Everyday We Know a Little More

When I spotted this sculpture on a lawn down in Providence, I desperately wanted it to get up and walk. For this strange desire I blame Matt Denton. He's the ingenious fellow behind the Mantis, a massive, six-legged ride-able robot. I wrote about his work in Popular Science; the article is here.

While we're on journalism, here’s a quote from a scientist I interviewed recently: “There is no way human beings can comprehend the deepest secrets of the universe, but everyday we know a little more. We accumulate more knowledge so we can appreciate our life in the universe a little more.”

To a young reader named Devin: I'm sorry, but I lost your address. Thanks for the notes. That's so cool that you have a fort down the road from your house and that you discover something new every time you go there. As for the changes to Fish, I like your suggestion. Thimble definitely could have been Thread. But there's something about the name Thimble that works a little better for me, and connects more with the other, not-very-pirate-like side of him.

Some kind of illness knocked me out last week, and I took advantage of the time off to read both versions of Kerouac’s On the Road. I’m speaking of the original draft, which he wrote in three weeks on a single piece of paper taped together at numerous points, known as the scroll, and the finished, published version that came out several years later. Comparing the two, and reading them back to back, made me want to yell at his editor. The finished one feels and looks like a novel, but the original is a madman’s soul spilled out on the page. It is real. I did not feel like I was reading the work of a writer. I felt like I had a seat inside someone's brain. And I love that the narrator does not refer to himself as a writer in the original scroll. He’s just telling this insane story that he absolutely, desperately has to tell. The final, published version is more polished, and has many of the same lines and scenes, but it lacks that frantic energy.

A few lines great lines, which do turn up in both, I believe:

“I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”

“It was like the arrival of Gargantua; preparations had to be made to widen the gutters of Denver and foreshorten certain laws to fit his suffering bulk and bursting ecstasies.”

That last one reminded me of the great Sappho fragment, via Salinger: "Raise high the roof beams, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man."

This scene also stood out:

“When Pauline saw me with Neal and Louanne her face darkened...she sensed the madness they put in me. ‘I don’t like you when you’re with them.’ ‘Ah it’s allright, it’s just kicks. We only live once. We’re having a good time.’ ‘No, it’s sad and I don’t like it.’”

You’re mostly seeing this story unfold from the narrator’s perspective, and he’s generally thrilled and excited about all that’s happening. Now, though, he lets Pauline speak, and as a reader you’re left with a better sense of what it might have been like to be around them. There had to be a powerful undercurrent of sadness or desperation.

This is a common writer’s trick – the narrator suddenly noticing someone reacting differently to a scene or sequence. As the reader you’re exposed to the narrator’s perspective, and he or she is convincing you that everything is one way, and then they point out that someone’s crying, and you recall that you’re only seeing this story from one particular vantage point, and that it might be a wholly different story to the others on the scene. Look for it. Unexpected tears are everywhere in fiction.

And speaking of roads…I could not throw away an old plastic shower curtain last week. Just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Why? Because of The Road. The insane, post-apocalyptic Cormac McCarthy novel. I have the audio version and listen to it often and when I was trying to throw out the old curtain I kept thinking how the man and the boy really could have used that plastic sheet while they were wandering around, to use as a roof or cover from the rain. So it’s in my garage. Stuffed in a corner. In case there’s an apocalypse.

It's Just Not Like Music

This well-dressed gentleman on the left greeted visitors to the Martha's Vineyard Agricultural Fair this summer. Who would have thought the grim reaper would go in for a strapless dress?

The summer was moderately hot, but our local power company recently informed us that we are far more efficient than our neighbors, and it’s only right to thank Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Ever since reading this passage from Love in the Time of Cholera -

“…in the end they were convinced of the merits of the Roman strategy against heat, which consists of closing houses during the lethargy of August in order to keep out the burning air from the street, and then opening them up completely to the night breezes.”

- we have been using the technique at home. 

In the past few weeks, I spoke with various experts about cryptography, neutrinos, viruses, and the process by which bread, rolls, and other freshly baked goods move from ovens to delivery trucks. Surprisingly fascinating. In fact I’m embarrassed to confess that I found the baking supply chain stuff more interesting than the secret sharing. Perhaps this was due to degree of difficulty.

Recently we took our kids fishing for the first time, and in doing some reading beforehand I came across this line from the nature writer Ellington White:

“I have never yet caught a fish on a first cast, nor have I ever made a first cast without thinking I would catch a fish.”

The kids were surprisingly patient and eventually pulled a few snappers out of the bay. Here’s a very different quote, from a physicist I recently spoke with about the challenges of communicating science to the public:

“The language and the concepts are built on so many layers. It's just not like music. You can know nothing about music and still appreciate the song. Science is much harder that way.”

One of our neighbors recently had their house painted. The painters posted a sign with the following words outside: "Led Paint. No Drinking! No eating!"

When I noticed this misspelling - LED is the acronym for light-emitting diode, a cool and bright little light source – en route to work, it set me thinking about a paint filled with these little lights, and what would happen if you were to ingest it. Would your stomach shine? Would bright light rush out from your nostrils, mouth, and ears? After a moment or two spent imagining that, I started wondering why the painters felt the need for that sign. Had some desperately thirsty neighborhood flaneur drank their paint before? Had he or she mistaken it for a container of almond milk, perhaps?

Here’s a good quote from the dog in those movies with Charles Grodin:

"Don't only practice your art. Force your way into its secrets."

Speaking of art, there has been progress on the art side of the soda bottle book. I hope to have more updates soon. 

And, finally, a correction, and a writing lesson. In my first children’s novel, Fish, the main character tries goat milk for the first time and describes the flavor as somewhat grassy. We are all different, and I suppose someone could draw that conclusion from a sip of the stuff, but I recently bought a pint and tried it with my kids. We concluded that it is actually quite creamy, with a more tangy ring to it than regular milk. I don’t know that my uninformed description in Fish damaged the book substantially – Saul Bellow wrote a novel about Africa without setting foot on the continent! – but given all my prognosticating about the importance of becoming an expert, I feel it’s only right to admit my error.

Maybe in a Fish sequel I’ll have him revise his assessment.

Shinobi vs. Ninja in Newton

When I realized that my Friday afternoon talk at Bigelow Middle School was the last thing standing between 200 kids and their winter vacation, I was a little nervous. I was counting on a full scale revolt. Or at least a round of restless twitching in the audience. After a few stories about dinosaurs, fast furniture, flying cars and brain surgery, though, the students settled in just fine.

There were more than a few young writers in the crowd, and in case they're reading, I'd like to follow up with several of them:

To the two boys who were about to show me your funny story: I'd love to read it. As I told you, that's how I started out as a writer. My friends and I spun together ridiculous little tales in between class.

To the girl who wanted me to complete her story: We talked about this already, but that's your story, and you should finish it! I'm sure you'll do a better job of it than I could.

To the amateur ninja expert: Thanks for asking about my still-in-the-works ninja book. As we both know, ninjas were known as shinobi, and they didn't always dress in the black costumes we see today. They disguised themselves as farmers, merchants, and other everyday folk. In truth ninjas were more like spies than warriors. All these kinds of historical details will be part of the book, so check back here for updates, and thanks for coming up to say hello.

Finally, Mr. Mogenson, I think you should wear that jacket every day. And thanks for inviting me in to your wonderful school!

Captain Chicken at 826 Boston

826 Boston, the after-school writing program, has been in the news lately, and rightfully so. It's not surprising that the kids turn out such great work. The program is amazing and the instructors are inspired, enthusiastic, and smart. And what better front for a writing room than the Greater Boston Bigfoot Research Institute? I was lucky enough to be a guest instructor there last year, and it was incredible to see how they work, how they have the teaching of creative writing down to a science. I had a great time in my pirate story workshop helping the students develop their own stories, particularly the villains. One of my favorites was Captain Chicken, a humanoid, seaworthy fowl who has pens for hands – you know, since the pen is mightier than the sword. There were also a number of radioactive sea monsters. The influence of Captain Jack Sparrow and his adventures was hard to filter out, but overall the kids were very creative and surprisingly willing to work, given that they’d come in during a school vacation.

To learn more about 826 Boston, or lend your support, click here.  Also, the director, poet Daniel Johnston, has great taste in pens. The Pilot P-500 is unmatched. 

The Little Wooden Fish in Novels

On Tuesday I had a fun Skype visit with a boys book club down in Oklahoma. Fish is up for that state's prestigious Sequoyah Book Award, and a bunch of kids in Duncan, Oklahoma took a break from the sweltering summer heat to talk about the novel. I love the idea behind this book club: It's just for boys, with no girls allowed. That strikes me as a pretty clever way to convince a bunch of young ruffians to get together and talk about a book when they'd probably rather be out playing baseball or basketball or tackling each other into the local pool. I was as bookish as anyone when I was that age, but I'm not sure I would've let my parents talk me into heading to the library on a nice day. Now, if they'd told me my friends were going? Well then I probably would've given it a try.

We talked about their favorite characters and scenes, and what it takes to write a novel. Near the end, one of the boys asked a question I'd never heard before. In fact, I'd forgotten about this moment in the story entirely. Before he leaves the family farm, Fish's sister Roisin gives him a small, wooden carving of a fish. This  young Oklahoman wanted to know where I'd gotten that idea.

My great uncle loved carving, and taught my siblings and I how to whittle when we were young. I became hooked. For years I would bring my chisels and Dremel and spare driftwood with me everywhere. (This half-finished carving of Dr. Zaius, the legendary Planet of the Apes villain, is one of my favorites; I call it the Zaius stick and envisioned it as a tool to be used in debates on evolution.) My driftwood art became something of a joke among my friends, in part because I enjoyed turning so many weathered branches into characters from Planet of the Apes. I was also carrying a harmonica at that point in my life. Did I know how to play? Of course not. Yet I thought I had some sort of hidden talent for the instrument that might appear at any moment. I wanted to be ready.

Anyway, the point is that - yes, there's a point!! - the wooden fish is one of the little personal details that can make a fictional world or a story seem more complete and believable. My books are all set in different time periods and places, but they're filled with tiny details often borrowed from my own life. I'll stick my friend's nose on one character, turn Roisin into a wood-carver, or make one person walk like my father and I. (Feet turned out, proudly.) In my first book, the main character dons a pair of yellow rubber gloves to wash the dishes in his office. Why? Because my mother always used gloves like that when I was growing up and those gloves are a strong sense memory. The gloves were real to me. Visceral, and a little weird. And those kinds of powerful feelings attached to random objects often come through in your writing. They make certain details pop within the story, and resonate with readers, like that wooden fish did with this crewcut-topped young man. A novel isn't all details, obviously. But these powerful little notes can help bring it to life.

Before our Skype visit was finished, I also extended my condolences regarding the Thunder's devastating loss to the evil Miami Heat in the NBA Finals. No one seemed too broken up about that. I'm still upset, though. I might name one of my next villains after LeBron. Or I could always shake my Zaius Stick at the TV screen when he's shooting free throws.

To all the other librarians and teachers covering Fish or Dangerous Waters in the coming year, let me know, I'm always happy to pop in for a free virtual visit.

Why I Write About Water

During a recent visit to a wonderful school in New Hampshire, a thoroughly vexed young student raised her hand and stared up at me. “Why,” she asked when called upon, “are you always writing about water?”

In fact, my first novel, The Wages of Genius, was set in an office. The problem with writing a story that takes place in a bland and boring business office is that if you really commit yourself to the world, really build and imagine it and make it real, then you end up feeling like you’re sitting in that space all day. I left my job because I couldn’t stand working in a cubicle farm. Then I hung out in independent, funky cafes listening to jazz and scribbling away, imagining the whole time that I was actually in a cubicle farm.

So maybe I’ve learned something. I love the water, but my family is landlocked for the foreseeable future, so I visit the deep ocean in my imagination. Fish, Dangerous Waters, and the new novel I’m polishing are all set out on the sea, and while working on each one, I felt like I was there, staring out at the ocean through my characters eyes, feeling the waves beneath me.

Thanks for the question, and all the others from the devoted readers and budding writers up at Woodbury and Fisk. And Kevin, don’t forget: Fifteen revisions. No less.

Villains at Milton Academy

Earlier this week I had a great visit with the fourth-graders at Milton Academy. Half of them had read Fish, and they had several great questions about the writing process. At one point in the presentation I was talking about the evolution of a particular line in the book, and how it changed after a few debates with my editor, and a few of the kids actually remembered the sentence when it flashed up on the smart screen. Maybe it was the appearance of four ladies in large yellow dresses in the middle of an action scene that made the fragment memorable, but still, I was impressed. Quite a group of readers.

They were also especially interested in the villains in my books. Several of them volunteered their names for future evil characters. I promise I will keep them in mind.

We had some extra time at the end, so I read them the first chapter of my next book, Dangerous Waters, which comes out in March. Normally I edit while I read, cutting a sentence here, shortening a paragraph there, but in this case I read every word. They all felt necessary. That's a good sign, I think. And the kids seemed to love it...not a yawn or wandering stare in the place.

My favorite comment from one of the students: "You make me want to read a hundred books!"

That's exactly what an author wants to hear.

Skyping with Singapore

People have always told me that I have a rather large head, but the students of the Singapore American School must think it's gargantuan. A few weeks ago I skyped with Captain Coole's crew, a very inquisitive bunch of kids in Singapore. (OK, so they're not really a pirate crew, and their teacher isn't actually a pirate, but that's how they introduced themselves, and I like it.) They asked great questions about reading, writing, pirates, and my book Fish. I was especially excited to talk about Scab, the nasty, stinking villain; he's one of my favorite characters.

Toward the end of the visit, though, someone turned around the laptop in their far-off classroom so I could have a view of the space. This virtual tour also afforded me a look at the smartboard, where my massive head filled up the entire screen. It was terrifying. For me, at least. They seemed perfectly fine.

Anyway, thanks again to Captain Coole, the Roots, and the rest of the class. We'll have to talk again sometime, as long as we can figure out that time zone stuff...

McGlynn and the Cleveland

A note to the students of McGlynn Elementary: My next book is not really about a bunch of kids trapped in a snow storm, but the idea is growing on me.

First, some background. During my presentation, my laptop misbehaved, going to sleep before its bedtime, and the projector promptly displayed an entirely white screen with a blue box in the middle and the phrase "No Signal!" directly in the center. Around this time, one of the students asked me about my next book, and since we had just been talking about covers, I joked that the image of the screen was the cover of my next book. The white space was snow, the blue box was a mysterious house, and the title represented the fact that all phone and communication lines have been cut off, etc. We ran with the joke for a little while, and they all knew I was making it up as we went along, but after thinking about it some more, it's really not such a bad idea for a book. Which means someone has probably written it already.

Anyway, on to Cleveland Elementary, another great school. Thanks to the kids for your very, very insightful notes. It's great to know that the central messages - becoming an expert in everything you write about and never, ever handing in your first draft - stayed with you. A few of my favorite comments from the notes:

"I really liked your presentation. I really thought you would just stand there and answer questions but you were a lot better than that."

"I liked how you told us about the weird people you meet..."

"You're really lucky you have only three kids...When you showed us all the messy writing you did it was great because when Mrs. Wesley [teaches us writing she] has us organize our thoughts on paper the way you did."

Thanks again for letting me pop in and talk about reading and writing....

Holten Richmond Middle School: In Defense of Bow Ties

Earlier this week I was lucky enough to visit the Holten Richmond Middle School in Danvers, MA, for a talk with a bright crowd of students. We spoke about writing, rewriting, and rewriting again as I led them through the process of how FISH, my recent pirate novel, evolved from a simple idea into a finished and bound novel full of characters, foreign lands, quests and puzzles.

During the question & answer session, a few of the young gentlemen in the crowd took exception to my appearance in one of the photos displayed during my presentation. At that point in the talk I had been explaining how the idea for a character who loves to swim but hates to fight sprang from my own experience.

As proof of the fact that I abhorred violence, I showed them the photo here, a picture taken on the occasion of my graduation from sixth grade. They said nothing of the white pants, the yellow shirt, the violin case, or the way I leaned so naturally against the prow of that imitation submarine. Instead they were solely interested in my colorful necktie. In fact they were abhorred, wondering aloud why anyone would wear such a thing. Intimidated by these small but powerful young men, I quickly blamed my brother, who was a terrible sartorial influence. But I should have stood up for my tie, and bowties in general. If asked again, I will present my defense, citing, among other things, the fact that they are far less likely to stain or be caught inside a massive, spinning saw than their elongated brethren.

A few brave members of the audience declared that they thought the bow tie was cool. And I thank them for that. Thanks as well to Michelle Deschene-Warren of the Peabody Institute Library and Holten librarian Sarah Woo for putting the event together.

FISH Wins Carol Otis Hurst Book Prize

A few weeks ago I learned that FISH is going to receive this year's Carol Otis Hurst Book Prize, awarded to the best in children's writing by a New England author. Hurst, who died in 2007, was a renowned librarian, teacher, storyteller and author. The award started out with a focus on books that centered on the New England experience, but it has since been broadened; which makes sense, given that Fish never visits America. Needless to say, I'm honored and excited.

The Westfield Athenaeum, an amazing library out in western Massachusetts, runs the process, and I'm looking forward to heading out there in September for a reading and talk.

In other news, my next novel, DANGEROUS WATERS, has moved on to the proofreading phase, all set for a March 2012 publication, and I'm working hard to make sure there aren't any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors for my parents to find.

Newburyport Literary Festival

A few weeks ago I was a guest author at the Newburyport Literary Festival up along the coast of Massachusetts. It's a beautiful old brick town on a river, just south of some popular surfing spots in New Hampshire. I drove up to one of them early that Saturday morning with my board in the back of the car, hoping to paddle out, only to arrive at the beach and realize I'd forgotten my wetsuit. Whoops.

The festival, now in its seventh year, was great fun. A whole bunch of smart, attentive kids came to listen to me talk about writing, reading, and FISH at Newburyport's beautiful public library; I'm amazed they sat through it on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

The kids definitely appeared to be budding writers - they asked incredibly sharp questions - and the adults were fun too. I especially enjoyed the grandmother kept questioning me, doubting that I really make a living as a writer.

The festival was also a nice chance to meet some other writers, including the great Rodman Philbrick, author of Freak the Mighty. I'd never read the book, but I whipped through it after hearing him speak, and it's one of the best I've read in a while. The narrative voice is incredible, and there's so much happening behind the words.

Listening to Elisha Cooper discuss his books and art was also a real pleasure. I'm looking forward to reading a few of his works to my kids.

There were numerous adult authors in attendance as well, but honestly, who wants to listen to grown-ups? I'll take sixty-year-old kids any day.

The Festival happens every April, I believe, and it's free. If you're in New England, check it out next year.

Boston Authors Club Awards

Last week I learned that FISH has been selected as a "highly recommended" book by the Boston Authors Club, and that it has been nominated for a 2012 Rhode Island Children's Book Award as well. As far as I can recall, the last award I won was either the co-MVP of the Plandome Country Club Swim Team (a long time ago) or the Shelter Rock Elementary School Spelling Bee Champion (an even longer time ago), so this was pretty big news.

Generally, it made me think that we should all have more awards in life. In the office, at home....everyone deserves an award now and then. Some other awards I deserve:

-Most Forgetful (Some might see this as a negative; I would consider it an honor.)

-Best Morning Coffee Maker (Probably one of the more important roles in any house. Coffee, and how quickly it acts on the brain after wake up call , affects everyone, from parents down to infants.)

-Most Likely to Wake Up Early (This is more of a weakness than a strength, but I want an award anyway.)

-Best Random Storyteller (You need an adventure that features Michael Jackson, Cinderella and mermaids? Give me ten seconds....)

-Worst Tap Dancer (This should still be an award, even though it's a "worst," because bad dancers are incredibly valuable. They make everyone else feel better about themselves.)

Book Dads

A great take on Fish by teacher and reviewer Renny Fong:

"Whether read aloud or independently, this book will be hard to put down. Fish dishes it all out: action, suspense, mystery, and plenty of hearty laughs...Fish awakens all of the senses in its details, particularly smell. Mone writes it; you smell it. Your nose wrinkles up as Fish, being the lowest on the totem pole, has to scrub the 'seats of easement' and gets too close to pirate’s breath and feet. Suspense and action are raw, with each chapter leaving you hungry for more."

The rest of the Book Dads review is here.

The Story of Fish

The Pirates are Winning

A fascinating, comprehensive story on the modern pirate problem ran in a recent New York Review of Books. An excerpt:

"Somali pirates will strike anything: one-thousand-foot-long oil tankers; tiny sailboats with three people on board; old-fashioned, crescent-sailed Arab dhows; freighters crammed with emergency food; freighters crammed with weapons; a tanker carrying extremely flammable benzene that American authorities worried could be converted into an enormous, floating bomb. The pirates have even attacked navy ships, apparently by mistake."

A Splashing Good Addition

An excerpt from a new review in School Library Journal:

"Mone seamlessly integrates factual information into his tale of friendship, loyalty, and exploration. As Fish travels from farm to city to ship, he discovers his place in the world, and his moral compass helps to ground and direct the story. His decision not to engage in fighting and his efforts to stop the mutiny will provide points for group discussion. Fish makes a splashing good addition to adventure fiction."

FISHing on Martha's Vineyard

CK Wolfson of the Martha's Vineyard Times wrote a very complimentary, thoughtful piece on FISH a few weeks back, calling it:

"...a suspenseful, rollicking, fact-filled pirate tale that will keep children and young teens reading by their flashlights into the night."

We also had a few great events on Martha's Vineyard last month. Thanks to Zoe at Riley's Reads for hosting a wonderful reading in early August, full of prizes, snacks, and costumed attendees. The highlight of that event was the dramatic re-enactment of one of the early scenes. We had a wonderful Fish - have you finished the book yet, Fish? - and a band of fairly fearsome pirates as well. Plus, no one was hurt.

I apologize to Zoe for not delivering on the promised shanty, and not bringing a pen, but in terms of the singing, I think we were all better off in the end.

A few weeks later, on August 26th, Nelia Decker and the West Tisbury Public Library, a wonderful space that's absolutely packed with great books, hosted another event downstairs in the childrens' room. We tried two scenes this time; I think I preferred the grunt-filled conversation between Fergal and Uncle Gerry. That said, the action scenes were also stupendous. Miles, you did an absolutely stellar job.

I'll be scheduling a number of school visits soon, but hope to set up a few more of these dramatic readings, too.

Keep checking back for details.

The Economics of Modern Piracy

Very interesting and detailed piece here on the economics of modern piracy. In the Golden Age, pirates would try to capture ships carrying valuable cargo so that they could actually sell the cargo. Now, if they take a tanker with $100M to $150M of oil, they know it's going to be too hard to actually sell the petrol, so they ransom it instead. Eventually, a third-party arranges to have a few million dollars dropped onto the boat via helicopter. The pirates take the money and flee, the owner gets his ship back, the oil company gets its petrol back, and the insurance company reimburses the client for the ransom.

The total amount of ransoms paid last year was reportedly around $50M.

More Reviews of Fish

"Brimming with suspense, humor, colorful characters, and a good old-fashioned pirate story on the high seas, this fast-paced novel is pure enjoyment."

- Kendal Rautzhan, The Day

"His gift for swimming and dislike of violence make him a very odd pirate and treasure hunter, but somehow Fish makes it work. Full of action-packed scenes of Fish's "not-fighting" and vivid descriptions of exactly how bad his fellow pirates smell, "Fish" is a feel-good yarn perfect for reading as the waves lap nearby."

-Caroline Luzzatto, The Virginian-Pilot and The Ledger-Star

And the Columbus Parent's "Books for Kids" list.