There Was Something He Felt Like Doing

A personal record last week: Ten separate talks, plus eight revision workshops, spread between seven different schools and the lovely Massachusetts Reading Association conference. At the latter I spoke about engaging boys as readers. One of the five or six tricks or techniques I discussed: Never ever, ever, ever talk about your feelings. If the narrator discusses matters of the heart too openly and frequently, the book risks losing the boys. Or most of them, anyway. 

I don't mean to imply that a great book for boys should be without heart or feeling. On the contrary. Any great book must have heart. But with boys I think it has to be subtle. 

For instance, here's a little passage from the wonderful Jerry Spinelli novel Maniac Magee:

"Maniac just stood there a minute.  There was something that he felt like doing, and maybe he would have, but the lady turned and went back inside her house and shut the door.  So he walked away.”

He wanted to thank her or hug her. But he'd never admit it. Oh no. And here's another, from Rodman Philbrick's classic, Freak the Mighty:

"It’s time to go home, Gram gets nervous if I’m not back before dark.  Everything seems really great, just like Gwen says, except when I lie down on my bed it hits me, boom, and I’m crying like a baby.  And the really weird thing is, I’m happy."

The emotion comes upon him inexplicably. As a reader, you've probably already guessed that he's happy, since he's made a new friend, but he sure doesn't know, or does not want to admit it, until he's forced to confess, since he's crying and all. 

Finally, I found the classic My Side of the Mountain in my father-in-law's collection. This novel follows a boy who runs away from his overcrowded NYC apartment to live in the woods of the Catskills. When the main character writes about his first night in the woods, he very reluctantly admits how he felt:

"So I sat tight, and shivered and shook - and now I am able to say - I cried a little bit."

Much later in the novel, at a happy moment, when the season changes, we get this:

Interactive Chat & Writing Under a Van

This Sunday at 6:30 EDT, in advance of the 101st anniversary of the ship's demise, I'll be hosting an online interactive chat about Titanic through a very cool new platform called shindig. It's pretty simple. When you sign in, the page turns into a beautiful library, and my bearded mug sits in a medium-sized window in the middle. I'll have some slides in another little window next to me as I talk about Titanic and how I went about writing and researching Dangerous Waters. You can ask questions via chat or texts or even raise your hand so that we can talk directly to each other.

I'll also run a trivia contest, and I'll send the winner a free signed copy of the book.

The sign-up page is here. Join me!

Now on to other news. I visited a great school in New Hampshire last week, and in the flow of the talks, I asked one of my favorite questions: Where do you write?

As usual, the kids were reluctant to admit to any odd spots, but once a few classmates revealed their own creative hide-outs, they were all thrusting their hands in the air. Their answers ranked right up there with some of the best. My favorites:

A young man named Sebastian detailed the merits of a small, crater-like hole in his backyard. The hole is large enough for him to sit in comfortably and not terribly clean. Yet Sebastian is so dedicated to this writing spot that he even dug out after the big snowstorms this winter.

Ivy talked about how she used to sneak into the shed at her Dad's house. The space was dark and quiet and she sat on the floor between to old rusted bikes to work on her stories.

Finally, Jason. He's a tall sixth grader, and his teacher tells me he's a great writer. Jason talked about how he used to climb under his Dad's van out in the driveway. He'd lie on the pavement and write, then scurry out as fast as he could if he heard the engine start up.

"But you don't do it anymore?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Why not?" I asked.  "Too dangerous?"

"No," he said. "I grew. Now I don't fit."

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!

Visiting Martinson

Thank you to the fifth grade students and teachers at Martinson Elementary School for inviting me in for a few wonderful workshops earlier this month. I'm still waiting to see how your stories turn out! There were some great ideas, including a daring window entrance, hovering helicopters, and an octogenarian villain. The sensory details you all came up with were fabulous as well.

Given the recent blizzard, and the days off from school, I'm hoping a few of you managed to finish. (Although I imagine the tree lovers among you couldn't climb up to your favorite writing spot.) If you do write those last few lines, don't forget to send me a copy. And remember: revise, revise, revise.

The Hobomock Scribes

Last week I enjoyed a wonderful visit to Hobomock Elementary School. Thanks to the teachers for welcoming me and to all the students for coming up with such great stories and sensory details for our adventures. I was also grateful to the two intrepid reporters from the school newspaper who asked such incisive questions during our interview. Normally I'm the one doing the interviewing, so I was a little nervous, but thanks to my entourage everything went smoothly. The fourth-grade PR guys filtered the questions brilliantly. My bodyguard kept me feeling safe, our invisible but loquacious ninja made sure there were no awkward silences, and of course my chief-of-staff managed it all wonderfully. Too bad we got in trouble for laughing too much.

As for the previous day's lunch crew...awkward? No, I don't think so.

If any of you are reading this, remember: REVISE. Then revise again. And again...

The Library in the Park

Last month I was out in Flagstaff, Arizona to meet with an astronomer for a story. After spending a day with him, trying to understand the particulars of charge-coupled devices, vacuum chambers, and lenses so large they can bend and twist, I needed to give my brain a rest, so I stopped by an outdoor concert in one of the small city parks. The music was great, the trees were green, the air was cool, and kids were running everywhere. Off to the side, the Flagstaff Library had stationed its colorful mobile book bus. I went over to take a look and met Marcia Hansen, a charming New England expat and youth services librarian. She explained that the library used the bus to extend its reach to remote Native American reservations. Out there, kids often have little or no access to books. With the van they can easily check out a few at a time.

What amazed me most about the van was its effect that night, on the local kids. I couldn’t believe how many of them were hustling in and out. People were dancing all around, there was no AC inside, and there was ice cream to be had out on the lawn, but these kids wanted to be in a library. One girl started crying when her dad tried to coax her out. Granted, she looked to be about the age at which a tantrum can come at any time, for any reason, but I’d prefer to believe a nascent love of literature prompted that particular protest.  

That’s it about the van. My librarian friend also lamented the glut of science-fiction books filling the shelves these days. I apologized for the fact that I’m working on one myself. Sometimes you can’t help what grabs you. If a story is waking you up at 4 in the morning and asking to be written, you have to get it out.

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.

Where do you write?

Where do you write? I've been visiting a bunch of schools for the past few months to talk about reading, writing, and my new book, Dangerous Waters, and this question has turned up some wonderful answers. I try to encourage kids to find a spot in their home where they can work uninterrupted. Writing requires total focus, and it's hard to concentrate if your brothers and sisters (or, in my case, the kids) are running all around you. You need to find a spot to unplug, disconnect, and completely dedicate yourself to the assignment, whether it's a few pages for school or a novel-in-the-works.

My own spot is this horribly mundane, disorganized collection of tables and books and devices in the photo. I'd prefer dark wood and old leather, perhaps a collection of cloth-bound volumes with uncut pages in the background and a large window overlooking a tranquil body of water, but that's not happening. And it's not really necessary. I'd probably just stare at the water until I fell asleep. And the books would make me sneeze, I'm sure.

Back to the kids. And their answers. A few of my favorites:

-One girl said she works on her stairs. This sounds like a poor choice at first, but if you think about it, no one stops on the stairs. They pass by, heading up or down, and leave you alone. Brilliant.

-Several kids cited their bedroom closets as the ideal locales. Sure, this might be a fire hazard with the wrong lamp, and you'd need a decent-sized space to stretch out, but it could be a delightful place to focus. Bunch a few fallen sweaters or coats against one wall, lean back, relax, and write.

-Two kids like to sneak under their beds. I thought this was brilliant, and when I told another class about it a few weeks later, one of those kids wrote me to tell me he has now begun doing his homework under his bed as well. I tried it myself, in fact, but I soon began sneezing and promptly extricated myself.

If anyone else has any unique writing spots of their own, let me know!

Androids, Elephants, and the Magic of the Alphabet

The Andover Bookstore hosted a wonderful event a few weekends ago. I was lucky enough to join Jennifer Jacobson, author of Small as an Elephant, and Ben Winters of The Mystery of the Missing Everything and the Tolstoy remix Android Karenina. Thankfully Ben also dragged a few of his children in with him; normally I’m the only one trailing kids.

Each of us read from one of our novels, then took questions from the very engaged, interested audience of young readers and parents. The young Tom Brady’s points about my title, Dangerous Waters, were especially astute, and thanks to Serene for the lovely drawing of Emily!

Chris Rose, an elementary school teacher who also runs the children’s section of the store, delivered a wonderful introduction about the magic of writing; the strange power of the 26 letters of our alphabet, and how, in certain combinations, they can generate such vivid characters and scenes, such real emotions in the minds and hearts of readers. After his introduction, I sure was glad that Jennifer Jacobson went first. Talk about pressure!

If you’re ever passing through north of Boston, stop by the Andover Bookstore. It is truly a singular place, a testament to the importance of independents, and I hope to return soon.

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.

Jack's not a Yachtsman!

A few nights ago, down in Florida with the family, my wife and I were eating at a little restaurant by the water. The restaurant's patio overlooks a small marina packed with expensive yachts, and at the table next to us, a famously reticent football coach was regaling a small party of diners with tales of life in the NFL.

After the group finished, they made their way down to a gorgeous, perfectly maintained, antique wooden motorboat; the kind you'd expect to see in photos of St. Tropez or some other exotic locale for the rich and famous. The owner of the boat, and host of the dinner, turned out to be legendary CEO Jack Welch.

Mr. Welch was not the primary character in this scene, however. Upon realizing that he was in the vicinity of business royalty, an older gentleman at the table next to us shot to his feet. He had been talking about Bernie Madoff, theorizing about hidden stores of cash. He was tan, thin, in his seventies. His hair was brown, with a subtle hint of purple, and his sweater a delightful green.

He stood with his hands in his pockets and called to Jack. He tried several times to gain Jack's attention, without success. Then he said, with some confusion, and at a significant volume, "That's Jack's boat? Jack's not a yachtsman!"

The boat cruised off successfully, and as far as I know it did not sink, yet I still think this story might be a good transition into some book-related news: The impending release of my next novel, Dangerous Waters: An Adventure on Titanic.

The book is out on March 13. It has absolutely nothing to do with that dinner, nor the puzzled, purple-haired man, but a boat does figure prominently. So does extreme wealth: The story centers in part on Titanic passenger Harry Widener, a collector of fabulously expensive rare books. Publishers Weekly just gave Dangerous Waters a nice review, and the Children's Book of the Month Club selected it as one of their new titles for the season.

Soon I'll be visiting schools in the area to discuss the book, and writing in general, and we're also putting together a few events. I'll be joining in the Kids' Authors Extravaganza at the Andover Bookstore on March 24th, then reading at Bunch of Grapes, on Martha's Vineyard, on Saturday April 7th.

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.

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.

The Story of Fish

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.

Pirates and the Liar's Paradox

A few weeks ago I visited Munsey Park School in Manhasset, NY, and spoke with a number of classes about FISH and the writing process. When I was talking to a group of second-graders, one of the kids caught on early that I have a tendency to embellish when telling stories. I'd been talking about my journalism (all true stuff) and my fiction (mostly invented). So he raises his hand, I stop, and he asks, "Was what you just said true?"

I'd been talking about sitting in a flying car, but I wasn't making it up. I wrote about the car, Terrafugia's Transition, which is really a drivable plane, in Popular Science. I explain this to the inquisitive kid, then add a qualifier, noting that I do often make things up.

"So how do we know what's true?" he asks.

"You can ask me," I answer, "but you shouldn't trust my answer, because I've already said that I make things up." He looks at me strangely, and then I get carried away. "You've actually brought up a really interesting and famous philosophical question known as the liar's paradox....."

The teacher laughed slightly, I went on for a moment more, and then quickly returned to stories of sword fights, treasure hunts, and smelly rogues.

Cleveland Elementary

5th graders are bright. I visited Cleveland Elementary School in Norwood, Massachusetts, two weeks ago to talk about FISH, journalism, writing in general. At one point, one of the kids posed a great question.

"If you've written something that you think is great, but your friend reads it and says it's really bad, do you listen to your friend?"

My answer was a little long and winding, but I basically said that you have to think about your friend's critique, and consider whether there might be any truth to it, but ultimately you have to listen to yourself. I added that you should never take the first person's word. You're better off waiting for a whole bunch of people to tell you that you're terrible before you start thinking about believing them.

After class, one of the kids caught me in the hall. He was nervous, maybe a little annoyed. He summarized what I'd said with regards to criticism, then pointed out a contradiction. Earlier in the class, when another kid asked me whether I was an artist, I answered that I'm not very good, then cited the fact that a very skilled illustrator once told me exactly that.

The kid recounted this story about my artistic skills, then said, "You contradicted yourself! Maybe you're not such a bad artist after all."

A budding lawyer, perhaps.

The Balch School

A group of Balch Elementary School third-graders and I had a great time talking about books, writing, pirates, and FISH in the packed school library. A few miniature journalists in the class came prepared with questions. Here's a sample:

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

No, I said, I wanted to be in the NBA. They laughed.

"Did you play sports when you were younger?"

Yes: lacrosse, basketball, football, swimming. This answer generated numerous high-fives.

"Did you write Twilight?"

No, and you can tell by my car.

"Is Fish a series?"

Not yet....but of course I have plans for him!

Visiting the Murphy School

Thanks to Mrs. Gale's two 6th grade classes at the Richard J. Murphy School in Dorchester. We had a fun time talking about writing articles and books, what brain surgery looks like up close, and how all writers, even the 6th grade version, should really think of themselves as editors. We also discussed piracy and the apparently little know fact that there appears to be an editorial error in the school's sign.

The questions from the kids were really sharp. I actually thought they were eighth graders until Mrs. Gale informed me otherwise.

Pirate Ducks at the Canton Public Library

The Canton Public Library put together a fantastic FISH event this past Saturday, complete with kid-friendly sea shanties, ducks wearing pirate hats (over there on the left), goldfish, and more. I brought a few props along, including a plastic cutlass, but that quickly proved to be a bad idea, as a few of the four-and-unders in the audience went on the attack.

Ann Woodman of the Library's Junior Room did an amazing job setting everything up, and there were some hilarious comments from the kids. When I asked what they thought pirates might smell like, for example, they offered a few funny possibilities. My favorites:

"Bugs."

"Gross."

"Peanuts on the floor."

The kid who threw out the last one might end up becoming a writer.