You know what? It was kind of nice.

Not all of it, of course. It wasn't nice sleeping without the AC. I hated throwing away the melted carton of brand-new ice cream, and the sad squishy popsicles.

But being forced to slow down, to live without the constant in-your-face option of TV, video games, video chats, twitter chats, e-mail marathon sessions... that was pretty great. We read lots of books out loud, and made art with Little Dude. He loved the undivided attention, I think, even though he did cast wistful glances at the basement and its silenced Wii.

I loved feeling more connected to our neighborhood, too, thanks to our open windows. Living in DC, you either have your windows closed because it's muggy and the AC is running... or you have them closed because it's cold enough that you need heat. Then you just get out of the habit of opening the windows, for those few glorious times when the weather is perfect enough to welcome it in your house.

During the power outage, though, we opened each and every window. When Little Dude was in bed, we sat in our dark living room and just listened. We heard the whistle of a train a few miles away. We heard people walking down our street and softly laughing. We heard crickets and the rustle of animals in the bushes and our little urban meadow. We heard what each other had to say, too--because there was nothing to distract us from fully listening. I could feel my brain slowing down. All of my stresses didn't seem so important anymore.

When the power came back on at 9:00 last night, the entire neighborhood cheered. You could hear shouts coming from several streets away. And then... the AC kicked on. We ran around the house and slammed the windows shut. We locked them, too, sealing away most every outside sound.

If anyone was cheering, still, we couldn't hear it. We pretty much couldn't hear our neighborhood at all.

This makes me think about how important it is for writers, and other creative people, to keep our "windows" open... and to be still, and silent enough, to hear everything that's going on outside. It's so easy to seal yourself into your daily life, and not notice all the fascinating things on the fringe, waiting to become part of a story. Even if you can only do it once and awhile, it's worth sitting still, opening your mind, and waiting to see what you notice.

Who knows? Maybe other real-live-Candors are lurking out there too...

water streaming down a dirt road

a dirt road to nowhere... or anywhere, so long as it's away

cabins deep in the woods, overlooking a lake

A key strategy in my Mama Mission: Books On The Pillow takes effect every time we are out of town. Each night, if Little Dude has been good that day (and so far, I have not judged any infraction so severe as to cancel Books On The Pillow for a night), he finds a new book on his pillow after he's brushed his teeth--and that is what we read for his bedtime story. I just picked up some books for an August vacation. There's Captain Underpants (up until now, unknown by him... yes, I am THAT brave a mother!), Curious George before he grows out of the monkey, two Toon Books (LOVE their early reader graphic novels), and some non-fiction about baseball heroes. And of course I'm throwing in a Star Wars book. I won't let him watch the movie but the kid could probably recite the plot of all 6 movies from the DK books that he devours. 

When we recently visited my family's cabin, he got a new Mo Willems early reader book (there it is on his pillow, in the photo!) and another Curious George book. He has a sort of "security book" tucked under that pillow too, one that he says helps him fall asleep if he holds it. IN THE TOWN ALL YEAR 'ROUND has logged a lot of miles in our suitcase. Too bad he didn't get attached to a little paperback book!

Little Dude LOVES getting a new book on his pillow each night. I think it makes him proud--that he's earned it--but he also simply loves the surprise factor. And I love having any excuse to buy a new book, as well as the chance to read something NEW for a change. Not that I don't love CHAMPIONS ON THE BENCH and SHARK VS. TRAIN but seriously, I need something new in my life. They've both been in heavy rotation in our house and they will not be coming on vacation with us! All new books... ahhhhh. Kid who relishes reading...MAMA MISSION TRIUMPH!

For the first part of the process, I pushed the timeline of the story baaaaaack and wrote a big batch of new chapters. My goal was to finish that writing before I went to Kindling Words West (aka KWW), a wonderful retreat for published children's book writers and illustrators. I made that deadline with just a few days to spare.

To celebrate, I painted our bathroom. I'm not very good at downtime. 

Then I printed out the entire manuscript and brought my "brick", as I dubbed it, to KWW. It was nearly a ream of paper! The retreat was the perfect place to immerse myself in revisions and nothing but revisions--well, plus a fair share of chatting with other writers and illustrators... and definitely stopping for three amazing meals each day! I could probably devote an entire blog entry just to the food that the Mabel Dodge Luhan House serves to KWW attendees, but I will spare you. Let me just say I'm still missing the goat cheese/tomato egg pie on cornmeal crust. And the chocolate mousse. And... sorry. In another life, I probably was a food writer. In this life I merely eat with unbounded enthusiasm.

I worked my way through the brick, marking my daily progress with a blue ribbon that steadily moved down the stack. By the end of the week, the blue ribbon was tied in a neat bow to the rubber bands that bound the manuscript. I was, quite stunningly, done. To celebrate, I boogied to Lady Gaga's "Let's Dance" with two other KWW attendees. They even indulged me with badly choreographed hip-bumps. Sorry if you're still bruised, ladies.

I was done--except for entering all my hand-entered changes (many of them big changes) into the manuscript on my computer. I was done--except for writing three new chapters, and going back to finish a few pages of "to dos" that I jotted down while revising on paper. Some things, like changing a character's name, are most easily done in electronic format.

Then, finally, I e-mailed my manuscript to my editor. Truly I was done.

At least until she's finished reading it!

Gee, that other bathroom's walls are looking awfully white...

***

In my continuing series on Things That Freak Me Out, I want to share my horror of something that may strike you as mild. Harmless, even.

Those weird statues of kids' (usually overalled) backsides, set up as if the kids are peeking into something.

Sure, at first you might think they're cute. Look! A little kid, adorably attired, perhaps with braids or a baseball cap. What are they looking at? Aw. Child curiosity.

But take a closer look at these sinister creations. They have no faces. They have no fronts, period. It is as if they got a bit too close to a wormhole and their front half has been sucked off to another dimension. Or maybe they're evil creatures from the bowels of the earth, doing their best to wear a "human" disguise but only getting it half right. Or... maybe the Blair Witch sent them to the corner and they've been there so long, they're half rotted.

If you ever see me in a Cracker Barrel gift shop, frozen in horror, staring at the "cute garden stuff" section, you'll know what happened. I spotted one of those overalled evil statues.

And maybe it even turned and stared back.

PS: I could NOT find a picture of these babies anywhere online. If you find one, e-mail me the link at author AT pambachorz.com and I'll post it to this entry!

Just bought a necklace for the main character in my work in progress. Iron chains on silver. Think Ruby will let me wear it?

I was shopping with girlfriends at Shecky's, a traveling shopping event for women. The moment I saw this necklace, I knew it was meant for Ruby (the main character in the book I am working on right now). She would desire the bright, modern silver--but the dark chains are her reality.

Yes, I bought something for someone who only exists in my imagination! It sounds a little strange, but I'm in good company. About six years ago, I was lucky enough to hear Paula Danziger speak at a Florida SCBWI conference. She talked about going to inexpensive accessory stores and buying baubles for her characters. She'd wear them as she wrote, or keep them near (or above) her writing area for inspiration. Paula said it helped her to connect to the characters, to make them three dimensional. As anyone who's read her books knows, she was expert at making unique and vibrant characters. So I don't mind trying one of her tricks!

I'll wear this necklace the next time I write, and when I'm not wearing it I think I'll hang it on the bulletin board above my desk--maybe next to the little chain of paper Tibetan prayer flags that I strung up there a few weeks ago. I know that's what Ruby would want me to do!

PS - If this necklace speaks to you, too, you can buy it from the designer (KT Collection) online.

I remember Dad exclaiming at the the death-defying flights of Luke Skywalker and gripping his hand as I watched Darth Vader and Luke battle it out. But what really spoke to me, even at the tender age of six? Leia and Han Solo. I rooted for them from the first spat. If I couldn't have Han--and since he'd been alive long, long ago in a universe far, far way I knew that was unlikely--then Leia had to have him.

Call me a romantic. Call me a girly-girl. I don't care. The best part of STAR WARS is Han and Leia, and their romance will forever inspire me.

When Han met his frozen end (or so I thought) in EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, I was beyond devastated. My father tried to reassure me that he'd be back. When that didn't work, he reminded me that it was all make-believe. I wasn't having it. At some point I got some Star Wars toys, but one didn't stay in the house long. I took my toy Han Solo (one of those original model ones with the strange thin faces and wrinkles molded into the dolls' clothes) into the backyard. There I slowly, mournfully, buried him in the sandbox (feet first, of course). I grieved, just as Leia would.

And I never unearthed him.

I've heard complaints that CANDOR is "a romance disguised as sci-fi", and you know what? Blame--or thank--George Lucas. He taught me that no story, not even one with spaceships or brainwashing, is complete without love. Difficult, tragic, neverending love.

Han, I'll watch you again soon. But I might have to leave the room when... that PART... comes.

I may be showing dubious judgement, launching this feature, for I am only giving the mischievous and unrepentant torturers in my life some fresh ammunition. But they say that the best writing comes from deep wells of emotion: things that we love, things that we hate, things that give us shivers...

And in fact, this entry's subject (fishing) did indeed make its way into CANDOR (see below), so perhaps there's truth to that.

I grew up in a family that likes to fish. They buy big white squishy styrofoam containers filled with dirt and long live worms in them, then stick them in the fridge. Then they take those poor trapped worms out on a row boat, stick a hook in them and dangle them in front of fish while they try, desperately, to escape and somehow find their way to a nice flower bed before they meet their worm maker. Yeah. You know how often that happens.

Sometimes those worms sit in the fridge for days. I imagine them trying to move through that little bucket of dirt, always bumping into each other. "Hey, Fred, you again? Man we go to all the same places! Hey, have you run into any white walls lately?" Do they know what is in store for them? Oh yes. I am sure they do.

(Once I threatened to liberate a container of worms but my cousin fiercely told me that I'd have to walk down the hill from our cabin and buy a fresh container for him at Stewart's, which was far too much of my allowance to sacrifice plus that's a really long walk so... I am afraid my rebel ambitions died far too fast).

Fishing freaks me out, from the bucket of worms to skewering them to a hook getting stuck in a fish's lip. But as with many things that freak us out, they also fascinate us. So what did I do, back when I was eight or so?

I fished.

I went out into the middle of the lake in the early morning--when I'd heard fishing was best--and I brought alone a pole with a rubber worm on it (I had my limits). Then I flung the worm in the water and waited. Flung again. And then... the stupid big bass actually bit.

I was horrified.

I did what any reasonable person would do in the middle of a lake in the early morning. I screamed for help--and I mean screamed. It was probably when I discovered the scream that got me cast in my first high-school play. 

We'd been taught in our family: Never Scream At The Lake Unless It's A True Emergency. So my cousins and next-door neighbor dudes came pouring out of their cabins. My mother came a-running in her robe. And they jumped in boats and made their way to me. 

They reeled in the fish. They brought it to shore. ("I'm sorry," I kept saying. "I never meant to catch anything.") They took a picture of me holding it, smiling even. But then I looked down at that poor big fish (16", I do recall) and I said I was sorry one more time. 

Then I got them to put that fish back underwater and release it. I've never been fishing since. My child still thinks that he's fishing when he flings a lure into the water. What he doesn't realize--not yet--is that we clipped the hook off. I don't know what I'll do when he figures that out.

To close, here's a little bit of the chapter about fishing in CANDOR... based directly on the moment when I let that fish go. In this selection, the main character, Oscar, is fishing with his father:

It's eighteen or nineteen inches, with beautiful gray-green scales. "You got a big one," I say.

"Even the fish listen to me." He grins and holds the line up high.

I watch the gills flap in and out. My stomach clenches. I think, for a second, that I'm going to puke.

"What a beaut." He turns around and waves. Unbelievable. There's the tour bus, creeping past us. Some of the tourists cheer. 

It was for real. This isn't a trap. I'm just a prop for the tour bus.

I reach for the fish. "It can't breathe."

"I'm done anyway." He hands me the pole and heads for the bus.

I slide the hook out of the fish's lip. Then I kneel and set the fish in the water. It stays in place. Waves its tail once, twice. 

"Welcome to Candor!" I can hear Dad from here. He'll climb on the bus next. Invite people to stay a bit. Get some cold water in our stunning model homes. 

The fish twists its whole body.

"Go," I whisper.

One more flex of its tail and it's gone.

CANDOR copyright 2009 Pam Bachorz, all rights reserved.

Each week I will not-so-randomly-select one of my tweets (my username is pambachorz, if you care to stop by twitter). I'll tell you a little more about it--what it was about, or what was going on, or.... well, we'll see. I'm not entirely sure. But it seems like a cool idea, no? I hope so.

So here's the tweet-of-the-week:

Alarm rings at 6:00 to go write. 6:05, Little Dude finds me. OK, maybe I'll try that again later!

So, this one is obviously about a big part of my life: finding time to write. I, like so many other kidlit authors, have another job. It's a full-time job, and on top of that I'm a parent and a spouse. That means if I want time to write, I've got to carve it--no, WRENCH it--from my day. If I don't get up and grab that time, it won't be there for me to do my writing work.

And then I get all cranky and grouchy and generally unpleasant in all parts of my life. Besides not getting to write, the only other thing that makes me that cranky is a lack of food. Seriously. If I don't eat every three hours, put on your defensive shields. I carry food with me for all business and writing trips: if you see me on one, check my bag. You'll find a stash of vitamuffins and almonds. If I've already eaten them up? Back away slowly and sling me a Fiber One bar before turning to run for your life.

So, our Little Dude's latest routine change has made for a discombobulated writerly me--but I think it's actually turning out for the better. For whatever reason, he's decided to wake at 6, which used to be the time I'd crawl out of bed and write for an hour before waking him. No more: he wants up, he wants food, and he wants to get to preschool now. (Why? I would like to know. I notice a whole gang of little boys showing up earlier lately, so obviously Something Is Afoot. Maybe I don't want to know). 

So on most mornings, Little Dude is racing into his preschool classroom at the same time I used to hit the save button and shake him awake. That means I'm at home by 7:15, staring a big chunk of time in the face. If I want to, I can write for nearly two hours before I clock into my dayjob. That's more time than I used to get in the mornings. So... it's good, I think.

I'm finding, too, that my writing is a lot looser and creative if I've had time to wake up and eat breakfast. I wouldn't have believed that--who hasn't read the pile of books and articles that say your best work comes out in those waking moments when your brain hasn't gotten bogged down by reality yet? Not for me. Apparently Froot Loops (don't knock them! they're whole grain now, I swear it!) or peanut butter bagels (c'mon, PROTEIN!) are key to my creative success. Of course Pop-Tarts would probably turn me into a writing genius, especially the chocolate fudge variety, but I am trying to be all responsible and nutritious in my morning meal selections. Little Dude is watching, after all.

Of course all of this means that I'm exhausted by ten at night... killing that writing time I used to grab once Little Dude was asleep. So that will be another adjustment. But for now, I'm hitting my writing goal of 3 chapters a week, and they're not horrific either. 

So, for this "Behind The Tweet", things are pretty good... until Little Dude starts waking up at 5:30. Watch my twitter and facebook updates... you WILL know if that happens.

For then? I will Draw The Line.