Snapshots of Children's Book Week 2012

I know Book Week was over weeks ago. But I have been busy working on revisions for my novel Portraits of Celina (Out in April), and haven't had a chance to post about my Book Week adventures. Until now.

Book Week 2012 was a wonderful week full of warm welcomes, enthusiastic students and teachers, terrific displays, amazing lunches and morning teas and lots of fun storytelling and joy about books. (And a crackly voice that just hung in there. Phew.)

A big thank you to the teacher librarians who hosted me and did such a fab job of preparing their students. Here are a few pics of some of the highlights. 

Uncle Alien by Jake at Caddies Creek

On the road again - Book Week 2012

I'm sitting up in bed, snug, my doona pulled up to my chin. It's gloriously sunshiny though a little windy outside. The house is quiet, and I am savouring this last tiny shard of peace, solitude and calm, before chaos reigns again.

This week is Book Week - the busiest, craziest week of the year for children's authors and illustrators in Australia. (So busy for some that it becomes "Book Month", but for me with a full-time job, it's just a week.) It is the week when schools and libraries hold bookish events, have character parades, invite authors and illustrators to speak, congratulate the Book of the Year winners and celebrate the joy of books and stories.

I love it.

So once I hop out of bed this morning, I will be dusting off my giant spider puppet, giving my cardboard fire engine a bit of a shine, packing my dress-up clothes (and some "real" clothes as well), collecting up my books, and all the while, rehearsing my stories in my mind (in case I have forgotten any of them!). Then it's time to hit the road. Five days, five schools, fifteen sessions, hundreds and hundreds of students. To coin a famous phrase: "I'm excited!"

Happy Book Week everyone.

Finding the five-year-old me

I am doing a workshop in Canberra in a few weeks’ time on finding your inner child and writing from deep within a child’s point of view. In preparation for this, I have been spending my morning train writing time going for a bit of a wander down memory lane, trying to reacquaint myself with my inner five-year-old.

Memory is a strange beast. I don’t think I have a particularly good long-term memory and the events and feelings I am recalling of my former and very much younger self are really just tiny snippets – snapshots, but with only part of the picture in sharp focus and the rest kind of bleary. And it’s the bleary bits that I have been trying to tap into and bring into sharper focus. Often without much success. And when I have remembered something more fully, it is hard to ascertain how much is actual real memory and how much of it is my own invention. It’s been an interesting exercise.

I did recall an early childhood “friend” and event that I had totally forgotten about though. Her name was Jennifer (last name unknown) and these are the things I remember:

• She was related to someone famous – perhaps Bobby Limb (can’t be certain) and the five-year-old me found this amazingly exciting. I was in awe of her because of it – even slightly jealous.

• She was pretty and tidy and frilly and I aspired to be like her. I thought she was a much, much better person than me. She fascinated me.

• I was invited to her birthday party at her house. I felt that it was a great honour to be invited. I was excited and nervous about going.

• Her house was white and large. Two storeys – which to me meant that she was also very, very rich. Inside there was a wide sweeping staircase that I longed to climb, but wasn’t brave enough.

• In her backyard there was a wooden cubbyhouse fitted out with play stoves and tables and shelves and couches. Another sign of wealth. There was a swing hanging from a tree and the grass was the softest and greenest grass I had ever felt or seen.

• I recall Jennifer in a white frilly dress swinging wildly on the swing, her long blond curls streaming out behind her.

• I felt that she was out of reach for me. And that I was just lucky to have been invited to her party.

Interestingly, there are lots of things about the party that I can’t remember – things you would think would have been important to the five-year-old me, such as: any other children or people, party food, presents, balloons and party games. Not sure what this means, but I find it intriguing.

I came across an article on a similar topic the other day by Alane Ferguson about channelling your inner teenager that is worth a read. I have much stronger memories of my teenage years. Perhaps that is why I have been attracted to writing novels for young adults of late.

On the laps of their parents

"Children are made readers on the laps of their parents." Emilie Buchwald

I love this quote! (I know, I am a little “quote” crazy at the moment - forgive me.) But doesn’t it say it all? 

Last blog post touched on the importance and worth of reading, and the joy of becoming a lifelong reader, but how do we get our kids on that path?

Reading to your child from an early age is most definitely the first step.

It is one of the most wonderful ways to develop positive attitudes to reading. And I believe there is no better way for a child to discover the magic and power of story, to engage their imaginations and for reading to be associated with feelings of warmth, nurturing, security and love than, as Emilie so eloquently put it, "on the laps of their parents".

In the National Year of Reading, let’s have three cheers for the parents out there who are laying this important foundation, so their children have the best chance of becoming lifelong readers – so they too can say one day: I love2read.

For the love of books

I am a wordy. There is no doubt about it. I love writing. Reading. Words. Story. Books.

Lately, I have taken to collecting those catchy sayings and sentiments that often appear on Facebook declaring a similar love of books.

Things like:

"I love walking into a bookstore. It's like all my friends are sitting on shelves, waving their pages at me." Tahareh Mafi

"Sometimes when I'm alone I like to sniff books." Source unknown

"Bookworms will rule the world - as soon as we finish one more chapter..." Harlequin.com

"Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers." Charles William Eliot (My personal fave.)

I have a stack more! I don't know why I have started collecting these - they sing to me somehow, warm my heart and reassure me that there are others who share my love of the written word and my belief in the power of story. 

When I was a Primary School Teacher, I always endeavoured not only to teach my students how to read, but also to guide them in taking their first steps on the path of becoming lifelong readers. 

Research and experience have told us that reading has many benefits, that it is important. Reading improves vocabulary, concentration, focus and memory. It develops active mental processes, and helps children to become engaged learners. It stimulates the imagination and reduces stress. It provdes a wonderful escape.

But wait! There's more.

Most importantly, reading allows us to explore what it means to be human. It allows us to walk in someone else's shoes for a while, to view the world through someone else's eyes. To experience what it is like to be courageous or weak; shy or alone; to be persecuted, misjudged, misguided; to be bullied or shunned. It allows us to develop empathy and understand many different realities. 

And in the words of CS Lewis: "We read to know we are not alone." 

Three cheers for the National Year of Reading. I love2read!

Capturing

How can you not love a book that opens with the line, “I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.”?

I have just completed I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. This is a gorgeous novel written in the 1940s. I absolutely adored the eccentric cast of characters and their bohemian life in a crumbling English castle.

Of particular interest to me was central character and narrator, Cassandra, who fancies herself as a writer. The novel is written in the form of her journal where not only does she recount the happenings of her life and the goings on within her family, but where she also intends to capture all their characters and “put in conversations” in order to improve her writing style, which she feels has been “stiff and self-conscious” up to date.  

She is not always satisfied with her “captures” and vows to work harder at her craft.

“I am aware this is not a fair portrait of him. I must capture him again later.”

“How can one capture the pool of light in the courtyard, the golden windows, the strange long-ago look ...?”

“Capture father! Why, I don’t know anything about anyone!”

What glorious fodder for a writer – and what excellent advice. I love the notion of “capturing”. Isn’t this exactly what we try to do as writers? To capture characters, moments, feelings and places and somehow translate them into words on the page. To capture them precisely or evocatively or eloquently. Or originally? Uniquely?

It is also interesting to note that Smith was so anxious about her novel that once she completed the manuscript, she worked on her revisions for a further two years, where she wrote and rewrote every line. It shows! The characters are so superbly drawn and deliciously quirky, the relationships between the characters complex, authentic and true, and the voice of the narrator doesn’t miss a beat.

For writers and aspiring writers this book is a must-read. There are so many lessons hidden within each page. I don’t know how I have managed to get through life without reading it before now.

Thank you, Mr Sendak

“The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind.

And another.

His mother called him “WILD THING!”

And Max said: “I’LL EAT YOU UP!”

So Max was sent to bed without eating anything.

That very night in Max’s room a forest grew

And grew–”

And so begins the magnificent Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. This wonderful romp into the imagination has such special meaning for me. Published in 1963, it was a controversial, rule- and ground- breaking book.

Though a child of the Sixties, Where the Wild Things Are isn’t part of my childhood memories. In fact it wasn’t until I was a young teacher in the Eighties that I became aware of it. And it was love at first sight.

Where the Wild Things Are was the book that inspired many a lesson and spirited reading; the book that I could recite from memory (and frequently did); the book that terrified my own children (perhaps it was that spirited reading and my over-enthusiastic gnashing of teeth!); the book that opened my eyes and heart to the world of children’s literature; and ultimately the book that stirred in me the desire to become a writer of children’s books myself.

One sizzling hot day on a trip to New York I accidentally stumbled on a gallery in Soho that housed a collection of original drawings, roughs and paintings from Where the Wild Things Are. I was in a particularly grumpy mood this day: it was stinking hot and we’d just missed the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. My husband ushered me inside the gallery primarily because it was air-conditioned and we were desperate. When we realised that is was a children book illustration gallery, I can remember the wry smile that played on Pete’s lips. Pete is not a children’s book enthusiast, but he knows his wife. And when we went down stairs and discovered the Maurice Sendak drawings, he knew he’d struck gold. We stepped back out onto the sweltering pavement an hour or so later, after a wonderful discussion and tour with the curator, and my eyes were happy, my heart full.

Maurice Sendak passed away this week, aged 83. But his books live on, and will continue to inspire and bring great joy to young (and not so young) readers.            .

Thank you, Mr Sendak. Rest in peace.