireless efforts of our region’s longtime coordinators, who have given so much of their time over the years: Marilyn Salerno, Joyce Shor Johnson, Kathryn Hulick, Melissa Hed. Valarie Giogas. Laura Pauling. Melissa Stewart. Casey Girard. Betty Brown. Sally Riley. Jean Woodbury. Linda Brennan. Jennifer Carson. Joannie Duris. Anna Boll. Jennifer O’Keefe. Greg Fishbone. Francine Puckly. Margo Lemieux. And Shirley Pearson, who I hope can one day step out from behind the registration table to pursue her own dreams. I apologize in advance for not listing every name, though my gratitude is intended for all. Thank you! The NE-SCBWI Conference reflects your efforts, selfless dedication, and enthusiasm for our wonderful community. A community filled with hope and possibilities, which only grows stronger in the ever-changing climate of children’s book publishing.

After getting a good night’s sleep, I study my photos from the conference. And though I wish I’d taken more, the ones I share reflect a glimpse of conference magic. Joy. Love of writing and/or illustrating, love for our SCBWI community, and a universal craving for and adoration of books.

I will blog about some amazing workshops once I attend to my own writing. Nearly a month has gone by since my mornings focused on my work. Over the past few weeks, it felt as if a part of me was slipping away. Sadness seemed to circle above me like vultures eyeing a carcass in the middle of a busy street until I arrived in Springfield, where among other writers, I understood what was missing. I need to write.  Period.

The street is void, the vultures have flown away, and I now run free, filled with rejuvenation. I hope you are too. So much of this renewal of hope came from you, my colleagues. And I thank you. Perhaps, you can point to those moments that spoke to you, and I’d love to hear what those were. For me, the magical moments from this past weekend came as a surprise, and many times brought me to tears. 

1. How patient the attendees were while waiting in line for an on-the-spot critique. Please know how much I appreciated this, as well as your kindness.

 2. Speaking with first-time attendees. Thank you for being brave and attending your first conference. We need you. In truth, we all need each other.

3. Hearing Jane Yolen refer to us as her colleagues on Sunday. Still chokes me up.

4. Applauding the writers/illustrators who have 2012 books to celebrate. I love hearing a room full of people celebrate the successes of others. This is what we do best. This is what makes our community so special.

5. Having friends recognized for their work: Kip Rechea won the 2012 Ruth Landers Glass Scholarship. Marcela Staudenmaier won the 2012 Ann Barrows Scholarship. I am incredibly proud of these two hard-working, deserving women.

6. Harry Bliss’ keynote address, accompanied by his illustrations. Harry made me laugh and cry. What a privilege and honor to be in that room.

 7. Seeing how hard the conference staff and volunteers worked, noting their dedication not only to their job, but also to their constant desire to make attendees feel welcome.

8. Observing people from afar: laughing, smiling, sharing news, congratulating. Hoping and dreaming.

9. Hearing Sara Zarr’s keynote address, during which I was reminded why I love the Frog and Toad series, and more importantly, why I love Sara Zarr.

10. Celebrating the Poster Contest winners. So much talent!!

11. Being present when Brian Lies received his 2012 Crystal Kite Award. Congratulations!

12. Being a part of the first Novel Academy, brilliantly run by Sarah Aronson, Carolyn Coman, and Nancy Werlin.

12. Lastly, Kate Messner and her TED talk on world-building and imagination. I can’t help but get choked up when I think about this. (I thank Kathryn Hulick for asking Kate to share her speech.) Kate is very special, not only as a gifted writer, but as an avid contributor to our world’s future. She believes in children, that they can make a difference if we tap into their young minds and eager spirits.

“What if . . .” Kate asked.

What if . . .? I thought.

My initial response was: What if we didn’t have Kate Messner or her books in this world? Her spirit? Her dedication to children, and her belief that they can alter our future for the better? I cannot imagine such a loss. Driving home, other What If questions came to me, related to the conference: What if we didn’t have the talent and support of Jane Yolen? What if books didn’t exist? What if stories weren’t allowed to be told? What if we didn’t embrace failure? Would we lose our chance to grow? What if we didn’t try hard enough? What if we weren’t active listeners? What if we were unable to open our hearts so to receive constructive feedback? What if we didn’t have Harold Underdown’s wisdom, generous spirit, knowledge, and support? What if we gave up on ourselves too soon?

What if . . . SCBWI didn’t exist?

We don’t have to imagine the unthinkable because we are truly lucky. We have Kate Messner, Harold Underdown, Jane Yolen, Harry Bliss, Sara Zarr, SCBWI, and all the many, many talented and generous artists in our community. I wish I could name everyone, but know how much I appreciate you, including the editors/agents/publishers. And most importantly, our young readers. I am so grateful to be in the business of writing for children, and for being a proud member of SCBWI.

In ending this post, I hope that each of you will guard and cherish whatever inspired you over the weekend, no matter the source: A workshop experience. A book you had autographed. Conversation with a new or old friend. A phrase that tugged at your heart. An image. A helpful encounter with a professional. A photo. An unforgettable illustration. Someone’s story. A challenge, for which you rose to the occasion. A smile from a stranger. Perhaps, even a memorable slice of cake! Whatever danced in your head as you traveled back home, embrace it. Be thankful. Believe in the impossible. I do.

May you find great joy as you write and revise, draw and dream in the weeks and months ahead. Hold on to the magic of the conference. It only leaves us if we let it go.

Betsy

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Elizabeth Carpentiere, editor of FACES magazine will be at the NESCBWI conference this weekend! She has been the editor of FACES, a world cultures magazine for middle school readers, for 15 years. FACES is one of several award-winning magazines published by Cobblestone Publishing. During her tenure, the publication has received numerous honors and awards including being named a Parents’ Choice Honor Winner and the Most Improved Publication by the Educational Press Association. Elizabeth has also worked on special projects for Cobblestone Publishing including a supplement for the Boston Globe’s Newspapers in Education program. She has also edited several eBooks with more titles to come. Elizabeth began her career in weekly and daily newspapers. In 1997 she was named Writer of the Year by the New Hampshire Press Association.

 

On Sunday, Elizabeth is giving a workshop on query letters, and on Saturday, she will be available all day for “on-the-spot critiques,” a brand new offering at this year’s conference.

 

Sign up at the registration desk during the conference weekend for the fifteen-minute meeting. You can bring up to five pages of a work in progress (picture book, novel, or magazine article—non-fiction or historical fiction) and/or a query letter, or simply ask questions about the children’s magazine writing industry. Elizabeth is also happy to read/critique retold folktales.  The cost is $40.

Come early to secure a slot with Elizabeth! We are thrilled to have her join us this year!

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This year, the NE SCBWI Conference is offering something new: on-the-spot critiques.

Not to be confused with agent quick query meetings or manuscript/portfolio critiques, this is a new and exciting platform for receiving feedback from an editor or agent. As the On-the-Spot Critique Coordinator, I want to help, so if I haven’t addressed all of your questions, let me know!

What is an on-the-spot critique?

An on-the-spot critique lasts fifteen minutes, the same as a standard critique. The only difference is the editor/agent will not receive your work ahead of time, or have the ability to offer a written critique. In real life, your submissions must garner interest immediately. So this is a rare opportunity to see if your writing can indeed capture a professional’s eye. If it doesn’t, find out why. Ask questions, and always keep in mind that everything is subjective.

How do I sign up?

At the registration table, please ask for Betsy or Shirley, and do come early!

Can we contact you earlier to reserve a spot, via e-mail?

Unfortunately, no. You must sign up during the conference weekend. Spots will be assigned on a first-come, first-served basis.

What does it cost?

$40.  Payable in cash, or a check made out to: SCBWI New England.

 How many spaces are available?

I have secured 50 slots, all thanks to the generous editors and agents.

 We are also offering the opportunity to connect with a children’s magazine editor…

This editor from a renowned magazine in the Cricket group edits non-fiction, historical fiction, and retold folktales. Don’t miss your chance to get feedback on writing for this market, especially if you have been told, “Great story, but it might be better suited for a magazine.”

Which editors and agents are participating?

When you sign up for an on-the-spot critique, we will provide you with a list of available editors and agents. A total of twelve editors, and six agents, have agreed to take on additional critiques. I was quite moved by the overall concern of the editors/agents, and how they want to give their best, especially when having to read and respond on the spot. In real life, submissions are read this way, so the ability to get instant feedback is priceless. Please, please be appreciative!

Who will I be assigned to?

I highly suggest you familiarize yourself with our attending editors/agents, and then list your top five choices. Because of last-minute changes, names will not be available until the day of the conference. But if there is a slot available, and your genre is a match, you will be assigned to a person of your choice. Another reason to sign up early for an on-the-spot critique!

How much will they be reading?

Bring five pages of a novel, an entire picture book manuscript, or a magazine article.

What about illustrator portfolios?

Illustrator portfolio critiques may be available as well. Please bring your portfolio and ask at the registration desk.

Rather than having them read my work, may I use the fifteen minutes to ask them questions about the industry?

Of course! We have a wonderful agent who would prefer this type of interaction. If you request a one-on-one discussion, do not whip out a manuscript.

If I’m already signed up for a critique, can I still partake in an on-the-spot critique? Perhaps with a professional I had hoped to meet?

Yes! And again, the earlier you sign up, the better your chances for getting your top choice!

Can I submit to whomever critiques my work?

This is up to the professional, so please do not sign up with the sole intention of getting a golden ticket. And don’t prod. It only gets in the way of your learning, and it puts the editor or agent in an awkward position. This is the last thing you want.

That said, all editors and agents at the conference have agreed to accept submissions from conference attendees after the conference weekend. Instructions will be provided at the conference on how to obtain these submission guidelines.

How can I make this a positive experience?

It’s all up to you! First, remember that the agent or editor is reading your work on the spot, knowing you are waiting, and perhaps, watching for a flicker of interest. Both sides are vulnerable to being uncomfortable, but the session does not have to go in this direction. Keep your attitude in check. Look within yourself for expectations. Be willing to learn. Open your heart and mind. Come prepared with a list of specific questions. Use your time effectively. While they are reading your material, go over your questions. Perhaps you’ve wondered whether your first line is effective? Do they think you grab the reader’s attention? Is your story clear from the beginning? Do they like your main character and why? Or why not?

When I sign up for a one-on-one critique, I usually choose a manuscript that needs work. I am there to learn. And when interest has been shown, it blows me away. I walk away, grateful to have a new tool, one which I can use with all my manuscripts.

So choose your portfolio artwork, five pages, full picture book, or magazine article wisely. Arrive with a smile. Come prepared with questions. Thank your mentor.

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This year, the method for choosing Whispering Pines attendees came down to the luck of the draw: a lottery. As long as you met the deadline, you had a chance at having your name pulled from the hat. But within a few weeks, I received a sympathetic e-mail from the lovely Mary Pierce. While I felt a sense of loss, I quickly moved on. I spent more hours writing each day, finished another novel, and wrote two new picture books. Writing fills my soul, but I kept flipping to the month of March on the calendar, yearning for the pines that whisper in the early morning, for my friends, and for the opportunities to improve my craft.

 

Why is the Whispering Pines Writer’s Retreat so special? In an intimate setting, it is one of a kind. Yes, the food is fabulous, the setting breathtaking, but in truth it comes down to the mentors. Because of Lynda Mullaly Hunt’s efforts, attendees spend the weekend with welcoming, generous, and astute editors, agents, writers, and illustrators. So when Lynda announced a few openings (provided you wrote picture books), I received a “Yes, you’re in!” e-mail. And on Friday, March 23, I bid my family farewell and headed to West Greenwich, Rhode Island.

As soon as you turn down the road leading to the retreat center, your body relaxes. You open your car window to suck in the fresh air. The pine trees pull you further along, welcoming you. Come, they whisper. You are a writer. Come be with your kind.

This year, our fabulous mentors included Michelle Poploff, Vice President, Executive Editor at Delacorte Press; Yolanda Scott, editorial director at Charlesbridge; Andrea Carcardi, Agent at Transatlantic Literary Agency; Suzanne Bloom, Author/Illustrator; Alexis O’Neill, Marketing/School Visits Expert/Author; and Jo Knowles, YA Novelist. When not critiquing individuals, they were available to attendees, always offering encouragement. Their first pages panel offered honest opinions, and ultimately a mini-class on how to craft a first page and grab the reader’s attention from the get go. . Even though my work was not included, I learned so much. I always do.

Attendees indulged in the finest of foods, had one-on-one critiques, blocks of individual writing time, and critique group sessions. Our annual basket raffle turned into a successful silent auction. Our mentors gave hour-long presentations on both Saturday and Sunday, while the weekend ended with another lively game of Jeopardy.

Alexis O’Neill shared her tips for giving school presentations, and always, you knew the feelings of kids were foremost in her mind. I highly recommend you visit and study Alexis’ website: www.schoolvisitsexpert.com. As she told us, “My assembly is always about the kids. What can I do for them?” I could not have asked for a better mentor that weekend. Alexis critiqued one of my picture book manuscripts and helped guide me in the right direction. (We both realized during my session that our names were familiar. Alexis was a judge for the 2011 Barbara Karlin Grant. My picture book manuscript, Norman and Rose, won the runner-up grant. A small world, indeed.)

Andrea Cascardi also spoke to my heart. With 20 years of editorial experience, she is a hands-on agent, offering an editorial eye. She told us to trust our gut, and listening to her, I felt as if I had found my way home. Andrea discussed the importance of moving the human heart and offering hope. One must dig deep, but also know when to take a step back. Thank you, Andrea! I am digging deeper because of you.

Yolanda Scott discussed picture books, an absolute love of mine. She shared Charlesbridge’s unique qualities, and then discussed the vital elements of picture books: character, plot, and voice. Whenever an editor gushes over their love of picture books, I am spellbound. Thank you, Yolanda! Your words drive my current revisions, keeping me focused on the importance of structure, and picking the stronger emotional path.

Michelle Poploff addressed setting, how it has a life of its own.  Details are what bring a book to life, as long as it is all for the good of the story. What struck me the most about Michelle is how she champions her authors. An enthusiastic editor is a dream editor. I also loved being introduced to novels she has worked on. Some I was not familiar with, though that will change. Books have been ordered. Thank you, Michelle!

I have met Jo Knowles before, having attended her workshop at an Encore Presentation though New England SCBWI. Jo has a way of making you less afraid to reach deep inside, knowing it will stir emotions and memories. She addressed the importance of first pages, citing a number of examples. Jo reminded us that our job is to compel the reader early on, so to keep them reading. As a volunteer, I won an arc of See You at Harry’s. This is a beautiful story, and one that obviously came from deep within Jo’s gracious spirit. Thank you, Jo! www.joknowles.com

I think about Suzanne Bloom, how she shared some of her artwork from childhood, and I smile. Watching her draw was magical. Listening to her read A Splendid Friend, Indeed was sheer delight. Suzanne talked about making choices, her love of peeling back. “It is all about what is going to work out there,” she said. And Suzanne is right. For picture books, children need fun words, juiciness, flow, and rhythm. Like Alexis, she stressed how she is all about the children, telling us to fall in love with our characters. And in the end, she reminded us how lucky we are. We are doing our art. I am grateful for this gift. Suzanne’s words stuck with me as I drove away from the retreat. They still stick with me now while I write and revise: “You do it for the children.” Thank you, Suzanne! www.suzannebloom.com

This weekend would not happen without the dedication and hard work of a number of volunteers, but mostly two people: Lynda Mullaly Hunt and Mary Pierce. Mary took on more responsibilities this year to help Lynda, whose first novel, One for the Murphys, comes out in May. www.lyndamullayhunt.com I cannot wait for my copy to arrive, for if it reflects even a small amount of Lynda’s essence, the book will be a gift to the world of children’s literature. When I think of Lynda, a single image comes to mine, one that has beckoned to me in previous years, but more so this time: the rock in the lake. In the way that Lynda supports us, humors and cares for us, she is a rock. She is our rock, and the Whispering Pines Retreat reflects who she is as a human being. Thank you, Mary! Thank you, Lynda! 

As I drove away from the weekend, leaving my friends, feeling a bit sad, I realized this year’s message: It is all about the children. What can we give them? How can we shape the future through our stories? How can we offer hope? Laughter? Encouragement? How can our characters, who breathe life onto our pages, be examples of strength through their own struggles? How can we introduce more heroes to this world?

You must take a vow to give your very best. Make writing your profession, even if you work elsewhere. Carve time in your day to write. Carve time in your busy schedule to attend writing workshops or retreats. Seek out mentors. Become a mentor. Children deserve our best.

Yes, writing can be lonely.  It takes conviction and courage to spend hours in solitude. Yet it is a gift. As Suzanne Bloom says, we are doing our art. So open your heart, dig deep into that place of aching, and let the thought of giving something back to the children of this world lead and inspire you to revise, and revise, and revise, until you reach a level of excellence. But do not stop there. Continue to learn and grow as a writer for the rest of your life.

It has taken me several weeks to blog about Whispering Pines 2012, and then I realized why. I have a tradition of calling my father after every conference or retreat. He would relish in my words, wanting to know what I’d learned. Always pushing me to dig deeper. Since he passed in September, this is the first Whispering Pines Retreat I could not share with him.

So before I finalize this post, I sit on my porch, admiring the clouds. Visualizing my father’s spirit, somewhere in the blue sky. Surrounding me. Watching over me. Encouraging me.

I tell him what I learned at Whispering Pines.

I promise to never give up.

I remind him that whether he is on this earth or not, he will always be my rock. And I am grateful.

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Sometimes I channel my current WIP characters, especially if I have been in a deep state of writing for hours. At times it feels trance like; scenes appear in my manuscript that I don’t remember writing. These scenes stay with me, long after I’ve logged off my computer to head for work at the toy store.

Yesterday, I was so involved in what was happening with my main character, Ibbie-Rae, that I forgot to eat breakfast, and I barely finished my second cup of coffee. After handing the reins to my Sleepy Mind at 6 A.M., I sat back to enjoy the ride, having too much fun thwarting her tightly controlled plans. The more wrenches I threw at her, via a Jerry Garcia obsessed kid, the more fun I had. Though she won’t admit it, eleven-year-old Ibbie-Rae likes to micro manage, especially when it comes to her parents. Enough said on that. (My dad always said, “Keep your stories within; protect them, and allow them to grow as they should, through your writing process. The minute you discuss an under-developed manuscript, precious energy  escapes, and sometimes, the desire to finish the story.”) While I am in the revision stage for the completed manuscript, changes are occurring, thanks to characters who have politely informed me that I, the writer, need to let go and listen to them.

So in the spirit of Ibbie-Rae, I arrive at work, having been up for four hours. I am hungry, but happy to greet the gigantic bear that sits on our front porch. Surprisingly so, the early January weather is warm enough to prop open the front door. I hang the birds outside, vacuum the lower level carpets, restock the bags, and greet the first customers, which is when I see The Note.

The Note is my clue that while things appear normal in the lower part of the large, old-fashioned toy store, the upper level may hold surprises for me. I read: “I will be in at noon to help with the boxes.”

The Boxes, I think. How many can there be? I walk up the ramp with slight trepidation, past the dolls . . . past the puzzle area . . . past the books, and . . . the Playmobil shelves are blocked by at least twenty boxes. Manageable, I think, until I notice that a cumbersome Schleich display is no longer pushed against the wall. It has gone missing, so I search, only to find another room filled with twenty or more large boxes. I take a deep breath, try to channel Ibbie-Rae, who would know what to do and already be in the midst of organizing the shipment.

But it doesn’t end there; I can barely see the floor of the science section, there are so many boxes, and there is the missing Schleich rack.

I wish I had eaten breakfast, or at least, finished my coffee.

I put myself in the mind of my character. How would she handle this challenge? I slice open every box, only to discover that the majority of boxes contain multiple boxes within. I take those boxes out. There are card games, building sets, bowling sets, lacrosse sticks, baby toys, bath toys, baby bottles, Calico Critters and Calico Critters and more Calico Critters, because these little critters (adored by kids) have no recession or economic problems in their world. They have cozy cottages, town houses, tree houses, and luxury mansions. They drive fancy cars and have a full-stocked and furnished trailer. Families of raccoons, elephants, hedgehogs, dogs, bunnies, cats, squirrels, and deer manage triplets and twins without a problem, because there are Ferris wheels and play groups, and I don’t know if any of the animal parents even work. Their latest addition is a motorcycle with sidecar. I suppose, while the Calico Critter babies are being cared for at The Nursery, the parents ride around their luxurious town, feeling the breeze against their fur.

Personally, I am just as happy to get up before the sun rises to write for four hours in my pajamas. I wouldn’t trade that for anything, not even the hot tub that comes with the Calico Critter tree house.

I find my confidence, march to the back stock room for an assortment of baskets. I open the bi-fold door and—the door, which has been a source of frustration at times, falls off the track and nearly takes me out before I’ve priced a single item. I carefully put it back on the track. I slide the door to its closed position and try again. It falls off and, this time, hits me on the head. I study the piece of tracking. Bent and hopelessly out of shape, I call maintenance. Within a minute of their arrival, I am told, “Yup, it’s bent, can’t fix it. We’ll call you back about a new piece of track after our break.”

Tomorrow is the weekend; the bi-fold door must work properly, not at the point where it falls over and hits employees on the head, namely me. I have survived a large, heavy doll falling from a high shelf to hit me on the head, and walking into a rack, but the door . . .  All I need now is for the village ducks to waddle into the store.

By now, it is noon, and help arrives. I nearly jump up and down with excitement. Another person means I can get food and sustenance so I can handle the hundreds of boxes and now the door crisis, among other challenges that have arisen today.

I am not a superstitious person, but I look at the calendar and realize it is Friday the 13^th. That thought aside, I direct the other employee on Plan A: Sort by category first, then price merchandise, after which you stack in the area it belongs in. Look at one box at a time to keep from feeling overwhelmed. We proceed with gusto. Empty boxes are folded and stacked. Shelves begin to look less empty, following the busy holiday season. I have eaten a cup of soup. Life is good, and then I make a follow-up call (lunch hour is over) regarding the bi-fold door.

 “We can fix it on Tuesday, there’s a holiday on Monday.”

Anticipating tomorrow’s Saturday crowd, I call the owner; the door must be in working order before the next morning. I find the other employee to tell her I am headed to the nearby hardware store. “Do you know how to fix it yourself?” she asks.

“Absolutely, no idea,” I say, trying to muster up self-confidence that I can learn anything, if I have a good set of instructions. With a screwdriver, I take the existing track off the door frame to take with me, along with the metal part that fell off.

Hardware Guy takes one look at the track and shakes his head. “We don’t sell this here.”

“What do you mean? This is a hardware store. Can’t we check?”

“Nope, never seen track like this for sale here.”

“I. Need. Track,” I say, wishing I could make my eyes look like Puss from the Shrek movies. Whatever my expression ends up looking like to Hardware Guy, he proceeds down the aisles. I follow him to The Section Where Something Like What I Need, has Nothing Like What I Need. “You see,” he says. “Nothing.”

I am desperate. I am so desperate that I scan every inch of the aisle, hoping that a piece of track will fall from the ceiling and hit me on the head, so I can say, “Aha, here is it!” While this does not happen, my eyes do fall on a long narrow box with the words: Bi-fold door.

I am the one who should be working at the hardware store. I convince Hardware Guy to open up this mysterious box, which contains the perfect width track, though, too long for my needs.

“Oh, this will work,” he says, like he is the one who found it. “When you get home, use a hacksaw to shorten it.”

“I am not going home; I work at a toy store, where we sell dolls and books and puzzles. We do not have or sell hacksaws.” I give him a look of I am Not Leaving Here Until You Help Me, Because I Know You Have a Hacksaw, Being That This is a Hardware Store.

He gets my non-verbal message.

After a quick detour to Dunkin Donuts, I return to the toy store. The other employee has a glazed look on her eyes. “Snap out of it, you have to stay strong!” I tell her.

“It’s just . . . there are so many boxes and I don’t know where to begin.”

I drum my fingers against a wooden shelf and scan the remaining unpacked and un-priced merchandise. I check the time. “Okay, we are proceeding to Plan B.”

“Plan B?” she says.

“Yes, Plan B, which is you go take your break and then come back with the belief that we can get this all done before the day ends.”

Her nod lacks confidence, but knowing the Blue Squid Bakery is next door, I figure a mocha cupcake will get her motivated again.

Ten minutes later, I have a shiny and new person to direct. I point her towards the Calico Critters while I wrestle with the shiny and new piece of track. I open the bag of screws and parts. I stare at the directions with the tiniest print, little of it in English, no pictures. Nothing fits where I think it should go. I want to bang my head against the wooden desk.

I will admit to not being beneath begging the first man to come through the door to ask for help. Somehow, I manage to make my eyes resemble close to what Puss excels at when pleading for compassion in the Shrek movies. (I do ask the man’s wife, first, and his four children, who happily offer his assistance.) “My dad is a computer whizz, he loves to fix things.”

In my head, I drop to my knees to give thanks. With his clear instructions (and after I borrow an electric screwdriver from the garden store, which has run out of battery and needs recharging), I have the confidence to fix the track and door. (Thank you, kind stranger who took pity on me.)

While the borrowed screwdriver charges, I scan the remaining, unpacked boxes. With the store closing in less than three hours, I know everything will not get handled. Clearly, it’s impossible.

“We are now moving to Plan C,” I tell the other girl.

“Plan C? I thought we were on Plan B.”

“Plans change, we need to be flexible. Plan C calls for choosing the most important product to price and display, while the other boxes will be neatly stored. Plan C means Confidence and Conviction,” I say and steer her in the direction of picking and choosing.

There is still the issue of boxes that need to go to the compactor. Dozens and dozens of boxes, and the weather has intensified: wind whips the air around, and even inside the store, you can hear tree branches snap. I elect to go first. I put a load of boxes on the dolly and head outside. The wind pushes the box off the dolly. I set it back, and then maintain a tighter grip. I get to the compactor, after I pass some crow on a precarious branch, watching me. “Caw, caw, caw,” it says as if to warn me that something is coming. The compactor is full. I leave the boxes to use my key to turn the compactor on. The motor starts up, as does the wind, with much gusto, and . . .

My load of boxes has disappeared and is now flying through the air towards the parking lot. I run. Mr. Creepy Crow caws at me. I wrestle the boxes back to the compactor and set them on the dolly. In the sky above me, birds circle. The compactor finishes its crushing cycle. I put my boxes in the metal container, forgetting about the heavy door that is now swinging back towards my head. I stop it in time, and then use my key again. The motor starts up, which is when I hear a squealing noise, the sound of wheels moving . . .

The wind is pushing the dolly through the parking lot, towards a shiny new SUV. I run, catching it in time, though another kind stranger was headed in my direction to offer assistance.

Ibbie-Rae thinks she can do everything herself, and today, she and I both learned a good lesson: One person cannot do it all. One writer cannot do it all. We all need help. Help from our fellow employees, help from other writers, help from kind strangers, and help from teachers, who teach us how to hone our craft.

Thank you to all who come to my rescue; I managed to fix the bi-fold door by closing time, though I should have paid closer attention to the crow’s warning.

 Next time, I will listen better.

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As a writer for children, I am used to having a new character’s voice come to me at any time of the day or night. I may be dreaming or driving. Bathing or taking a walk. Sometimes, I am working at the toy store, where a conversation with a young child can easily spark an idea.

But never has a project spoken to me, at least in the way that the Look For the Good Project has. It started with a newspaper article I read in our local paper. I recognized the photo of Anne Kubitsky, who I met this past May when we were both honored with a 2011 New Voices in Children’s Literature: Tassy Walden Award. She was the winner in the illustrated picture book category. What a treat to hear her voice read Graycie’s Catch. And what an honor to see her accompanying illustrations. Anne captivated the audience with her heartfelt illustrations, and her obvious love for kindness. (I have always had a soft spot for whales.)

I cut out the article and posted it near my desk. With Christmas approaching, I hurried to finish photo projects for my girls’ gifts. My time was limited; I was behind in everything. Yet, I could not stop thinking about Anne and the whale and her vision for a community art project that would become part of a traveling exhibit, featuring postcards from all over the world in which people of all ages state what makes them grateful.

My father would have loved this project and perhaps this is why the idea of it tugged at my heart. Even in pain, he would always stop to be thankful: thankful for the clouds, the comical behavior of a tiny chipmunk, the love of his family, the opportunity to speak to a grandchild or his great-granddaughter, and the ability to express himself through his writing. My father always appreciated the warmth of another’s hand, a stranger’s smile and compassion. A clean pair of sheets. Socks on his cold feet. His thinning hair being brushed. A small window so he could watch the birds outside.

The more I thought about Anne’s vision, the more grateful I was for my family, especially while I poured over photos at CVS, waiting behind a woman who had left her coupons in the car. I told her there was no need to apologize, even though it was nearly midnight and I had worked for ten hours at the toy store. She went to her car for her coupons and her bonus bucks, and when the total was finally tallied, she needed to spend 98 cents more to be able to use her CVS bucks.

“I am so sorry to hold you up,” she said.

“Relax, take your time,” I told her, studying a photo of my youngest dressed as Santa at the age of six months. (I had taped cotton balls to a bib to use as a beard.)

“Just buy some candy,” said the clerk.

“I don’t eat candy, though my dad does, but only one kind.” The woman perused the candy selection, not finding what she was after. She became flustered and then . . .

“Perfect! I found it.” She held a bag of Skittles in her hand.

My father’s favorite candy.

I believe his spirit is out there, watching over his family, nudging us when we need that extra push, and especially while our family struggled to get through our first Christmas without him.

This encounter was my father nudging me.

He would have been so grateful for that bag of Skittles, and so I contacted Anne to see how I could help with the project, because I believe in her message: the importance of reflecting on what is good.

My father taught me this, and I am forever grateful for his lessons. Every day I follow his example and find beauty in this world. Beauty that makes me stop whatever I am doing to wonder, and to be thankful for the smallest of miracles: the extraordinary within the ordinary. In this post, as with others, I share some of my photos, including the grateful postcards sent by my five-year-old granddaughter.

What about you, what makes you grateful? Ask yourself, ask your children, ask your friends. Ask a stranger. Spread the word and send a postcard. Send two. Write something. Draw something. Reflect on what is good. As Anne likes to say, “You are invited to write/ paint/ draw a glimmer of gladness on a postcard.”

The project’s link is www.lookforthegoodproject.org. There you will see a sample of many of the inspirational cards being received. Press links are included here: www.lookforthegoodproject.org/about

Postcards are needed by the 15^th of January, though any received after that will become part of the exhibit. (You can mail multiple cards in one envelope to save individual postage). The premier show will be held in New London, CT on January 28^th  at the Custom House Maritime Museum. I hope to see you there!

I have a template for three postcards per sheet that you can print on cardstock and cut up. Let me know if you would like a copy emailed to you. I always keep a handful in my purse to share as needed.

Happy New Year to all, and may you find what makes you grateful in this world. Be thankful. Peace.

P. S. – Dad, I miss you. Love you always, Betsy