Or A Horse. A really, really scary horse.

You passionate, devoted followers of my blog (I'm sure there are millions of you) know that I did a portrait of my neighbor's daughter in exchange for a really cool go-kart for my son. Actually, as a funny side note, I get lots of people coming to my blog because of the label "really cool go-kart". Imagine how disappointed those poor people must be.
"Hey!" They cry, their eyes welling with unshed tears, "This blog isn't about really cool go karts! It's not about go karts at all! I've been lied to!"

Just to keep it interesting, I think I will label this post with the  go-kart tag. It will be fun to see if they come back.

"Ah Ha!" they will say, licking their lips in anticipation of finding out about really cool go-karts, "Now we're talking... What?!? Again!?! AAAAAARRRRRRRHHHHHHGGGGGGG!"

But then they will look more closely and they will see that there is more to life than really cool go-karts. There is more to life than even lame go-karts.

There are horses!

Personally–and please don't get all up in my face about this– personally, I'm not a big horse fan. Honestly, they frighten me. Horses are big and powerful and could, should the mood strike them, stomple me to a pudding and eat me.

I have been assured by many people that horses will not eat me (nobody, I note, has assured me that horses won't stomple me into a sort of lumpy Marty-jelly). And I reply that just because it hasn't happened before in the entire history of human experience, does not mean that it won't happen now. New, unprecedented things are happening all the time. And when the first horse decides to eat its first person, I do not intend to be among those present.

Which leads me to my daughter, who loves horses and is among those at the forefront of the movement to convince me that horses are peaceful, Gandhi-like creatures who would never, even for a moment, consider eating me.

Possibly because I'm too gristly.

My daughter takes horse riding lessons from my neighbor at Toad Hill Farm and is entirely, clinically loony about horses. Something, I'm afraid we will never see eye to eye about. And speaking of eyes, have you ever seen a horse's eye? They are huge and frightening and always seem to be looking at me with an aim toward deciding just how I might taste. Perhaps with some barbecue sauce.

I have also had my parenting skills called into question about this. "So," my sharp-tongued friends will say, "You think horses are these terrifying, death-dealing monsters, yet you allow your fragile, sweet eight-year-old daughter to ride them?"

"Sure." I reply.

And why not? I'm the one that's terrified of them. Not her. If she wants to risk her life riding one of those slavering man-eating monsters of the pasture, then good for her.

To that end, the same neighbor who traded the terribly dangerous go-kart for a portrait of her daughter has also agreed to allow my daughter to pet, care for, and ride the dangerous horses that swarm over her entire farm like... like... evil swarming horses.

So that's why I had to do another portrait. At the top of the post is my most recent portrait, created in exchange for a chance for my daughter will be allowed to continue risking life and limb with these terrifying land sharks of doom.

Yee Haw!, Tori.  Have fun.

I'll be waiting at home.

Under the bed.

Ummm...Oops...

Hope you didn't already get that tattoo...

I'll be speaking at The Keene State Children's Literature Festival on OCTOBER 30th next year.

Not November 30th.

I seem to be calendar disabled lately.

If you already got my name and the wrong date tattooed on your forehead, I'll consider still giving you the free books I promised in that previous post.

We'll see.

I'll also be posting some ideas for the Marty Kelley tattoo contest very soon.

Creepy...

Just a quick posting. This is a watercolor portrait I'm starting of my son. I tried painting just the eyes first. I don't normally work that way, but it seemed like it might be fun to try. It looks really creepy with only eyes finished.

So. Yeah. That's it. Just wanted to share.

AM I FINALLY FAMOUS?

So.
Wanna hear something really cool?
Seriously super cool?
You do, don't you?
Okay.
You might want to sit down for this.
If you are sitting down, stand up and sit down again.
Really. Do it.
It's that cool.

It's official. I'm going to be a presenter at the Keene State Children's Literature Festival next year.
How cool is that?
(Answer: Super Rockin' Cool!)

Every year David White puts together an incredible festival with presentations from some of the best known authors and illustrators in the world: Caldecott winners; Newbery Award winners; and other various hotshots who have won big awards. So why was I chosen to be a presenter, you ask?

I have no idea.

But that's not the point. The point is, I was!

Yippie-Ding!

Other presenters next year will be : Susan Cooper, Paul B. Janeczko, Chris Raschka, and Jeanette Winter.

At the risk of sounding like a pathetic sycophant, I have dreamed of presenting at this festival ever since I attended my first one a dozen years ago. Now I have that chance!

Mark your calendar for October 30th next year. In fact, go out and get a tattoo on your forehead with that date on it. While you're at it, get my name and a picture of me tattooed there, too.

And because I'm so excited about this, I'll make a special offer. Anyone who shows up at the Literature Festival next year with a genuine, real-life Marty Kelley tattoo (no, scrawling my name across your ankle in magic marker does not count, smart guy; I'm talking about a real tattoo) will get a free autographed set of my books and a free copy of each of my future books. If your tattoo is cool enough, I'll put you in one of my books.

Come on. You know you want to.

So go. Now. Get a rockin' Marty Kelley tattoo and then go register for the festival.

I'll be looking for you.



Ahhh, and, in case you were wondering, the owl painting up top was donated to the Keene State Literature Festival's owl collection. It's hanging as part of a permanent collection of owls donated by some of the greatest illustrators in the world. Like me!

Now they are Famous

Hooray, Hooray, Hooray!
As announced in a much awaited previous post, the winners of the "Gee Your Hair Looks Terrific, Marty Kelley Contest" were Oliver and Olivia.
That was a very odd coincidence, I must say.
They have both fulfilled their sacred duties and sent pictures of themselves with the books they won.
Oliver already had a copy of The Messiest Desk, so chose to donate his copy to his school library. See how happy that librarian is?
Olivia got to keep her copy and now she is famous AND has a free copy of my book.
What could be better?
Keep your eyes peeled for a new contest whenever I can think of one.

Fail 2.0

Yesterday was a thrilling day filled with music, laughter, tasty food, and unimaginable personal humiliation.

Steve and I were busy with two performances. Our first gig was at St. Joseph's Hospital in Nashua. The hospital has occasional community outreach programs to let people know that you don't need to wait until you are desperately ill and coughing up internal organs to come to the hospital. You can come for some family fun, too.

After the hospital show, Steve had to grab some milk at the store. True fact: Even Rock & Roll superstars like Steve Blunt like a tall glass of milk now and then. As we were exiting the grocery store, we passed a beautiful young lady entering the store. She saw me and her eyes lit up and she stopped and gave me an effusive greeting. "Hey! How are you?" she asked. Steve was very impressed that I was being greeted by such a lovely young lady.

I totally panicked. I didn't recognize her and I mentally scrambled for a few desperate seconds trying to place her and not wind up looking completely foolish. I failed.

I feel that I must offer some feeble excuses and explanations for what happened next.

Excuse #1 - I was with Steve, at an unfamiliar grocery store in Nashua. I was out of my element.

Excuse #2 - When I'm with Steve, we tend to talk a lot about visits and performances we have done. From that mindset, I assumed that she was a teacher at one of the many schools I have visited. It happens on rare occasions that people will come up to me in public places and say hi, explaining that I had visited their school. It's always flattering, but I visit a lot of school. Try as I might, I can't remember everyone.

Excuse #3 - I am a dork.

She continued to chat amiably and comfortably for a few more gut wrenching seconds. When it finally became clear to me that I was not going to be able to figure out who she was in time to save any shred of self-respect, I broke down and said, "I'm so sorry. You're going to have to help me out. Where do I know you from?"

She stared at me, aghast. She cocked a hip to one side and gave me an incredulous look. "You've got to be kidding," she said, "I'm related to you."

Excuse #4 - It has been quite some time since I've seen my cousin, Christine.

So, the beautiful young lady was my cousin. I got it then, and I feel the need to emphasize the excuses I put forth before. I had not seen her in some time. I have been old and ugly for a long time, but these kids grow up and change and, doggonit, it's hard to recognize them sometimes.
She was not in her usual habitat (so, really, as she was not in a place where I expected to see her, she should have worn a name tag that said "Hello, I'm Marty's cousin, Christine.")

So, properly humiliated, I introduced her to Steve - who, I might mention, thought this amazing social gaffe on my part was one of the funniest things he's ever seen - and we chatted for a few more minutes and went our separate ways.

Steve and I drove off to his house where we ate sandwiches and contemplated what a total bozo I am and whether Christine might ever be able to forgive me. The sandwiches were tasty, but the forgiveness is still somewhat up in the air.

Our next big show for the day was at WERS, the radio station at Emerson College in Boston. with the taste of sandwich and humiliation still in my mouth, we drove down to the studios and started setting up.

Last year, Steve invited me to perform on the same radio show and it was a lot of fun. We were to be on the air for about 15 minutes, during which we would play a few songs and shamelessly promote our music, books, and upcoming events. While we were setting up and doing sound checks, one of the students who run the station came up to me with a paper and a pen. "You've got to read this and sign it, please," he said.

It was a sort of contract, assuring the station that I would not use any foul language while on the air. Considering that we were on a family show called "The Playground", and cutting loose with a barrage of obscenity would be a sure invitation to commercial and professional suicide, the contract seemed somewhat superfluous.

My favorite part of the contract was that fact that it not only warned against foul language, it provided dozens and dozens of specific examples of unacceptable vocabulary. The scope and specificity of the list was breathtaking. As a result, the contract I was was signing to prevent me from using obscenities, was full of more foul language than any printed document I have ever seen in my life. It had words, phrases, and combinations of words and phrases so exotic that they seemed to be a foreign language at times. It was really a good read and I should have asked for a copy, but I didn't think of it in time.

After we had assured the lawyers that we had no intention of filling the airwaves with naughty words, the host of the show, Andy, came into the studio and we went on the air. We chatted for a few minutes then went into our first song. Steve, I have mentioned in previous posts, likes to keep me on my toes by adding new songs to our sets mid-show and changing songs during performances. Things were rolling smoothly during our first song, Steve was strumming and singing, and I was banging on the djembe drum. As we neared the end of the song, Steve evidently decided that things were too easy for me and I was having too much fun. He made the executive decision to change the ending of the song. As a result, he suddenly stopped playing while my drumming continued for a measure or two until I realized that the song had ended.
"Hey, nice ending, there, Marty." Steve pointed out.

I was sad that I had signed the language contract then, because it had given me much verbal ammunition that I could have fired at Steve at that point. "Ha. Ha." I laughed, "I was having so much fun, I didn't want it to end."

After the show, we scorched our digestive tracts with some delicious Indian food and made our way homeward. Our next gig together is also in Boston. We'll be at the Read and Romp on November 14th. If you see us, come up and say hello.

If you are related to me or are someone I should know, please wear a nametag.

Listen TONIGHT!!

My buddy Steve Blunt invited me down to Boston tonight. We're going to play a few songs on WERS (88.9 fm) at 6:00.
You should listen because there is always the thrilling possibility that I'll goof up a song live on the radio.

Stay tuned!

And the winners are...

Yeah. So the teeming millions I was hoping might swarm the bookstores to compliment my hair did not materialize. In fact, of all the people who did come, only one knew the secret phrase. One other lucky contestant sent in an absentee compliment so effusive that I couldn't resist.
Seriously. That's a lot of work.
So I've decided that there will be two winners.

Oddly, they are Oliver and Olivia. What are the chances?

Thanks for playing. Your books are on the way.

Remember - now you need to send pictures of the winners gloating and reveling in their glory.

And now a word from our sponsor: ME.

You know that extra cash you have lying around in great heaping piles all over your house? It's a pain.
I know that.
And I want to help.
If you have always wondered what you or a loved one would look like as a famous piece of art, here's your chance to find out. I'll be happy to do one of these drawings in exchange for some of that messy, ugly cash that's cluttering up your house. These can be hung neatly on the wall, so you won't even trip over them. They can also be used as gifts for loved ones or very fancy place mats.
I do pencil and watercolor portraits. There are lots of examples on my website. You can contact me for more information or to get in line for one of these.

This drawing is my pal Soup. She hasn't even seen the real drawing, but just knowing that the drawing exists makes her a much happier person.*


*I have no idea if this is true. I'll check with Soupy and let you know.

AUTHOR FAIL!!

It finally happened.

I failed. Big time.

Look closely at the post just before this one. You will notice that it says I will be at Gibson's Books in Concord for a book signing at 3:00 pm. On my calendar in my studio, it says I will be there at 3:00 pm. On our calendar in the kitchen, it says I will be there at 3:00 pm.

The thing is, the book signing was at 10:00 this morning, while I was busy watching my son's soccer team lose.

I got home to a slightly urgent sounding message from Deb, the event coordinator at Gibson's saying that she hoped I was on my way.

Only, I wasn't.

Of course, the only option available to me was to panic. I did that brilliantly.

I called Deb and explained that I was a bonehead. She did not argue the point, but was so polite and gracious that it made me feel even worse. She said that there were books that people had bought, eagerly anticipating that I would sign them, thus making them worthy of hawking on EBay. She asked if I had some time next week to stop by and sign the books.

45 minutes later, I was at Gibson's signing books and apologizing excessively and effusively. Deb was still unfailingly polite. I'd like to tell myself that it was only a thin veneer of politeness and the fact that she was at work that kept her from twisting my head off, but I don't believe that. She is just a genuinely nice person, and I am a dope.

I brought along a framed original painting from Winter Woes for the store as a small gift of apology, but I still feel like a chump.

To make the whole thing worse, this was slated to be an event with myself and another author and another illustrator. When we originally set the date, we agreed on a date and time after a flurry of emails. Deb contacted me a few days later and said that she was looking at my website and it appeared that I was already booked someplace else on the date and time we had agreed to.

Um. Yeah. Bonehead.

So we all had to scramble and reschedule, because I goofed.

And then, after all that, I didn't even show up.

So. You know... I have another book signing at the Toadstool in Milford on October 17th at 4:00. Or is it 10:00?

(Note to self - it is 4:00)

I'll try to be there.