pacyworks

ps

2006-04-30T21:17:00.000-07:00

Thanks to all who have e-mailed me about my blog. I am going to continue blogging at pacyforest.blogspot.com; though I am still trying to figure out the restructure. There was just a little too much divulging here at pacyworks...

goodbye for now!

2006-04-25T20:27:00.000-07:00

i've decided to temporarily stop posting for a while. perhaps i will come back later...but i think i have probably whined enough to last for a long time!

welcome to fabulous las vegas

2006-04-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

Last month, Robert got great results from his latest scan. His tumors had shrunk to the point that the doctor said he could take a month off of treatment. After doing chemo for over a year now, getting a month off is like finding a puddle of water in the middle of a desert.

Which is pretty much what Las Vegas is. With this month of freedom, we quickly planned a celebratory trip there. We had wanted to go to Europe, but settled for Vegas and the Paris hotel instead. Complete with a Eiffel Tower replica, what more could you want? I admit, I always feel slight twinges of guilt as I enjoy the sparkling fountains and the faux canals, considering the scars which were probably forced upon the earth to create this man-made oasis. But in the end, where else can one meet a klingon, see breath-taking shows (we love cirque du soleil, by the way--go see KA) and lose money yet still feel happy? So, I gave in to the sheer decadence and had a fabulous time...just like the ad says.

identity

2006-04-22T09:15:00.000-07:00

During my panel discussion (with my editor Alvina Ling and YA author Justina Chen Headley) at the North American Taiwanese Women's Association conference in Houston, I discovered that my book ,"Year of the Dog" is controversial. This was a bit of a surprise to me, as "Year of the Dog" is almost a memoir, filled with my personal childhood stories, interwoven with my mother's. I thought it would be an easy fit with the Taiwanese women.

But I had underestimated how deep politics run in people, so deep that it even effects their view of children's books. In my book, I easily interchanged the labels Taiwanese and Chinese--the two nationalities that I was considered as a child and which had blurred to mean the same thing to me. This, to some of the conference attendees was a gross mistake. The Chinese were the enemy.

When one or two of the women approached me later about the subject, I tried to defend my position. How I was trying to write books true to my experience, that my book was not about politics of Taiwan vs. China, but about being Asian American. That it was the Asian-American identity I was portraying, not the Taiwanese identity.

"That is because you are 2nd generation and don't know," one woman said to me, shaking her head, "You don't know. We remember. We saw the blood, we felt the oppression. If you did, you would never call yourself Chinese."

In the recent years, I have finally felt that I have come to terms with my identity. This is what has enabled me to write my stories and talk to kids about my experiences. Now, suddenly, I felt like that rock was being shaken.

"I can understand why it bothers some of them," Alvina said to me, "To them it is as if a Holocaust survivor wrote she was German. They feel like it is an insult to what they've suffered."

This fills me with mixed emotions. I would never attempt to downplay the suffering that the older Taiwanese generation felt by the Chinese, but I can't help feeling that there must be a way to remember without bitterness. The deepest and most hurtful racism I have felt in my life has not been from Caucasians, but from other Asians. Asians make up a huge percentage of the population, but they are rarely a force in American politics, media or children's books. There's no Coretta Scott King Award for Asian picturebooks (if there is, few have heard of it which goes to show how much less importance it is given). And perhaps that is because we cling to our specific labels so tightly. Maybe if the different Asian races could relax and bond together as Asian-Americans, we'd actually be a force in the US. Or, at least,be able to enjoy my book.

evaluation

2006-04-09T05:48:00.000-07:00

Recently, a good friend of mine announced that his book was going to be made into a Dreamworks movie. I'm thrilled for him and I foresee great things--blockbuster, Oscars, NY Times bestseller etc.

But, the thing about your friends' triumphs is that it always makes you evaluate your own. Experience and cancer battles have matured me to the point where I do not begrudge another's accomplishments (and, heck, if they're going to make a movie from someone's book I'm glad it's one of my friends--someone talented and goodhearted), but nothing has made me immune to desiring my own success.

However, how does one define success? Do you measure it by your income, your book sales? The compliments of your publisher and peers? Your personal contentment and enjoyment? The approval of readers and fans?

Perhaps it is all of the above, or perhaps it is none. For me, I have slowly come to realize that there is no definite answer and that waiting for the bell to ring to tell me I am a success is never going to happen. That "making it" is such a nebulous thing that it is a fruitless goal to strive for.

Instead, it is in the small miracles which I search for satisfaction. Just as cancer makes one suddenly appreciate simple things like hair cuts or hunger; I am finding fulfillment in a drawn picture sent by the precocious Zoe and this forwarded e-mail from a teacher:

"By the way, I left the donated Grace Lin novel, Year of the Dog on the Display table. You've GOT to read it. I gave my daughter a copy as part of her CNY gift last night with her Hong Bao and we're on Chapter 8, already. It's really funny. I can see that my daughter totally relates to it from the perspective of being Asian in a very white community and as far as knowing the Chinese customs & traditions that are being discussed in the book and being able to catch the humor of various situations. She loves it. She said she can't wait to read the next chapter but doesn't want the book to end. I feel the same. Grace Lin is every Chinese Girls hero! She's mine, that's for sure. I love everything about her and this new book makes me want to just reach out and hug her for writing it. It speaks to "my daughter" in a language that she understands as a Chinese-American girl growing up in a white society. Read it."

While these things don't dazzle the way a major motion picture does, they do shine. And it's enough light for me to know where I am going.

souvenir from albany

2006-04-06T16:44:00.000-07:00

My recent school visits and "Year of the Dog" promotional events in Albany has resulted in a nice photo in the local paper. Too bad it hasn't affected my Amazon ranking. Like a seesaw, those numbers have a direct correlation with my well being. Sadly, as it rises, my morale falls. sigh.

welcome home

2006-04-05T19:29:00.000-07:00

Well, my constant travels have left Robert alone too long. In retaliation, he has decided to destroy our home. He calls it a renovation, however the chaos it causes make me want to call it a couple of other names that are not that polite...

But it will be beautiful when it is done, I know. Robert would not stand for anything less. I, however, exhausted from my recent trip in Albany and getting ready for one in Houston, would simply settle for a place to sit.

happy birthday, garbage truck

2006-03-28T15:08:00.000-08:00

Events with young kids provide countless anecdotes of funny behavior. My recent trip to Chicago where I mixed a family visit of my niece with some Year of the Dog book events was no exception. 33 month old Lily, adorable by any standard, filled the trip with memorable moments (including when she decided to give my presentation with me) but this is my most favorite.

"Happy Birthday," Lily sang, as my older sister Lissy, Robert and I drove home from the event.
"Happy Birthday to who?" I asked.
"Happy Birthday to Auntie Pacy," she sang (I'm Auntie Pacy, by the way).
"Thank you, Lily!" I said.
"Happy Birthday to Mama!" Lily sang, "Happy Birthday to Grandma! Happy Birthday to Grandpa!"
"How about Uncle Robert?" I asked, "Happy Birthday to Uncle Robert?"
"Happy Birthday to..." Lily sang, "Garbage Truck!"
"Garbage truck!" Robert said, "I don't get a Happy Birthday?"
"Happy Birthday to Airplane!" Lily continued, "Happy Birthday to Car! Happy Birthday to Houses! Happy Birthday..."

Needless to say, Lily wished everyone and everything in the world a happy birthday except for Robert. He was very hurt which she (and I) just found hilarious.

travel story two

2006-03-23T14:01:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my attempts at a Year of the Dog promotional tour, Robert and I have been traveling almost non-stop. And with this new occupation, my new hobby is to collect pressed pennies. Yes, it is sort of a dorky, touristy thing to do, but I love it. Having had my fill of easily creased postcards and unattractive photos, I decided that the pressed penny was the superior travel souvenir.

Now, one usually only runs into pressed penny machines by sheer coincidence. After obtaining my first penny and declaring my intention to start a collection, Robert scoffed at me.

"How are you going to start a pressed penny collection? We only know where one machine is," he said.

Ah, but he did not count on the power of the internet. With a little bit of determination and a lot of googling I found a map which marked pressed penny machines all over the United States. I also found an entire subculture of pressed penny collectors. See, I'm not the only one!

And with this map, I monopolized post and pre-event time with mapquest instructions to obscure locations. Robert moaned and groaned; and when friends asked how we spent our day Robert was purposely vague, embarrassed that we had spent our afternoon searching for a penny machine.

However, as the penny collection increased, Robert actually began to enjoy it. We were seeing parts of cities we probably would never have gone before. Who knew that the Desert Botanical Garden could be so fascinating? Or Old Tucson so deliciously campy? Thanks to my penny search, we were suddenly mastering the art of untried travel. No longer bogged down by going to places because we thought they were interesting, we were now going to places that sounded incredibly dull...yet were actually captivating. And even if the places were more on the tedious side, the traveling to get there was not. Each penny search became an adventure where we were encountering new and fun things; a memory for us to cherish and remember.

"It's kind of like a treasure hunt, this penny thing," Robert said to me.
"Yes," I told him, "I guess it is."

travel story

2006-03-15T15:27:00.000-08:00

During my recent visit to San Diego, I was fortunate to have captured affection the of the cutest 5 year old girl. Zoe, enchanted with my drawing abilities, climbed into my lap during the booksigning (which lasted over an hour)and offered to draw me a picture. I agreed.

"What do you want a picture of?" she asked.
"What do you like to draw?" I asked.
"I like to draw dinosaurs," she told me.
"Okay," I said,"draw me a dinosaur."
"What kind?" she asked.

Now, I have to admit my dinosaurology is a bit hazy. Luckily, I did watch Jurassic Park many years ago so I was able to say the basic T-Rex and Brontosaurus. Being 5 years old, I didn't expect much from Zoe except a very large scribble. However, she quickly proved me wrong--not only drawing a very appealing Brontosaurus but explaining to me that there was no such thing as a Brontosaurus (which I am ashamed to say I didn't believe until I looked it up on the internet later). This continued with drawings of a raptor and a Triceratops. At that point, I had exhausted my Jurassic Park knowledge.

"I don't know any other dinosaurs," I told her.
"Okay," she said, " I'll draw you an allosaurus and then an ankylosaurus. Then I'll draw you a suchomimus."
"Wow," I said, "Do you think you might want to be an archeologist someday?"
"You mean paleontologist," she said, laughing, "not archeologist!"

Oops.

photo album

2006-03-09T20:33:00.000-08:00

Robert has asked me to restrain from writing so many details of our lives on this blog. "When you write it on your blog, everyone reads it," he says, "and then when we meet with people there's nothing to say because they already know anything. And then we're boring." Hmm, I'm not sure if having a blog immediately means that you become a dull conversationalist but I suppose the argument does have merit. So, because I am such a dutiful wife, I will refrain from long stories about the minor disasters (including, but not limited, to accidentally leaving my wallet on the airplane and getting the date of departure wrong); and will instead just give a brief photojournal of our recent vacation/book tour.

This is February in San Diego!

At Balboa Park, San Diego CA

Robert, happy in the sun in Balboa Park, San Diego

A moment of peace for Robert in San Diego

At the Salk Institute, a marvel of modern architecture (La Jolla, CA)

Tucson, Arizona at the Adobe Rose Inn

Sonora Desert Museum, the biggest cactus I've ever seen

desert driving from Tucson to Phoenix

It was work too! A book event in each city...

and we're off

2006-02-28T19:06:00.000-08:00

And now we are going to the west coast (sorry to all that I didn't get a chance to respond to). Events in San Diego, Tucson and Phoenix await me...and hopefully a nice time too. Robert is coming with me-- in fact we planned these visits just so he could get some warm weather in his bones. He might not want to come back home with me.

bad habits

2006-02-27T23:21:00.000-08:00

When the work for Robert's Snow hit full force, I stopped exercizing, declining dessert and showering (okay, I did shower intermittedly). But all and all, I let an unhealthy lifestyle develop and attempting to rein it in post creation is quite difficult.

However, I must. This was brought to the attention by my recent visit to upstate NY where I met up with my mother's friends. No one can make reality sink in the a way that an older Asian women can. When they chattered to me "Oh, you look cute! You gained so much weight," the lenses of my life were suddenly painfully clean.

And to just reinforce this, here is the follow-up conversation with my mother:

"Mrs. Chen said I gained weight!" I mourned to her.
"Oh, she didn't mean it in a bad way," she tells me, "When Chinese people say you're fat, they think it is good."
"Really?" I said, "Wait! So that means she thinks I'm fat?"

Consequently, I am trying to eat less sweets (which Robert thinks is a good idea as he thinks it makes me hyper) and eat more salads. But most of all, I'm trying to start running again.

Yesterday, even though it was only 30 degrees out, I laced up the jogging shoes and went for a run. Well, more like a sprint. A not very fast sprint. Okay, more like a painful meander.

I've lost my endurance and any type of conditioning I had. Hey, this is the girl that won a medal in September! What has happened? Not only was I huffing and puffing, I wimped out and came home in about 10 minutes.

In fact, I took more time in the shower after the run than actually running. But, showering is a habit that is so much easier to get back into.

where does snow go?

2006-02-23T16:55:00.000-08:00

I've been contemplating the future of Robert's Snow for the last couple of days. Since its conclusion it seemed a certain decision that 2005 would be the last year, ever. It was too much work, too much stress, too much responsibility. Updating the website, juggling artist demands, figuring out finances--it was time away from Robert when he needed me and time away from work that paid for our living. It was time away from my life that I couldn't afford.

Yet, it was not a decision that I came to lightly. Was it right to stop what I had begun? To stop the momentum we've achieved? Was it selfish to pursue personal career goals instead? But the crux of it came down to Robert. "I want you to spend time with me," he said, "not trying to find a cure for me."

However, as he continues to battle and other colleagues and friends are stuck by heartbreaking diagnoses, I feel the twinges of guilt and responsibility.

Which leaves me in a dilemma. I cannot run Robert's Snow again; yet I feel it needs to be run. What to do? Where should Robert's Snow go? Buried quietly in the past? Or allowed to become a seasonal storm?

And while I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, Dana-Farber has dropped a rope from the sky. They've offered to take over the event, making it an internal affair. All I have to do is grab on, right?

"I don't think it's a good idea," Robert shakes his head, "I know you. Robert's Snow is your baby. You'll be crushed if they don't do it the way you think is right."

"I know," I said, "But the event shouldn't stop just because I'm a control freak. And even if it's not as successful-- a couple of thousand dollars is still better than zero."

So, I have hesitantly agreed. Dana-Farber will continue Robert's Snow in 2007 with plans to have it run every other year. Though, perhaps they will change their minds after they realize everything that needs to be done for it...like I did.

78 minutes of wealth

2006-02-21T19:08:00.000-08:00

Today, in my faded jeans, blue sneakers and unwashed hair I went to the bank to close the Robert's Snow account.

"I'd like to close my account," I said the the suited man and handed him the account number. He looked at me kindly, but without too much thought. However, as he punched in the number and looked at the balance, I thought his eyes would pop from his head.
"Is there anything we can do to keep your business?" he asked, obviously shocked, "We can help you reinvest, purchase mutual funds..."
"Oh no," I said, "This money is for a charity fundraiser I organized. I have to give the money to them."
"Well," he said, "Could I talk you into organizing a fundraiser for me?"

I declined to tell him that I probably needed a fundraiser for myself more and about 20 minutes later I walked out of the bank with a cashiers check of....$105,254.21!

With this check in my hot hand, I drove like the wind to Dana-Farber and delivered the check. I didn't want to keep it on me a second longer than I had to. Knowing my talents for disorganization and mess, a quick distribution seemed wise. But I was pretty rich for about 78 minutes...

hometown high

2006-02-19T19:48:00.000-08:00

As a rule, I loathe bookstore signings. Usually, I sit next to a pile of books watching the tumbleweeds or awkwardly smiling at passing customers--who, in turn, ask me where the bathroom is. So, when Lisa (the Upstate NY Families with Children from China chapter president) approached me about doing a signing at their local B&N, I hesitated. But, it was my hometown area. I knew my parents would be glad to see us (and they would at least get their friends to come), it fit in Robert's schedule and I could sign a lot of stock that would (hopefully) get sold afterwards, so I agreed.

However, I completely underestimated the power of Lisa. With her wonder powers of marketing, she reminded her group repeatedly and subliminally--getting the signing mentioned on the local radio and newspaper as well as through word of mouth and e-mail.

And whomever said marketing is everything was completely correct (and reaffirms my publicist decision). Families from all over came out. It was quite overwhelming. Lisa and I agreed that an activity would make the event much more appealing, so we advertised a mini-drawing class with my reading; and I taught all the kids how to draw dogs. Which they did, with panache.

And while I was signing, numerous people jokingly asked me if my hand was tired...and it was! But, I'd be willing to take that soreness any day.

letting someone else drive

2006-02-12T16:13:00.000-08:00

So I have made the big decision and have decided to hire a publicist. This conclusion was not made quickly…my internal and external debates have been driving colleagues, friends, web boards and Robert crazy for the past month.

But can you blame me? It was a big (and costly) question. But a necessary one. I’m proud of how far I’ve gotten on my own, but I look at the road ahead—one income, expensive medical costs, dreams of starting a family—and I know I need to get to the next rest stop faster.

And, I faced the realization that I'll probably never win the Caldecott or a Newbury airplane ticket (my novel just got lukewarmed by School Library Journal, sigh). So, my best bet for financial security and keeping my books from going out-of-print is cold hard sales. Or at least good sales.

Though, honestly, it's the fear of the out-of-print junkyard that is the true impetus for the move (as increased wealth is actually quite questionable). As my first book just went out of print (rest in peace, Okie-Dokie, Artichokie!) and sales have begun to lag and sputter on my other books, I knew it was time for a tune up.

So then came the question of how? Do I hire an agent or a publicist? Do I get a new car or let someone else drive?

Most authors go with the agent-- equivalent of trading in and getting a red sports car. An agent gets them higher advances, movies deals— shiny, glamorous and oh, so fast! Very tempting. But sports cars can be tricky things—sometimes your fuel’s not right, sometimes you get a lemon.

And sometimes, you just like the car you already own. Which is my case. Comfortable, trustworthy and dependable, I’m quite attached to what I’ve done, the relationships I’ve forged and the projects I’ve already created. And I'm proud of it-- every nut and bolt has been hand fastened for my unique engine. I don't want to write new, glitzy books, I want to keep writing the books I've been doing--books that mean something to me. I just want them to sell better.

And I've realized that I’ve been driving my career without a map, just hoping to run into some destination areas. So a publicist made sense. She’ll know where to take me and maneuver the road bumps with more skill.

Though, that doesn’t mean I don’t eye that new car at all. But right now, I'm just window shopping.

the power of the pink jacket

2006-02-11T17:21:00.000-08:00

I'm a complete sucker for Asian-inspired clothing. I don't like the traditional cheongsam (makes me quite self-conscious) but I love Asian-esque clothes that use Chinese silk or embroidery.

Such was a jacket I got last year. Bright pink, padded, embroidered with brightly colored birds and flowers and more money than I meant to spend, I bought it on impulse.

So, in order to justify my purchase I began to wear the jacket to some of my promotional events. And it is magical. Somehow, it has an invisible influence on my fortune. Whenever I wear it, success is achieved.

Today's event at the Peabody Essex Museum was a prime example. Being a cold day, I put it on as an extra layer of warmth...and the power of the pink jacket performed. The auditorium was full of people and I was able to get through my speech effectively. And most poignant of all was an encounter with a mother, who, with tears in her eyes, told me that her Asian daughter had read Year of the Dog and related to it in ways that moved her.

"She said people had called her a "twinkie" at school just like you in the book," the mother said, "and that when she read that it made her feel a lot better. We had a long talk about it. She had never mentioned it to me before. We never would've discussed it if it weren't for your book."

This conversation and the amazing line for my booksigning just strengthened my belief that my pink jacket has powers beyond normal clothing. I may begin to sleep in it from here on in.

green egg i am

2006-02-10T11:09:00.000-08:00

I've stolen some time in between Year of the Dog promotion events and illustration responsibilites to paint an egg for the Open Field Egg auction (www.openfields.org). It's similiar to Robert's Snow with different artists creating works of art to be auctioned off for charity, except it's an egg (not a snowflake) and the money goes to a school (not cancer research).

Even though my time is tight, I really wanted to do this. This year's egg auction is in honor of beloved children's illustrator Trina Schart Hyman (she founded the event). Trina participated in the first Robert's Snow, shortly before her death--ironically from cancer. Her snowflake was probably one of the last pieces of art she created. The least I could do was to paint an egg for her namesake auction.

So what did I paint on my egg? Well,I searched for inspiration during my visit at the Portland Chinese Garden. They had tai chi lessons, brush painting classes, children folk dancing...and rain. And lots of it. The sun only shown on one day of my stay.

But, after spending so much time in the rain, I slowly began it appreciate its beauty. I loved how the colorful umbrellas seemed to look like enormous dancing flowers in the garden and how the raindrops fell from the tiled roofs like strings of pearls. And when the children began to do the traditional Chinese parasol dance in rain, the images seemed to swirl in my head and came out as this little haiku:

When the raindrops fall
The umbrella flowers bloom
And I dance around

This poem I quite enjoyed and wrote down on a scrap piece of paper. Back on the east coast, I recited the poem to Robert. His reaction was not one of awe. "That's very girly," he snickered.

However, even with such fervent encouragement, I used it as inspiration for my egg...and I will just hope for Open Field's sake that others find it more appealing.

home is where the husband is

2006-02-08T17:32:00.000-08:00

After returning from a lovely stay in Portland, where the Portland Chinese Garden hosted me for a series of events (art exhibit, book readings) for 5 days, I returned home tired but triumphant. I made it! No luggage lost, no unhappy hosts (at least not to my knowledge), lots of books sold and cheerful companions made. The beautiful Portland Chinese Garden was inspiring (if you haven't been there, you should go), they ran out of books (and had to reorder), and I even got 4 chapters written on my next novel (Year of the Rat, here I come!). So, all and all, a successful venture.

However, Robert was not so enthused by my adventure. My late night return coincided with his last day of chemo treatment when drug-induced irritations are at full force. And my travel exhaustion left me less patient then I should have been, so I was unfairly exasperated by his complaints about the disorganization of the closet and the amount of mail I receive. Therefore, it was not the lover's reunion one might imagine. But still, underneath all the annoyance, we were both happy to see eachother and it was good to be home.

Note to self: schedule all future trips around chemo cycle

going and going

2006-01-30T18:49:00.000-08:00

And I'm off. This time to Portland where the Chinese Garden is having an exhibition of my art and 5 days of activities centered around me and Chinese New Year. Should be great...if I get off the ground. It's suppose to storm tommorrow!

I'm really looking forward to the event, not only as a promotional but as a solitary working environment. I have my new novel all mapped out in my head and the lonely nights in the hotel should be happily filled with pegging at a typewriter. Or with blank stares at the wall. That is a pretty common event when I am trying to write.

But if that happens, I've decided to try go zen and do some yoga. Hence, the bringing of the Babar's Yoga for Elephants. I've realized that my reading level is juvenile that even "how to" books have to be children oriented. If only there was a Babar's Taxes for Elephants. I'd be so well rounded.

seeds of self-doubt

2006-01-29T19:50:00.000-08:00

The limited feedback I have been getting from "Year of the Dog" has made me all a-bloom. The garden of my ego has blossomed to new splendor-- my work might actually be loved, appreciated and respected. Heck, I might even be a successful, well-known author/illustrator.

But, small things, like frost in the night, creep in. A patronizing message on a message board. A tepid review calling my book "comfortable." The disinterest of relatives because it's "kid's things." An innocent e-mail asking where to get my book as it is not stocked anywhere. These small things water the seeds of self-doubt, encouraging them to grow into dominating weeds.

The balance between pride and humbleness is hard to accomplish. As satisfaction fills me and the feeling of self-importance does not seem so unreasonable, the whispers begin. "Who do you think you are?" it scoffs, "You think you're all that? Please don't make me laugh."

For low self-esteem and insecurity has plagued me and pushed me. You'll never get published. You can't make a living on children's books. No one is going to like your books. You're never going to make it. Fear of failure made me want to prove that I could do what was doubted. Yet, the same impetus that pushed me to work harder is the same force that won't allow me to feel peace or pride with my endeavors.

Robert, of course, has been the great equalizer. Whenever the secret demons push me to dejection, he shines a light on them. "When are you going to be as proud of yourself as I am of you?" he says to me and the tears burn in my eyes. And, I realize that the demons are just rabbits sneaking into the garden. I'll probably never get rid of them, but I can't stop trying to grow flowers because they steal a bit of lettuce.

Happy Year of the Dog!

2006-01-28T17:14:00.000-08:00

It's the Year of the Dog! Chinese New Year has arrived. Traditionally, a Chinese tray is filled with candy that is eaten on New Year's Eve--the idea being that if the tray is filled with sweet things, the year will also be filled with sweet things.

While I don't have the traditional tray, my New Year's Eve has been quite satisfying. In honor of my starred Booklist review, my editor at Little, Brown sent me some gourmet Chinese New Year-inspired chocolates. These delectable goodies were quite appreciated. (Thanks, Alvina!)

The other sweetie I received is an e-mail from a reader. While it is perhaps not as tasty, it is just as fulfilling:

Our family wishes to send its heartfelt thanks to you
for writing "Year of the Dog." We all loved your
latest book, especially our almost 10-year-old
daughter, Wendy. Wendy and her younger sister,
Sara, 8 yrs., were both born in China and adopted
when they were young. Wendy has already shared the
book with her best friend. I can't truly capture my
daughters' delight in the story -- it has been the
perfect story at a perfect moment in their life.
(Briefly, your book caught us while we were preparing
for the Chinese New Year, completing Science Fair
projects, and discussing life long questions related
to friendship, identity, and transracial adoption
issues).

We all remember reading and listening to your Ugly
Vegetable book many times. I hope you can imagine the
delight when my daughters' realized that the book that
Grace wrote in Year of the Dog was this family
favorite. There was much excitement in our family.
"We know that book!!"

Thanks so much. We are looking forward to your future
books and truly love the books that you have written
and illustrated. Sara still loves to look at the
book you illustrated about shapes, especially the last
page with the hong baos on a tree.

Wendy has renewed her enthusiasm to write and draw.
She's a wonderful, creative girl who told me last week
me that "I started as a seed and now I am a seed with
roots waiting to blossom." Your book provided
something special to her. Thanks again, my best
wishes, Mary

I think it's going to be a sweet year!

vanity, thy name is me

2006-01-26T14:11:00.000-08:00

Today, a lovely article about me and the "Year of the Dog" came out in the Somerville Journal. Unfortunately, it was accompanied by a particularly unlovely photo of me. I never thought I was vain, but that photo made me cringe. I should've known it was going to be weird when they were taking pictures of me reading the book. Here is my conversation with Robert about it:

Me: Oh my gosh! Look at that horrible picture of me!
Robert: Gee, why'd they print a picture of you with your mouth open?
Me: I look horrible, that double chin look and everything!
Robert: You are kind of holding your head kind of weird.
Me: Wait a minute, you're suppose to be telling me it's not so bad. That I'm beautiful and all that.
Robert: Well, you're an author, not a fashion model.

Hmm, the more I think about this conversation, the less comforted I feel.

to agent or not to agent, that is the question

2006-01-26T07:09:00.000-08:00

So after returning from my trip from Seattle, I have been mulling over my unagented status. During my trip, I met up with an up-and-coming novelist whose agent got her an advance that left me floored. Other friends of mine are pursuing agents or signing with the idea that the agents will procure movie deals, foreign rights and higher advances.

Which leaves me pondering my options. As the sole bread-bringer of the household, it would be quite beneficial to increase my income and make strides in my career. Maybe, maybe the only way for me to get to the next rung of the ladder is to get an agent to pursue improved opportunities for me.

Part of me thinks that an agent couldn't get me much more than what I've gotten myself. That, in fact, I'll get less because they'll end up taking a cut. Other authors have told me stories about getting huge advances and then the subsequent stalling of their careers because they were unable to sell out their enormous forestallment. The truth is I feel that my books are in a niche market, one with limitations. And that it isn't necessary to carry an agent with me to the ceiling.

However, is that a self-defeating prophecy? Am I selling my work short, already believing in its confines? Perhaps that is all the more reason to get an agent, to break the invisible barriers I have made.

And there is a bit of status in having an agent as well. All author/illustrators whom have “made it” seem to be agented. The image of success is usually incomplete without an agent dealing with the filthy lucre, leaving the artist able to be the creative genius that he/she is.

But agents are not magicians with hypnotic powers. Or are they? When I think over my friend’s amazing advance, I have to wonder.

and on i go

2006-01-25T07:27:00.000-08:00

I have returned. For a week. And then I’m off to Portland, Oregon to continue my attempt at a “Year of the Dog” tour.

And how has it been? Well, as a “Year of the Dog” promotional tour, I’d have to say it leaning towards the failure end. And oddly, not for lack of interest or fans. The schools I visited had ordered their books months ago and since “Year of the Dog” was not scheduled for release until Feb., didn’t order any. And the bookseller at the Chinese New Year event had never had an author come before, so conservatively brought only 25 copies of the book to sell. They were gone in a flash. I was a tiny bit annoyed as I had traveled a LONG way for the event and the attendance was 700+ people. A lot more books could’ve been sold. But the book people knew that and were very nice, so I gave myself a mental slap for being a snot (on the inside). It would've been horrible if none or only some of the books had sold, so even if I wasn’t quite satisfied, best to be grateful.

However, as an exercise in ego gratification, the tour is already phenomenal success. Nothing is more touching or rewarding then seeing hundreds of the cutest Asian girls looking at you with stars in their eyes. And having their parents say, “She LOVES your books. She sleeps with “The Ugly Vegetables” at night and we’ve read “Dim Sum For Everyone!” so many times that the binding is worn out.” And to hear it not once, but a number of times. It’s a heady experience, one that is uplifting and humbling at the same time.

I have grumbled and griped about my lack of success, judging it on coveted awards, promotional budgets and envy of peers. But, in the presence of my youngest devotees, those complaints are disgraceful. Yes, of course this is a business, of course I need to make money. But that’s not the reason I became a children’s book creator. The ability to connect with children is.

So, with those thoughts soothing my irritated soul, the tour will continue…and perhaps (if I am lucky) I’ll get to sell some book on the way!

surprise success

2006-01-15T12:01:00.000-08:00

On the morning of my exhibit opening, both Robert and I had a difficult time getting out of bed. Robert, because of his treatment and me, because of my dread of a tumbleweed opening. But, up we got, though a bit later than planned, and on we went (and arrived late-sorry!).

But what had been giving me cold chills turned out to be one of my most heartwarming experiences. People came. A lot of them. The word had gotten out through the school, libraries and newspaper and had alerted some of my core fans, who came out in packs. The museum (obviously surprised) ran out of books immediately. Good friends, Luke & Ranida, drove from Arlington and brought "Year of the Dog" cookies to take the place of the ones I din't have time to make.

And Robert was disgusted with me. "If you ever put down one of your events ahead of time like you did this one," he said, "I'm going to shake you. You disrespect your venue, your fans, and your work when you do that."

It's true, of course. Confidence in your failure is an insult to those who believe in you. Yet, self-assurance is hard to achieve simply out of good manners.

the motion of promotion

2006-01-13T17:37:00.000-08:00

Today, I finally received my author copies of Year of the Dog. Hooray! Now what to do with them...

While I am planning to just give my books away to friends, family,and charitable causes, my new marketing book says, "Resist the temptation to send books to your friends and family. Send to book reviewers, some producers and key bookstore buyers, instead." Hmm, I'm drawing a blank here. I don't know any reviewers, producers or key bookstore buyers. Well, I know some, but I'm uncomfortable thrusting my book upon them in a such an obvious "make people buy my book" way.

And I guess that is my issue with promotion and marketing. The naive part of me wants to believe that if my book is good enough, it'll find its audience and sell well on its own. But the reality is that no one will buy your book if they don't hear about it and it's not the best books that do well, it's the ones that "yell" the loudest. And I care too much about my books to let them slip into the out-of-print graveyard without a good war-cry.

So while I have not exactly embraced marketing, I have decided that we must at least hold hands. With the help (and prodding)of my sister, I've contacted groups and set up events in Seattle, Portland, and possibly San Diego and Arizona to try to push "Year of the Dog." I've sent out some postcards to friends and colleagues (and key bookstore buyers as suggested). I've written an article on why I wrote the book and offered it to publications. To me, this is marketing at full force--going full throttle into battle.

But, a brief perusal through marketing resources show me that my attack is not even a mere fistfight. It seems like if you really want to wrestle, you have to promote with every breath, view every conversation as an opportunity to sell. One resource sites an example of a woman who sold her book to every passenger on her airplane flight. The author wrote this in tones of admiration, but I was horrified. How obnoxious is it to have goods forced upon you when you can't even leave?

I want my books to do well, I want to promote them so they get the attention I feel they deserve. But I don't want to transform the labor of my work to boorish behavior. It's literature, not rock music.

But perhaps that's what my problem is and why I am not as successful as I could be. And really, I have no right to be condescending. Because, even though there is line between being a rat in the rat race and a mouse trying to find your way through the maze, you're still a rodent through and through.

judging my judgement

2006-01-12T21:47:00.000-08:00

So, today I was sent a gentle reminder that I have to send in my short list for the Golden Kite Awards. I think agreeing to be a judge was not one of my better decisions. Not only are we tripping over boxes of books, I am starting to feel uncomfortable in my position as judge. I've never won a big award, so I am well used to the envious, self-doubting feeling of the unchosen. That feeling of, "Gee, I wish my book was good enough to get chosen" mixed with, "They chose that?" Then, the panic of "If that book is so amazing and I didn't like it, maybe there is something wrong with me. I'm getting out of touch, I don't know what makes a good book anymore..."

So, after going through these annual feelings, it is strange to be on the other end. Now I am one of those cruel, unfeeling judges that just didn't see the genius.

During my school visits, I impress upon the students that every single one of the books in their library and classrooms has taken at least one year to make. So I do consider the fact that each book I judge is the culmination of a fellow artist's journey to publication. Each book, whether I like it or not, is someone's dream. Having been on the other side, I know the crushing, discouraging feeling of being cast aside. It's hard to realize that I may now be doing that to others.

And because of this, a part of me doesn't want to shortlist books that have already won awards and acclaim. I want to discover the unknown gems that I know are out there, that have not yet been shone in the light. But then, that seems like I am punishing those books that have won accolades. Ah, the conundrum!

Perhaps others don't care as much as all this and, as well as doing some over-dramatic projection, I am simply over-analyzing. It's the Golden Kite, not the Caldecott. But isn't it better to err on the side of hyperbole, if only to soothe my personal doubts?

I'll just pick the books I like. It's quite easy, if I didn't make it so difficult.

a new normal

2006-01-11T20:25:00.000-08:00

The two or three days before Robert gets a scan done are the hardest. Every headache he gets, every sore muscle or pimple on his nose is scrutinized.
"It's nothing," he'll say, "It's not the cancer."
"I know, I know," I say with a laugh, "It wouldn't show up like that anyway."

But it's a nervous laugh, one that hides the anxiety. Robert has been on this new chemo regiment since September. It's working, we know it's working...but everytime he goes in to get a scan there are the silent whispers. What if it's not working anymore? What if his cancer cells have built a resistance? What if...

Because we have been lulled into the chemo life of existence. And in many ways, it is wonderful. On the good days, we get to go grocery shopping, talk about home renovations and book events. We forget the invisible chains of of his illness.

But on other days, the limitations are frustrating. Aside from the strict schedule and physical discomforts, Robert has had to bury his ambitions, suppress his talents and change the foundation of his identity. The path before us is so different than what we planned. Sometimes, we don't even see a path.

Yet, whenever the bitterness burns our rooted feet, I stop and try to be grateful that we are still standing. It has been two years since Robert's relapse, already a year longer than one (misinformed) doctor even gave him to live. It is more than I had hoped for at one point.

So, after we get the good news that Robert's treatment is still working and that he will be continuing on with this treatment indefinitely, we are trying to accept that this is our new normal. That the map we drew is not the road that we will be building now. That we are going to become different people than we planned. That this is our lives and it's up to us to live it.

exploring the art of me

2006-01-10T14:45:00.000-08:00

My cold went from bad to wretched and now is staged at better. While my improved health was not in time for yesterday's school visit (ah, speaking to first graders in a frog voice--and I was being previewed for other schools...I am sure I was very appealing), the renewed energy is helpful as I try to get my work framed in time for my solo exhibit, titled "Exploring the Art of Grace Lin" at the Danforth Museum this weekend (Sat. 3pm).

Originally, I had planned this exhibit opening as my big "Year of the Dog" kick off. I was going to make red envelope invitations, send press releases, invite friends and family and make dog-shaped cookies. Then, germs attacked me.

So,I've moved to Plan B (really Plan C, but that's a long story) with 20+ pieces of art from an assortment of books framed all in red (to get that Chinese New Year feeling!) and a half-hearted effort to invite parents from a local school. And maybe (if I can stop coughing) some dog-shaped cookies. It's afar cry from my intial plans of a big bash.

As a result, I'm a bit apprehensive on the exhibit turnout. I've heard through the grapevine that past exhibits were not well attended. I have a bad feeling that "Exploring the Art of Grace Lin" will turn out to be an expedition of one lone explorer and a lot of germs.

seeing stars

2006-01-06T19:15:00.000-08:00

With the trials and tribulations of my life, I find myself embracing more the "new age-y" things I one scoffed at. Empowerment cards (given to me as a gift) are now occasionally read (My future is glorious! Today I am led to fulfillment!). Even horoscopes are glanced at for possible guidance. While I am looking for some kind of planetary pattern, a grand scheme that explains away misfortunes...I realize that this is how home shopping psychics make money. Poor, wandering fools like me are searching the stars for answers.

But can you blame us? Stars mark some of the best things in life. For Robert, that is the premiere of Battlestar Galactica, his favorite show on the SciFi Channel. After the season's cliff hanger finale, he has been waiting with bated breath to see what happens. During the opening sequence, he definitely gets stars in his eyes. (I'm not joking--despite the Italian suaveness my husband is closet sci-fi geek! Ha Ha! Now the world knows!)

For me, the star that marks my Year of the Dog review in Booklist makes me glassy-eyed. Yippeee! "Lin does a remarkable job capturing the soul and the spirit of books like those of Hayward or Maud Hart Lovelace, reimagining them through the lens of her own story, and transforming their special qualities into something new for today’s young readers." Yes, yes, thank you, thank you... I better not get too full of myself or else I might start seeing stars because someone wacks me one.

first review

2006-01-04T17:56:00.000-08:00

We return from Montreal with a haircut, food and a bad cold. My perfume of cough drops is almost as unattractive as the reddish tinge they give my teeth and my constantly running nose is not an enhancement either.

However, my present condition was temporarily forgotten as I discovered my first review of "The Year of the Dog" (Amazon now says it's available, yippee!). It's from Publisher's Weekly, a journal that doesn't usually treat me favorably.

And it's GOOD. Not starred, but definitely positive. I'm just grateful that it isn't trashed. I know that I shouldn't be influenced by reviews, that one's work should be created by their own standards. But, this novel has been a project of professional insecurity for a while--sometimes you just need that pat on the back. Right or wrong, with this positive review I feel a sense of relief and reinforcement that the direction I am heading with my books and writing is not crazy.

But most of all, I am delighted by the fact that Publisher's Weekly thinks I am charming. This is something that Robert would disagree with as I sit in my pajamas, with a flaming raw nose and a pile of used kleenex.

Publisher's Weekly: Lin, best known for her picture books, here offers up a charming first novel, an autobiographical tale of an Asian-American girl's sweet and funny insights on family, identity and friendship. When her family celebrates Chinese New Year, ringing in the Year of the Dog, Pacy (Grace is her American name) wonders what the coming months will bring. Her relatives explain that the Year of the Dog is traditionally the year when people "find themselves," discovering their values and what they want to do with their lives. With big expectations and lots of questions, the narrator moves through the next 12 months trying to figure out what makes her unique and how she fits in with her family, friends and classmates. Pacy experiences some good luck along the way, too, winning a contest that will inspire her career (Lin's fans will recognize the prize submission, The Ugly Vegetables, as her debut children's book). Lin creates an endearing protagonist, realistically dealing with universal emotions and situations. The well-structured story, divided into 29 brief chapters, introduces traditional customs (e.g., Hong Bao are special red envelopes with money in them, given as New Year's presents), culture and cuisine, and includes several apropos "flashback" anecdotes, mainly from Pacy's mother. The book's inviting design suggests a journal, and features childlike spot illustrations and a typeface with a hand- lettered quality. Girls everywhere, but especially those in the Asian-American community, will find much to embrace here.

oh, elusive balance!

2006-01-03T08:46:00.000-08:00

No sooner do I resolve for balance in my life do things falter. While visiting Montreal for the New Year's, Robert's father loses his balance and falls, cracking his rib. The Canadian health care system causes us to wait 6 hours in the emergency room which in turns throws his strict Diabetes and Parkinson medication schedule off kilter. An overworked mother and an emotional Italian grandmother add to Robert's already strained emotional psyche and the landscape seems to shake with instability.

Ah, to balance the ingrained reaction of hiding until the storm is over and the neccessary responsibility to be a part of the emotional roller coaster. Finding the balance to be sensitive enough to support yet tough enough to be take the emotional punching. My non-confrontational self has yet to be find the perfect equilibrium. Perhaps next year.

new year's resolution

2005-12-31T17:55:00.000-08:00

My father used to have my sisters and I write New Year's resolutions every year. Our lists were the most impracticable goals, ranging from "win the lottery" to "ride an elephant."

Now that I am older, I understand the "resolve" part of these resolutions a bit better and have tried to lower my expectations. For 2006, my deepest desire is to balance my life better.

This is due to a recent conversation with an illustrator friend of mine.

"I look at my paintings and all I see are months I was chained to my desk," she said, "And I look at all my books and I realize that so much of my life has been spent locked in my studio. While the world was happening outside, I've just been sitting at my desk. In some ways, I feel like I’ve wasted my youth."

Her words really struck me. I don't want regrets in my life, but they seem inevitable. Creating children's books is something I love but the path to a successful career is more competitive and demanding than one would assume. So, the dedication and energy funneled into this passion is time stolen from other areas. Robert constantly feels like he has to compete with the studio, meals are missed and the household is neglected due to my unrelenting focus.

And perhaps the most tragic are the experiences that I'm missing. The times that slip by unnoticed but always bring upon remembrances of guilt. How many times has Robert eaten alone while I feverishly painted? How many times have I not answered the phone calls of friends and family because I was too busy? How many dinners and get-togethers have I postponed indefinitely because my schedule was too full?

But it’s unrealistic to think my devotion to creating books can be “turned off” as well. Not only is it our fiscal foundation, it’s become intertwined with my identity—no easier cut off than an arm or a leg. But I know it can be balanced better so that other areas are not abandoned. So, that is my New Year’s resolution.

As well as “win the lottery,” of course.

christmas cookies

2005-12-28T21:22:00.000-08:00

In an attempt to get some holiday spirit into our household, Robert and I decided to make gingerbread cookies as a gift to my sister for the ham. So, ignoring my work for yet another day, we cut and decorated cookies.

Now, I am an attempting realistic cookie artist. I like to make the crocodiles green, put brown spots on a yellow giraffe. I labor on my cookies, wanting each piece to be an artwork.

This aspiration at cookie perfection amuses Robert. "You're so tight," he teases me,"You should just have some fun."

Robert then precedes to frost a gingerbread man blue. "See," he shows me,"This is how you do it."

And I realize he is right. His cookie, blue and all, certainly expresses more joy than mine. It was similar to when I developed my art style. At first, I was creating art realistically, just to prove to people I could draw. It was only when I let myself have fun that I really began to create images of joy. It is that core of happiness which makes things--art, people and cookies-- beautiful. And it is something I have lost track of.

So, I let go of my inner Martha Stewart and we make the most ridiculous cookies, laughing the whole time. And I begin to feel the holiday spirit. Because nothing says Christmas like a green gingerbread man.

ham for the holidays

2005-12-25T08:26:00.000-08:00

This Christmas had a couple of things missing. No tree. No family. No wild mushrooms. This last was perhaps the most frustrating as the wild mushroom risotto was the only dish agreed upon for the holiday menu and domesticated mushroom risotto just isn't the same.

My older sister, taking pity on these challenges sent Robert and I a ham for Christmas. This was quite welcome and helped ease the disappointment of the domesticated mushroom risotto. Unfortunately, this gift became a bone of contention to my mother, who was also alone.

"Lissy sent me a ham for Christmas," I tell my mother on the phone.
"Lissy sent you a ham?!" she said, "How come she sent you a ham? She didn't send me a ham."
"Uh, did you want a ham?" I asked, "I thought you and Dad don't like ham."
"No, No," she said, "I don't want one."
"Uh, I'll send you a ham," I said, "We can all chip in and get you the ham and cheesecake combo."
"No, don't send me anything," she says, "Don't waste your money."
"We'll send you a ham," I said, "the best one in the catalogue."
"Don't send me anything," she said, "If you do, I'll throw it in the garbage."

Now this kind of crazy-talk does not come often from my mother. I guess your common sense also goes missing when you are missing your family for the holidays.

Congratulations, it's a book

2005-12-21T21:53:00.000-08:00

Even though Amazon has it as not yet released, my editor sent me bound and finished copy of "The Year of the Dog" (thanks, Alvina!). Well, as Anne of Green Gables would say, this marks an epoch of my life.

This book is my first novel. So, it is almost as if I am getting a book published for the 1st time. I can no longer sport my jaded "been around the block" attitude. It's like I'm a new mom, again.

Because I imagine creating books is a bit like the birthing process. You have the exciting conception with its ecstasy of inspiration, the long publishing pregnancy (Is something wrong with the book? What do you mean it needs more dialogue?) and then the climatic birth (Congratulations, it's a book!).

And new babies do get attention. I'm a little nervous about the attention my new baby will get. What will people think of it? I love it, Robert loves it, my family loves it. But of course, we are a bit biased.

So, I tremble in fear of the judgment of impartial reviewers. I realize that book reviews are somewhat like sending in your child's college application to Harvard. A few get that starred entrance. Others are politely waitlisted with a tepid response. And then, some are flatly rejected.

However, an Ivy League education is no guarantee of future success...just like a starred review. I have to remember that. I just have to believe that I created my book with the best that I had in me and in the end, that is all I can do.

Still, I hope the reviews don't give my book diaper rash.

ode to obuchowski

2005-12-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I received and e-mail from my editor of "The Year of the Dog" (my first novel). "We're going to push the release date of your book up," she wrote me, "Instead of February as planned, we're going to release Dec. 20th--so there's time for it to get to the stores before Chinese New Year."

"Great," I thought, "It's coming out sooner." Then I realized, it's coming out sooner.

Quickly, I e-mailed my web genius friend Jon Obuchowski.

"Hey, Jon," I write, "Remember how I wanted my new website to launch with the release of my book? Well the release is Dec. 20th..."

I could hear the screams through cyberspace.

But he did it. The new website (go and see it:www.gracelin.com) is up and running. Today. With the release of my book. Even after the long nights of the robertssnow website, Jon continued to burn the midnight oil on gracelin.com.

THANKS JON!!!

a moment of melancholy

2005-12-17T21:00:00.000-08:00

This year we're not going to put up the Christmas tree. It's been too crazy, too busy. The house is a disaster, snowflakes and packing material litter every surface and my work which has been long ignored is finally demanding attention. And I am tired. Tired of responsibilites and of worries. Tired of trying to please people, making (and breaking) deadlines, and meeting my own expectations.

And it's this weariness that leads me to a moment of melancholy. In the joyful holiday time that surrounds me, as friends and family rush to exotic locales and plentiful parties, I feel like a lone stone in a pool of swirling water--unmoveable and weighted down in the fluidity of life.

Perhaps it is like postpartum depression, the inevitable result of the snowflake euphoria. Perhaps it is just the grind of Robert's health, his mood swings and chemo irritations affecting my state of being. Or perhaps it is just the holidays, a time of cheer which depresses the cheerless.

Regardless, I hope it is a passing moment. One that some chocolate cake and ice cream will make pass quicker.

Goodbye, Snow!

2005-12-16T19:33:00.000-08:00

I meant to write many amusing anecdotes about the end of the Robert's Snow auctions (over $100,000!), party, etc. but have been overwhelmed by the actual mailing of the snowflakes. This year, since the payments are by check and have been coming in intermittedly, there's no real methodical way of shipping and packing the snowflakes. Except for the way I'm doing it. By myself, one by one.

So it's been slow, like shoveling out a snowdrift with a spoon. But even though it is time-consuming, it's nice to handle each one before they are off. Also, I like to think about the fact that I have over $100,000 worth of art on my floor. Makes me feel rich...albeit temporarily.

i'm the illustrator

2005-12-10T21:18:00.000-08:00

For the past 3 years, Ki-Ki and I have sold my books at a booth at the RISD Alumni sale. It's been fun, lucrative and puzzling.

The puzzling part is because everytime a buyer asked to get a book autographed they always asked Ki-Ki to sign it. Well, not every time--but 8 out of 10 (we counted). People assumed she was Grace Lin. Apparently, she looks more like a children's book illustrator than me.

This was issue we pondered deeply. Why? Was it her demeanor? Did she act more friendly? Younger? Older? What do people think children's book illustrators look like? Do they think they are soft, granny-like ladies with grey hair? Sexy, thin a la Teri Hatcher in Desperate Housewives? Whatever they think, Ki-Ki looks more like it than me.

So, this year we decided to challenge their preconceived notions and labeled ourselves.

This was quite successful. In fact, I think we sold more books because so many people were amused by our shirts. We are making Robert an "I'm the husband" shirt for next year. He can't wait...

tea for two

2005-12-06T20:14:00.000-08:00

On my mother's last visit, she gave me three big boxes (each about the size of a wedding cake) of tea.

"I got this from Taiwan," she told me, "It will cure Robert's cancer. He has to drink it two times a day. When you run out, I'll get more."

I am slightly skeptical, especially since right after Robert's diagnosis my older sister sent me similiar "cure all" diet. That one consisted of Robert eating only cottage cheese and flaxseed oil. The doctors had quickly dismissed it.

But I look at the ingredients. With the exception of something called "champuignon," it seems pretty harmless. It can't hurt and, heck, Robert needs more fluids.

So, like the dutiful wife I am, I brew him this special tea. Robert wrinkles his nose.
"What is that?" he asks.
"It's tea for you," I say.
He takes a sip and shrugs, "It tastes like dirty sock water."

Obviously, it is a bit of struggle to make him drink it twice a day. In the morning I make and bring a cup to him. After a small sip to appease me, it usually just sits on the table.

In the meantime, I try to dream up ways to make it more tolerable. Maybe if I make it into a soup? Put wontons in it?

But I have a sneaking suspicion it is all for naught. Dirty sock water soup doesn't sound any more appetizing than dirty sock water tea.

blah, blah, blog

2005-12-02T09:23:00.000-08:00

The other day, I was the guest for the Foundation for Children's Books Conversations With...Author and Illustrator Series. So, it was an open forum conversation with me!

So, I talked a lot. It was quite nice actually. I'm never confident about which rung I am on the ladder of my career but this talk let me look down and see how high I've climbed. Others have climbed (much) higher and faster ( and some people get the elevator), but my view isn't too bad.

We spoke mainly about my books and Robert's Snow, but during the converation we also discussed my blog.

Which brings up the question, why do I blog? Why am I laying bare so many details of my life and soul to a faceless audience?

Perhaps it's therapy. But I also think it's because as an author I am compelled to write down the moments that are important to me. And to share them.

I guess, somehow, it's not enough for me to write and paint things and stick them under my bed. I feel a need to connect to someone no matter how few. I think that is the way it is when you are in the creative field. It's not enough just to write a book, you want it to be published--you want people to read it. The truth is creation is incomplete unless it's shared.

It's like the old philosphical question, if a tree falls in the middle of the forest and no one knows about it, did it really fall? Who knows? The truth is if no one sees it or hears it, no one cares. And in a way, it might as well not exist. I am like a mushroom in that forest. Sometimes I get trampled on, sometimes I grow but I want to feel like I exist. I want to feel like it matters. That I matter.

Seems like a desire worth blogging for.

Snow Headaches

2005-12-01T09:16:00.000-08:00

Usually I try to write interesting things on this blog, but today will be an explanation blog. For some reason, Robert's Snow has had many many technical difficulties this year and I know bidders want to know why. Well, here's why.

Today, I received an e-mail that my eBay accounts have been suspended. In fact, the account that I've posted the snowflakes on has been revoked all together. This is after my paypal account has been flagged as well. Here are the reasons:

1. I have two accounts--one that has the auctions and another that I have been bidding with. I've been bidding, obviously because I want to win some snowflakes. However, eBay caught wind that both accounts belong to the same person and has assumed I am trying to swindle bidders by inflating prices.

2. I have violated eBay's listing policy by allowing people to contact me directly if they want to purchase the snowflake outright.

3. The paypal account has been flagged for "undisclosed reasons" and suspended unless I show proof of shipment 7 days after the auction has been held. This doesn't work because all the snowflakes are on display until Dec. 11th.

4. If we are selling for a charity, we have to use their missionfish program which takes a percentage.

Boo-hiss! I think it's #4 that has really annoyed them. We used missionfish last year and ended up paying their crummy fees. And since paypal is an eBay company, I'm sure that is why our account was flagged too. Well, I'm not sure...but I have my suspicions.

And I am shoveling through this. I've asked people to pay by check or money order (when you do, please include your shipping address and which snowflake you won with your check). We are going to relist the remaining snowflakes using missionfish on Sunday.

My biggest worry is that bidders will think that there is something underhanded going on, that I am secretly pocketing the money and an eBay sting has happened. NO, NO, NO! I'm not taking a cent. It's all for Dana-Farber. You can go ask them!

http://jimmyfund.org/eve/event/roberts-snow/

So, here is my plea to all bidders: Don't give us on us, even though there's been a lot of bumps this year. Keep bidding. Snow is beautiful but it can be inconvenient and cause a lot of problems. But would you want a world without it?

Happy Thanksgiving!

2005-11-23T20:39:00.000-08:00

In honor of the holiday,my parents drove down from Upstate NY to celebrate with us. This is the first time I've been the "host" of Thanksgiving, but as Robert had treatment the next day all had to flock to us.

Unfortunately, Thanksgiving came the day after we returned from LA. Not only were my parents coming, but Ki-Ki, my cousin Austin and his girlfriend were as well. To alleviate cooking stress, I ordered the "Whole Foods Dinner For Eight." This caused quite an uproar in the family. No, not because it was boughten, prepared food. Because it was a turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes. As my Dad said in confusion, "It's American food!"

Ah, yes, I've destroyed the time honored Lin tradition of stir-fried shrimp, rice noodles, spare ribs, fried dumplings and steamed fish for Thanksgiving. And what is Thanksgiving without the sushi? And the sliced oranges for dessert?

However, all condescended to eat and, if the groans of fullness were any indication, all were quite satisfied. My mom did insist on slicing oranges for dessert (even though there was pumpkin pie). Some things are sacred.

back on the west coast

2005-11-23T20:38:00.000-08:00

As soon as I returned from my trip from Philadelphia, I raced though the week of a TV interview, 3 school visits, and one speech to get to a Friday 8 AM flight to visit sunny LA. This trip had been the target of the month for me, as it's a trip Robert is accompanying me on. It's his first airplane trip since relapsing a 3rd time, his first trip out of the northeast for a year. He's been eager and excited to see the west coast, get a change of scenery and out of the cold.

But I have had my hesitations. Los Angeles, Santa Monica--it's a place of bittersweet memories...perhaps more bitter than sweet. We had lived there once upon a time for a short span of 4 months, right after our marriage. We had our future mapped out in the sand. Robert was going to work for Frank Gehry, we'd bike on the beach, live in our white shiny apartment and dream of a future full of palm trees and sunny skies.

However, our move there was a disaster. It was there our wedding gifts were destroyed by the movers, Robert was layed off and then diagnosed with cancer. When I packed up our apartment without him, the bright sun seemed to mock me.

So it was with some misgivings, that we returned. But our return became a watershed moment. Somehow, we let go of the old baggage. Even though our days had events (snowflake showing at Storyopolis, book reading at FCC-SoCal) we were able to snatch enough time away to do the things we didn't have a chance to before. And enjoy it.

I don't know what our future holds. At times, I look at the past years and feel like it is an ocean wave trying to drown us. But we're still swimming. And who knows, maybe we'll make it to the beach yet. Sometimes, like these past couple of days, I can almost see the pina coladas waiting for us.

good fortune

2005-11-12T05:50:00.000-08:00

Some time ago a couple of friends and I made a list of the ten things we wanted accomplish in our lifetime. In an attempt to free ourselves from guilt, we nixed goals such as "fight cancer" and made the list be a personal achievement list. In other words, we were writing down our most personal and most ego-gratifying wishes.

One of the things that I listed was "have one of my books made into a theatrical performance." Well, since then I have had that privilege happen to me not once, but twice. The first time was in Portland, Maine when a group put on the play performance of The Ugly Vegetables. And the second time is most recently in Philadelphia where a dance preformance of Fortune Cookie Fortunes was produced.

The Union of Hearts and Cultures is an annual event put on by the FCC-DV. It's an event that promotes diversity, mixed heritages and races. The performance of Fortune Cookie Fortunes was going to be the highlight event and I the guest of honor. I couldn't wait to see what they created.

And it was wonderful. Truly gratifying. Yes, the performers were kids and teenagers, but they danced and held themselves like professional adults. In front of a packed auditorium, waiters danced and tossed trays and fortunes came to life. The ending joyful dance was completed with the cast throwing fortune cookies out to the crowd. I could see the hours of work behind the dancing, the costumes, and the sets which emulated my work so much that there were swirls in the sky. It really was delightful and I was honored they performed my book.

Sometimes when you get things that you want, they fall hollow or the satisfaction is fleeting. It seems like it's human nature to move onto the next wish, the next goal. As I cross "have one of my books made into a theatrical performance" off my list, I catch myself doing that. Almost immediately, my next thought was to look over the other unfulfilled wishes...and I stop myself. It's so easy to lose the good stuff, so easy to lose the pride and self confidence. And it's even easier to take it for granted. So, maybe, instead of rushing onto the the next ambition, I'll just savor my good fortune and try to hold onto it for a while.

the value of snow

2005-11-06T20:02:00.000-08:00

The Robert's Snow Kick off event was a huge success! It actually surpassed my expectations. The snowflakes got hung (10 hour marathon), people came (so many that the gallery owner had to put on the air conditioning), food and wine sufficed (without breaking the bank thanks to my tireless food volunteers) and everyone had a grand time--including me and Robert! I was truly amazed it came together.

The auctions have started and I'm curious about the bidding. At the gallery, I heard an offhand comment after Ki-Ki mentioned how unique the snowflakes were. "I guess that's why they're worth so much," someone said.

But their worth really does go beyond the pretty pictures. In all the press, I emphasize the famous names, the exclusivity, the collectability of these snowflakes. Because that's good marketing. No one wants to hear the depressing stuff. But, the sad stuff is what gives these snowflakes a value beyond their starting price.

Bid for everything cancer touches. Bid for the nurses and the doctors who know their words are cold comfort. Bid for the spouses that suddenly realize that "in sickness" and "death do us part" is for real. Bid for the kids who have no hair and are pulled to treatment in a wagon. Bid for the parents who age 10 years in 10 minutes. Bid for the friendships that fade away because people just don't understand or know what to do. Bid for Chad, the boy who lost his father to cancer and flew in from Virginia just to see the snowflakes. Bid for David, an artist that dedicated his snowflake to his brother who died of cancer. Bid for Steve, the volunteer who hand cut all 200 snowflakes with his scroll saw in his garage. Bid for Jon, the computer programmer, who stayed up past 2 AM night after night working on the website. Bid for Robert who sat alone in the infusion center while all the other patients were surrounded by friends and family. Bid for yourself and all the days you'll remember and wish you didn't.

Bid for all of these reasons. Or bid for some them. Or bid for none of them at all. Just bid and know that no matter what you pay, that snowflake is worth so much more.

preparing for the storm

2005-10-24T09:08:00.000-07:00

Will I get it all done? The big Robert's Snow kick-off event is on Nov. 3rd and I feel like I'm racing. Suddenly the checklist is getting divided into things that must be done and things that I thought I'd like done but I probably won't do. Here's the weekend schedule:

Sat: drive to Newburyport and pick up the snowflakes, stop at Haverhill and pick up donations of tablecloths, wine, and glasses (about an hour and a half drive each way). On the way home stop at Target and buy a folding table. Get home and feed Robert. Spend night sorting snowflakes, prepping labels.

Sun: Robert at the hospital in the morning. Pick up signage from Kinkos. Transport goods to gallery in afternoon. Hang snowflakes, which I'm quite stressed out about as the it's only me and Ki-Ki hanging. Return, feed Robert and hope that he hasn't withered away from neglect.

I could keep going with the Mon., Tues, Wed. schedule (post auctions, e-mail rsvps,etc. etc) but I think you get the idea. Suffice to say that there is a lot to do and that planning this event is like planning a wedding only without getting married.

All this is starting to make Robert and I quite cranky. We are glad these are the end days of the project. Just want to make sure it goes off with a big bang...and that I get it all done.

being beautiful

2005-10-23T22:05:00.000-07:00

Taking advantage of the calm before the Robert's Snow storm, my sister Ki-Ki, Robert and I decide to take a quick pleasure trip to Montreal. Robert, wants to see his parents. Ki-ki and I want to be beautiful.

The temptation of beauty is offered by Robert's tres fashionable mother. She takes us to her hairdresser, Dina--a veritable hair artist. As we sit down in the chic Westmount Spa, they offer us cappucino. Hmm, something tells me we aren't at supercuts.

We sign on for a full hair makeover- colored highlights, cut and style. The colorist shows us hair color samples.

"For your hair," she says in her french accent, "You can go caramel or red. Which would you prefer?"
I choose red, but to my dismay so does Ki-Ki.
"Don't choose red," I tell her, "then we'll look exactly alike."
"I don't want caramel," she tells me, "that's the color that all the hoochi-mamas go."
"But no one will be able to tell us apart," I protest.
"You go caramel then," she tells me.
"But then I'll look like a hoochi-mama," I say, "You do it."

Obviously, this is not an effective argument and both of us get red hair. In an attempt for some differentiation, Ki-Ki chooses a color that seems brighter. The colorist brushes on the the dye, wraps us in tin foil, and sets a timer. We are like two hams baking next to eachother.

When the timer rings, we are unwrapped and washed. Suprisingly, our hair is color is quite different. My hair has carroty red streaks and Ki-Ki's hair has more of a plum red overtone. When Robert picks us up he tells us we look great but doesn't see the difference.

"It's good you both got red," he says, "People will think it's natural in your family."
"No, they won't," Ki-Ki scoffs, "It's two completely different shades."
Robert turns to his father, "What color do you think it is?"
"Red," he says, "It looks the same to me."
We try to point out the difference, but neither men are very interested.
"I told you you should've gone caramel," I tell Ki-Ki, "now people will think we're exactly alike."
"Or that we're sisters," she says pointedly.

But I'm happy because my hair is no longer in my eyes. Ki-ki is happy because her hair no longer looks like a mushroom. Robert is happy because he can pretend he has a new wife. So, in the end, we are all quite satisfied.

going to the ballet

2005-10-20T11:03:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, Robert and I went to the ballet. Doesn't that sound so cultured? To be honest, I don't know too much about ballet, but I have a soft spot theater and dance performance (Noel Streatfeild's books are my favorite).

Robert willingly accompanied me to Boston Ballet's "Cinderella." We had gone to a number of theatrical productions in the past and enjoyed it ("Caberet","Rent", etc.) so we both looked forward to a fun evening out. We had 2nd row seats so we could see the exquisite details of the orchestra violins to the beading of the ballerina's dress. Little girls dressed in flouncing dresses bounced around us (painting above is a little girl waiting for the curtain to rise, done in my sketchbook soon after). I was in awe. It was gorgeous--the colors, the floating skirts and glowing pumpkin carriage.

But it was not quite the same for Robert. He shifted around, ate all our junior mints and skittles and stifled a yawn or two. After the first act was over, he looked at me and said wryly, "So...they don't talk in a ballet, do they?"

We get home and before going to bed, Robert surfs a bit on the computer to unwind. I continue to gush about the ballet. "Didn't you love the scene at the ball?" "And when the Prince searched and they made it seem like he was going all over the world?" Did you see how the lighting made it seem like they were outside?" Polite nods and smiles. "Yes," he said, "It was nice." But he seems a bit distracted by the internet.

"What are you looking at?" I ask.
"Oh," he said, "I'm just downloading the movie trailer for 'Doom.'"

I think a bloody movie is in my future.

i'm a runner!

2005-10-16T13:02:00.000-07:00

Sometime last spring, I lamented to my sister about being out of shape, not wanting to pay for a gym, etc. and she said, "Well, why don't we start running?"
"Okay!" I said, "Let's do it. Every other day, we'll go running."
Robert, who listened to this conversation, was quite amused. "You're not going to go running," he said, "I can't even get you to run to the store and pick me up a sandwich."
"No, I'm going to do it," I insisted, "I'm going to be a lean, mean running machine. Why are you laughing?"
"You're just not a runner," Robert laughs.

Just to be contrary, I try it. And huff and puff for 8 minutes. And then walk for 15. And then run the last minute home, so it looks like I ran the whole way.

"See, I ran!" I say triumphantly. Robert is not fooled.
"Gee, you're not very sweaty from running that long."
"Okay, I walked most of it," I admit.
"See, you're just not a runner," he says teasingly.

So to prove him wrong and because I am ashamed of my inability to run longer than 8 minutes, I keep at it. I don't run every other day, but am able to do it 1-3 times a week. I get better. So much so that Ki-ki and I decide to run a 5K race.

"How long is a 5K?" Robert asks.
"A little over 3 miles," I tell him.
"Can you run that far?" he asks.
"Of course!" I say, though I have my doubts. I don't tell him that I think this will be the longest distance I've run and I'm not sure if I can finish.

So, on Sunday morning we run the Shape Up Somerville 5K and... I win a medal!!!

I win 3rd place in my age group (females age 30-40). Of course, there were only about 33 people in my category (there were 120+ people in the under 30 category, which is why Ki-Ki got nothing! Ha-ha! But then maybe people lied about their ages and said they were under 30 when they weren't, I know I almost did) and I was more on the 30 side while the others were on the 40 side...but my goal was really just to finish, so it was a hilarious bonus.

I finish off the morning running home to Robert with my medal.
"Look," I tell him, "I AM a runner."
He just grins.

little things

2005-10-12T21:27:00.000-07:00

It's the little things that make you feel smart. And in this case, the little thing is my ipod. In an unusual display of technical savvines, I updated my school visit set up. Instead of lugging around a computer, portfolio, and books, I now have a small (3 pound) projector and a photo ipod. All my images--book pages, photos, the whole works-- are on the ipod, hook it into my projector and, Voila! My speech! Everything fits in the size of a lunchbox and I might have to start worrying that my arms will grow flabby without the constant lifting of heavy equipment.

I decided to test this set up for the first time at a college guest lecture--one of the tougher crowds. The students come from all facets-some interested in publishing, some teaching...many of them not interested in children's books specifically. Getting through layers of disdain and making them respect the genre is a challenge. So it was a lecture that I had to be "on" and would particularly benefit from a lack of technical difficulties.

Coming into the room with my small bag, I had slight misgivings. Perhaps this wasn't the wisest time to test this system out after all. What if the projector suddenly blasted my sappy song playlist instead? But it worked like magic, flawlessly and effortlessly. For once, I could give my speech without equipment disasters or worries. Freed from mundane concerns, I spoke passionately and with feeling. After my words, I asked for questions. Hands raised. I knew I had reached them...

And the first question was, "Is that an ipod?"

first snow

2005-10-10T21:06:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night ... which is how all important events in my life go. My birthday, my wedding and now the first Robert's Snow event of 2005. After months of planning and an exhausting day of hanging last minute snowflakes, putting together goodies bags (really nice ones, I must add), prepping food, and organizing books...it rained. And it rained hard. The wind howled and the temperature sank...just like our expectations. Who would come out on a night like this?

But they came. Amazingly. And a lot of them. All of them were dripping, some of them blown in by the wind with their umbrellas reversed. One artist had driven 2 hours to come. An enthusiastic couple came from CT and had made hotel reservations just for it. One friend came on a bus from NYC that morning. Another brought chocolate pastries. All for the snowflakes.

This project has been a rollercoaster for me. Most people who start fundraisers are people who already have money, people who have families close by, people who have already beaten the disease, or celebrities. They are not unknown newly-wed wives that rack up credit card debts and let their husband go to chemo treatments alone.

But we, Robert and I, believed so strongly in this project that we pursued it. When a doctor says , "no cure" to you, it makes you a little crazy. Crazy enough to attempt something like this. But it's not without regrets. The project has become so close to me that any criticsm flicks me in the raw. Instead of making me have a thicker skin, this project has skinned me.

But seeing people come to the show in the midst of flood warnings, downed trees and telephone lines is like being wrapped in a warm hug. Suddenly, things are starting to focus and I'm realizing the work that I am doing does matter. And I'm not in it alone. Friends have become family and strangers have become friends. People care...and they care a lot. Robert's Snow is going to do something. And it's going to be worth it.

"Snow is like kindness. It beautifies everything it covers." -Anonymous

buried in books

2005-10-06T12:10:00.000-07:00

Even though I didn't need more things to do, I agreed to be a judge for the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators Golden Kite Award. Yes, I am years behind on my work. Yes, Robert's Snow has sucked up the free time in my life. When Iwas asked, my first reaction was, "No way, I have no time!" but then the nice asking person said the one thing that made me do a 180 degree turn. "Of course," she said, "You'll get to keep all the books."

What? Free books? Sign me up!

Since money has gotten a bit tighter, I'd been forced to ration my book buying. One or two a month. Paperbacks, not hardcovers now. And it just had not been the same. Now someone was offering me free books. Lots of them. Good ones, she promised. The temptation was just too great. It was like offering a chocoholic Willy Wonka's golden ticket.

So now I am in books up to my ears. And there's a problem. I'm a picture book text judge. Do you know how hard it is for an illustrator not to be influenced by the pictures?

"Stop looking at the illustrations!" my sister (who acts part time as my manager) chided me, "You're suppose to be judging on the STORY."
"I can't help it," I complained.
"You should just have the stories typed out on white paper without the pictures," she said, "That's the only way for you to be impartial."
"You can type them!" I said, looking at the enormous stack.
"NO," she said, "But, maybe you can ask the SCBWI to do it. Maybe they can send everything to you in manuscript format."

And she's right. Reading manuscripts would be more fair. Perhaps I should ask SCBWI about it. But I don't. Because they might actually do it. And then I wouldn't get any more free books...

where am i?

2005-10-04T18:45:00.000-07:00

I am now scheduled for books up to Spring 2008. 6 years ago, I would have thought this was too wonderful to be true. Now,it just seems overwhelming with vague nightmarish qualities. How is this possible?

Besides the actual scheduling and overworking problems that I'll get into at another time, it is the horrible, fearful, overhanging shadow of being overpublished that is haunting me recently. What is this overpublished problem you ask? Well, recently my colleague and friend Tim Basil Ering (who illustrated the Newbury winner "Tale of Desperaux", by the way) related this story to me:

"I told my editor that I was illustrating a book with another publisher," he told me, "and the expressions on his face was like his dog had died."
"Really? Why?" I asked.
"Well, he told me that publishing houses don't like you to published with too many places," Tim said, "he told me, 'Ideally, you should publish with one house. Two houses, is acceptable. But more than that...well, you're a publishing whore."

I have 5 publishing houses.

This is a hard thing to fess up to, but I think I am a publishing whore. I publish with whomever will pay me. I feel bad, a sell-out, less literary and pure. Someone disloyal who has dirtied their art.

But another part of me bristles at it. Hey, I don't get company benefits, a salary, a possiblity of promotion or even a nominal Christmas bonus. I have to pay my own health insurance (and Robert's), look after my own retirement (which I probably never will do anyway) as well as pay the bills. I need to survive, I need to support. It's impossible (at least for me, probably not for JK Rowling) to just stick with one publisher and (at most) one book a year. Why must loyalty be proven with bankruptcy?

But it's these small decisions that haunt me. I worry about their long lasting repercussions. Am I eating today to starve tommorrow? Am I ruining the quality of my work for filthy lucre? I don't think I am, but am I the correct judge? Van Gogh or Disney? Do you really get to make the choice? Or is that choice made by the small decisions on the way?

too much snow

2005-10-01T18:16:00.000-07:00

Robert's Snow
What does it take to make it snow? Well, for the first half of my twenty-four hour day: it takes a meeting past midnight, an early morning radio interview (7AM), and a booksigning (hour drive). For the 2nd half of my day: scanning snowflakes, posting snowflakes, typing artist bios, checking for typos in artist bios (lots and lots), designing invitations, responding to gallery owners & PR people, printing out info and images for gallery owners and PR people, going to the post office to mail the printouts, putting together packages of flyers for conferences, artists, and groups and then going to the post office to mail the packages, uploading and reviewing info and files for the website (look at our new movie at www.robertssnow.com), scheduling events...you get the idea.

In the middle of this, Robert gets a little testy. "Hey," he says, "isn't this project suppose to be for ME? Then how come you can't spend any time with ME?"

And it's true. Somewhere along the way this project got too big. Wonderful in many ways, but overwhelming. Too many artists to please, too many responsibilities that I took to heart. Too much. We have to pay the bills, I need to get paying work done and Robert feels neglected. So I add to my to-do list: Cancel some events. Decline some appearances. Ignore some e-mails. Spend more time with my husband. Work on things that will make me happy. Sleep.

Hope I get to those.

i like shiny things

2005-09-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

I am a small mushroom in the forest of children's books, but every once and a while I get a nice ray of sun. The other day it was when my editor and friend sent me the cover for my new book. The Year of the Dog, my first middle grade novel is going to feature gold foil on the cover! This is a quite a landmark in my publishing career. To non-children's book types this is but a piddling accomplishment, but to one who has toiled the achievement of a shiny, additional cost cover is no small feat.

It is so pretty and gold that when Robert saw it he said, "Hey, it looks really good. They should give you that gold sticker award and it'll match."
"Uh, you mean the Newbury Award?" I said.
"Yeah," he said, "it would go perfectly."
Somehow I doubt aesthetic reasons are in their judging criteria.

gold star day

2005-09-27T09:12:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was a really good day. Robert got test results back from his CT scan and it showed his tumor had shrunk. Yippee!! We are very happy, we had been scared that we'd have to change treatments again. We used to hope to hear about miraculous cures, nowadays we settle for stability.

It's been a pretty long haul for us, we're going on about 3 years of chemo treatments, experimental drugs and tests (nonstop). It's been so long that a lot of people forget that Robert even has cancer. I never forget. Recently, I've come to the realization that chemo with steroids is like extremely bad PMS. Here's an example:

normal Robert:"Honey, I'm going to throw out your tomatoes, they look like they are getting fruit flies."

chemo Robert: "Where the *^$!%$!! are these fruit flies coming from? *^%!#&@! They're coming from your tomatoes, *&@%!# why do you leave these things out? Is it so hard to get rid of them?! Why is our kitchen is always such a *^#%@!$! mess!"

Too bad I can't give just give him a Midol.

hello, blog!

2005-09-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

So, to the disdain of the two people closest to me I have decided to start this blog.

When I told my sister Ki-Ki, she scrunched up her face and said, "You're gonna blooooog?"
"Yes," I told her, "it'll be fun! People can read all about the little things going on in my life."
"I don't care for blogs," she said, "they're just not interesting."
"Mine will be," I insisted, "I'm very interesting!"
"Uh-huh," she said, "to you."

My husband Robert was not much more encouraging.
"So a blog is like an online journal?" he probed.
"Yep," I nodded.
"But why would you want people to read your journal," he said, "It's private."
"For fun!" I said.
"Well, promise me you won't write anything about me in it," he said.
"Okay," I said, "I promise. I won't write anything about you, how you have pajamas with big red hearts all over them or how you watch Battlestar Galactica or how you don't know how to spell the word 'receive'. I know that embarrasses you."