The Truth About Writing and Potty Training

Two weeks ago during our visit to Los Angeles (hence one of the reasons why I've been away from my blog), Grandma and Papa Scribe bought Little Scribe his first potty chair from a woodcarver at the Irish Festival. Lacking in bells and whistles and Elmo decorations, the chair is carved out of pine (complete with a crescent moon carved on the back) and includes a built in toliet paper holder one one side and a book/magazine holder on the other. It has a plastic liner under the seat and a wooden cover on top.

What does this have to do with writing? Well, writing and potty training have much more in common than at first glance. Think about the cheerleading a parent does with a toddler while he is on the potty:

"Just relax. You can do it. Let it all out. Reading helps, sometimes. I know, it's frustrating. Practice makes perfect. Don't give up. Let's try a little bit everyday. There it is! Good job!"
(All while your little one tries, cries, and flies off the potty and into your arms before you have a chance to wipe!)

Now imagine yourself on a tough writing day, when squeezing out even a single word feels harder than climbing Mount Hood in the middle of a snowstorm.

I think the feelings between toddler and writer are mutual.

Be your own cheerleader on those toughest of writing days, or call a writing friend to cheer for you. Say those same words that you say to your toddler on the potty, and when the words finally fly from your fingers and into your "potty" of a notebook or laptop, cry out with joy, "There it is! Good job!"

Of course, the words of my first drafts usually resemble what ends up in my toddler's potty more than an actual story, but cheer myself on I must, just as I do with my son, and forge ahead. As Grandma Scribe always says whenever I feel frustrated over Little Scribe's developmental progress, "There's no such thing as a typical kindergartener who isn't walking, talking, or potty trained. It will all happen in its own time."

So too should I remember when writing my stories. They will all happen in their own time.

Little Scribe's Book of the Moment

What's so amazing about being a children's book writer and a mother is that I get to "work" while reading picture books to my son. Before he was born, I used to check out a dozen by a single author and read them on the floor of my living room as a way to study the picture book form. Now I do it everyday while spending time with Little Scribe! Not a bad deal.

When I was an elementary school teacher, I used to read to second or third graders everyday, but my mind just didn't get as focused on the story as it does now cuddling in front of the woodburning stove with my son in our family room. There's something soothing, hypnotic almost, about reading a book for the thirtieth time (as long as it's a good story) with your two-year-old son in your lap. I am very picky about the books we read and try to have only the books that I enjoy reading as well in the house.

Little Scribe's book of the moment is RABBIT EARS by Amber Stewart and illustrated by Laura Rankin. The story is about a little rabbit named Hopscotch who hates having his ears washed. This scenario is close to my heart and real life experience, if you exchanged washing ears for washing hair. Little Scribe usually hates to have his hair washed, and it takes quite a bit of convincing to do so.

What's so precious about this story is not only its relevence to daily life, but also its clever use of names for the rabbit characters, like calling the main character "Hopscotch," his big cousin "Bobtail," and even down to the name of his favorite stuffed animal. (A little sewed up Velveteen Rabbit-type of stuffed animal named, appropriately enough, "Rabbity.") I also enjoy the repetition of the narrative, as can be seen in this example:

"Hopscotch knew what he liked and what he did not like.
He did like Rabbity
building a tower twelve blocks high with no wobbbles at all,
and very chocolatey chocolate cake (with extra icing on the side.

Hopscotch did not like lumpy pudding,
cold wet paws,
and losing Rabbity just before bedtime, even though Rabbity was usually found exactly where Hopscotch had left him.

And Hopscotch knew, for absolute certain, the thing he did not like the most was
having his ears washed!"

The colors in the book's illustrations are reminiscent of a french country cottage: lots of golden yellow, cobalt blue, dusty rose, grassy green, and warm tan. Even the house the rabbit family lives in looks like a cottage with its clawfoot tub, hardwood floors, and wainscotting in the kitchen. (I especially love the scene in the kitchen where Hopscotch is asking his Daddy when he can go stay at his big cousin Bobtail's house overnight while Mommy is drinking tea. Little Scribe always points to the teapot in the illustration and cries, "Mama Tea! Mama Tea!")

RABBIT EARS is an excellent example of pure picture book format and a fine study for children's writers interested in the genre. Thank you, Little Scribe, for making me read it to you upteen times!

Now, if only he'd let me write while we play together!

The Color of War

You know, I didn't know that war could be "colorful." Oh sure, the first color people probably think of when they think of war is red, the color of blood. But today I found out that war could be yellow, blue, green, orange, purple, and even pink, when I stumbled across a coloring book published by Dalmation Press called, LET'S GET GOING! in the play area of the West Linn City Hall waiting room.

The LET'S GET GOING! coloring book is part of Dalmation Press' "Giant Book to Color" series. The cover shows three F-16-type jet fighters flying, so I assumed from the title that this coloring book would be about either airplanes, jets, or things that go (a very typical theme for toddlers).

Opening it for Little Scribe to color in, I was shocked to find two soldiers dressed in fatigues holding an "oozie" at the ready (not sure about the spelling of this, but I'm not a gun expert, so...) The worst part of all is that the soldiers were colored in stereotypical Crayola green, with a blue sky, red clouds, green grass, and black rocks.

Oh, and the oozie was colored pink.

THIS IS A TODDLER'S COLORING BOOK FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

What is the world of children's books coming to? To find out, I looked up Dalmation Press in my latest Publisher's Weekly, which just happens to be the new Children's Spring Books preview issue. Coming out this spring, ladies and gentlemen, are such graphic and gratuitous topics as a board book called, NOAH'S ARK, a picture book called HEAVEN ON EARTH, a retelling of the hymn, ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL in picture book form, and a new version of that ancient bestseller, THE CHILDREN'S ILLUSTRATED BIBLE.

Due to the overwhelming amount of children's religious books being published by Dalmation Press this season, I have to ask the most obvious of questions-- What would Jesus think of their coloring book?

Don't get me wrong, I am completely for the First Amendment and totally against book burning, but this coloring book really tempted me to stray and chuck it into my wood-burning stove. I just cringe every time I imagine a little boy or girl coloring that oozie pink. This coloring book is totally aimed at toddlers and preschoolers, too. I don't feel that I am unpatriotic in having these feelings, just in favor of non-violent coloring books for our smallest of walking citizens, the toddler and preschooler set (and grade schoolers as well, but that's a pipe dream, I'm sure.)

Is this a lot to ask?

I'm assuming that this coloring book was published for children whose parents, other family members, neighbors, etc, are involved in the war in Iraq. Or, it could be that it was published just to praise our military forces. Great. Fantastic. I love our troops. But does it have to show dozens of weapons of war in order to make its point? I think children will be filled with pride for our military forces without a Navy Seal-type of soldier ready to fire (colored orange, by the way) or a soldier carrying that weapon of weapons, a missile (colored a festive spring green and yellow mix, with the soldier's face colored a Mardi Gras-esque purple and yellow.) What's next, showing a nuclear weapon dropping from a Stealth Fighter?

Come on, Dalmation Press. The graphic illustrations in LET'S GET GOING! should be, in the final words of Donald Crews' Caldecott award-winning board book, FREIGHT TRAIN,

"Going, going, gone....."

(And as far as the West Linn City Hall is concerned, I just hope that they plead ignorance...)

The Blog Boutique

I am attempting something new-- writing in my blog while Little Scribe plays at the Play Boutique. After his normal toddler play time from 9-11am (my sacred writing time) on Fridays, they have open free play until 12:30pm with two computers linked to the internet that you can use.

So I can sit here on a stainless steel stool, up high for careful viewing, and watch Little Scribe play while I muse about how far can one go in edgy Y.A., Richard Peck's latest middle grade novel, an upcoming talk with Jane Yolen in Washington state, whether or not fantasy has hit a plateau, and other children's literary topics.

Uh oh. Screamfest. Gotta go...

Taking a Writing Break

After staying up until 2:00 am working on my submission to the Washington SCBWI retreat and conference in April, I am taking a writing break today during my son's time at the Play Boutique, his daycare, playschool, nursery-type of place. It's a very special place that takes drop-in toddlers three times a week and provides not only a play area but also art, music, and most important of all-- snack.

Little Scribe loves it. He attends on Tuesdays from 9-12:45pm, Wednesdays from 9-11am, and Fridays from 9-11am. My favorite part of the Play Boutique happens once a week on Friday night from 5:30pm-8:30pm. It's called "Happy Hour" and it's a drop-off playtime so parents can go out to dinner, see a movie, and just basically be "adults" again. I don't know what I would do without it.

I use these hours as my writing time, and since the Play Boutique is fifteen minutes away from my house, I write nearby at either Peets Coffee or Chuck's Coffee and Cookies (not a good thing to write where fresh, homemade cookies are being baked, though. I almost never leave without one for each member of my family, but at least Chuck's has free internet.) This personal time is precious to me, and I almost never waste it on errands, which usually leads to dragging Little Scribe to the grocery store, dry cleaners, or the dreaded Target. I despise running errands with him. It never fails that the trip ends up with some kind of breakdown, no matter how many snacks, toys, or how much sleep he's gotten.

What I really need is what Michael Keaton had in the movie, "Multiplicity," a "Mama Scribe #2" who would do all of my errands for me while I write. With my luck, though, the clone would be like #4 in the movie and never get anything done. (If you've seen the movie, you'll know what I mean.) Actually, I think in real life, now that I've become a mother, my brain is more like #4 than I want to admit!

And now, it's time to go eat a dolphin... I mean, pet a dolphin. (Another annoying movie reference, I know)

Early To Bed (In My Dreams!)

Tried to get Little Scribe in bed early tonight so I could work on my novel, to no avail! We started at 7:15pm, and the ordeal didn't end until 9:00pm, after crying it out inbetween, me going back in to change his diaper, and starting all over again. Aaagh! And what am I doing now? Procrastinating, of course.

So often I get really worked up to write, ready to hit those keys right after my son hits the pillow, only to be thrown off by his decision that no, it is not time for bed, Mama. It's time to play with Mama's hair, flip around a hundred times in her arms, and play with Mama's hair some more.

Don't get me wrong... I LOVE cuddling Little Scribe and feeling him play with my hair. But when I am in my writer's mode and feeling antsy to type, it drives me crazy when it takes much longer than I thought.

Ditto all of this for nap time, too. (Although today was a good day on that account. I got two and a half hours of writing time in during nap.)

Can't write a long post tonight. Got to catch up on my missed writing time (As the dirty dinner dishes sit on the counter and in the sink, but that's another topic for a later post...)

Off to the trenches...

Frailty, Thy Name is Hats!

Why is it that my son refuses to let me take a shower during the day? At first, when he was younger, I thought it was his age. Maybe the whole "separation anxiety" phase or what not. So, I stayed diligent and kept trying, bringing in toys, books, playing music, the whole nine yards, just so Mama could get clean and not have anymore playdough underneath her fingernails from two days ago.

Nothing worked.

My son cried and carried on, his screams at mezzo soprano level, reaching all the way to my husband's office upstairs, where Daddy was undoubitibly on a conference call to New York. I realized that I had to make a decision-- shower and let him scream, shower at night, shower during naps when I could be writing, or shower when my husband finished with work, usually around 4pm.

I decided to shower, well, whenever I could! This has led to extremely bad hair days and a propensity to throw on a hat no matter what the outfit, whether I get to take a shower or not, since even if I do get to in the morning or afternoon, I rarely ever have time to blow-dry my hair.

I have never been a fashionista or a DEVIL WEARS PRADA type of gal, but at least I used to match my hats a little better pre-baby! (Hats have always been a passion of mine. They are to me what shoes are to others.) Now, in the madness of trying to get washed, dried, dressed, and out the door for one reason or another, it isn't surprising if I wear a knitted Reggae-style beret with a plaid skirt!

To get through the horror of my endless bad hair and hat days, I've decided to just think of myself as an artsy writer/mama with barely enough time to write two pages a day let alone worry about her looks. I'm sure this leads to strange stares from mothers who are a little more (okay, A LOT more) together than me whenever I pick up my son from the play group he attends three times a week so can write across the street at Peets Coffee. But if the time I saved taking a shower at night, throwing on a hat in the morning, and rushing out the door with my washed, fed, and clothed toddler helped me to write two pages of my novel that day, then the "hat head" was well worth it.

Mama Scribe has to keep her priorities straight!