Masked Candy Thieves, Huge Walking Apples, & Life Altering Humiliation for a Bag of Cheetos

 So, you know how sometimes, you're at a huge author event in another state and you're with your friend, and you're just trying to get your picture taken with a 100% real, magical, huge, walking apple that happens to be wandering through the place and PEOPLE WON'T LEAVE YOU ALONE?

It happened to me once again on Saturday, when I had the good fortune to be asked to attend the first annual Author Fest in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. It was certainly a special occasion for me. Generally, I am not technically "invited" to events like this. I usually have to slip in through any unlocked door, clutching a box of my posters and bookmarks and stuff, and make my way to an empty seat behind a table.

People will wander up to me as I sit there and look at the name tag on the table where I have seated myself.
"So, you're J.K. Rowling?" they will ask.
"Yes," I answer. "Yes I am. Only I have a few books out under my new pen-name, Marty Kelley. Would you like o buy a few cases of them?"

Sometimes I can even grab a few cookies off the refreshment table as security drags me to the door.

But I was actually invited to this event because my good friend, the wicked talented story-teller/author, Becky Rule suggested to the organizers that I might be a good person to contact.

When pressed for details, Becky admitted that she had recommended me simply because I was the only person she knew who might be willing to drive over 100 miles each way for a free bag of Cheetos and a chance to get my picture taken with a 100% real, magical, huge, walking apple.

And I was planning on taking full advantage of that opportunity. When that apple strolled into the room, all shiny and bright and delicious looking, I vaulted over my table, ready to tackle it and take a bite.

Becky grabbed my ankle as I lunged. "No, Marty!" she wailed.
I kicked at her hand, still clutching my ankle. "Let go! The apple is here!" I cried. "And I'm hungry!"
Becky began sobbing. "I'm sorry, Marty," she wailed. "I lied."
I stopped struggling against her iron grip. "What?" I gasped.
"The apple," Becky managed between shuddering sobs. "It's... it's not a 100% real, magical, huge walking apple like I told you. It's just a child in an apple costume."

The news hit me hard.

"So I can't eat it?" I whimpered.
Becky shook her head. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Well," I groaned, standing and brushing myself off. "I guess I don't need to eat it. I've got some Cheetos, after all. Let's go get our pictures taken with the apple."

The apple tried to run, but Becky grabbed its stem and forced it to pose with us for nearly 250 pictures.

But, as happens so frequently when famous authors try to have our pictures taken with non-magical, huge, walking apples, the crowds of paparazzi gathered around, yelling and snapping pictures.

Can we get no peace?

"Don't worry, Becky. I'll handle this," I said, heading for the unruly crowd.

Becky kept a firm hold of the apple's stem while I stalked over to attend to the paparazzi.

The last photo on that paparazzi's camera.

I dusted myself off and returned to the apple for a few thousand more pictures.

You cannot hear the child weeping helplessly inside the apple costume. "Please... enough pictures... set me free..."

After the extensive photo sessions were over, I went back to my table and met Doreen Tango Hampton, my table-mate and new best friend. Obviously someone with this much gum is someone you want to befriend. I threw myself in her lap and instantly proposed marriage. Her husband was, for some reason, somewhat opposed to the idea.

Doreen is trying to hold back the tears when she discovers that I am not actually Dr. Suess, as I claimed I was.

Please notice all the gum Doreen has spread out in an enticing fashion across the front of the table.

Note to self: Gum attracts children.

Throughout the day, due to Doreen's appallingly short-sighted decision to spill gum all over the place, our table was besieged by roving hoards of children, all desperately seeking gum. Some children asked if she had any other kind of candy.

"No," she explained politely. "My book is called, I Like Gum. So, you see, I have gum."
The kids would shrug, slightly disgusted by Doreen's poor assortment of candy, and grab a few hundred pieces of gum to cram in their pockets.

Some children wandered by six or seven thousand times, pausing just long enough to fill their pockets at each pass.

These two girls–I am not joking–actually donned masks to grab more gum after Doreen politely suggested that the 15 pounds they had each already taken might be enough. They should probably be considered armed and dangerous.

Thwarting gum thieves is hungry work, and having been denied my chance to eat a 100% real magical, huge, walking apple (thanks, Becky), I rooted through the goodie bag that had thoughtfully been supplied by the event organizers.

And I feel that at this point, I must point out that the people who organized this Author Fest did an absolutely AMAZING job. It was their first Author Fest and they totally nailed everything. There were even personalized signs on each table with hand-drawn pictures depicting scenes from each person's book. The event was very well attended, things ran perfectly and all the authors and illustrators had a great time.

And the goodie bags! The goodie bag was filled with what I must call the greatest collection of goodies in the entire history of goodie bags:

Candy and a bag of Cheetos.

And, although I was facing starvation from spending the afternoon fending off gangs of children in search of gum, I carefully weighed the options, trying to decide in which way a bag of Cheetos might deliver the most pleasure.

Sure, I could eat them. And I'm sure they would have brought me a few blissful moments of Cheezey Delite™.

But could I not find some way to turn those few minutes of gustatory delight into a memory that will haunt some poor child for a lifetime?

Why, yes, I could.

I hobbled together a makeshift poster and offered my bag of Cheetos to anyone who would sing a song for me.

Then I began accosting everyone who passed by, begging them to sing in exchange for a cheesy treat.

Nobody was coming up to sing to me, however, because they were all in line to see Scott Nash, the wonderfully talented creator of Flat Stanley and many other great books. Obviously, all the other authors and illustrators were incredibly jealous of the line he had all day long. Naturally, we plotted to have him eliminated, but not a single author in the place had had the foresight to bring along something so basic as a surface to surface thermonuclear warhead.

Get away from Scott Nash! I have CHEETOS!!

But try as I might, I could not get anyone to sing.

And then, to my horror, I discovered that Becky Rule–not content with having cheated me out of my chance to eat a 100% real, magical, huge, walking apple–was undermining my attempt to make someone sing by making a different, and much easier offer.

Becky is a mad, evil genius who bears constant supervision. Her daughter, Adi, is lurking in the shadows on the left and may have had some part in this sinister scheme.

I attempted to rally support to have Becky eliminated, but all the other authors were still mopey and despondent about the whole Scott Nash thing.

And then, something amazing happened.

Eva came shyly up to me and asked if she could sing for the Cheetos.

Please note the amazing treasure trove of goodness I heaped upon this brave and amazing young lady.

And sing she did. After a stirring rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, I heaped everything from my goodie bag unto her. She was amazing.

And then, as I sat back, satisfied with a job well done, several more children came up to sing to me.

I explained that I had no more Cheetos to offer, but they offered to sing in exchange for a poster. I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was giving posters away to everyone, so I let them sing.

Teagan sang the entire theme song to the Brady Bunch and brought nostalgic tears to my eyes.

Watch out Delaney and Teagan! The gum thief is behind you!

These two amazing ladies sang a duet of Call Me Maybe that wold have left Katy Perry breathless with awe.

Naturally, I gloated about my success loudly enough for Becky to hear.

She did manage to give away her chips to a young lady who told this joke:

Marty was talking to a squirrel. 

He told the squirrel, "You are what you eat." 

The squirrel ran away yelling, "I'm nuts!"

I had no idea that there was that much talent in the lovely, quiet town of Cape Elizabeth.

It was a wonderful event and I certainly hope to return next year.
I'll be sure to bring a lot of Cheetos.
But no gum.

And, I'll be wearing this:

Mr. Kelley Goes To Washington. His Socks Do Not. (Washington Travel Journal, Day 1)

First, I just want to say that it was an honest mistake.
I had a lot on my mind.
I was busy.
I was distracted.
That's why I forgot to pack clean socks and undies for my 4 day trip to Washington D.C.
I have found that washing socks and undies in the sink with hand soap is an effective way to get them clean, but hanging them on coat hangers, suspended over the air conditioning unit is NOT an effective way to dry them.

I had much better results with a hair dryer. Socks can simply be slipped over the business end of a hair dryer. After a few minutes, they are dry and, as an added bonus, the process infuses the entire hotel room with the delicate scent of burning fabric. Undies, especially boxers, are somewhat more problematic due to their unwieldy shape, but with patience, they can also be dried with a hair dryer.

Other than the whole undies/socks thing, we had a lovely time on our trip to Washington. We arrived Friday afternoon, just in time for me to shower quickly, change into clean clothes (except for those undies and socks) and race off to a reception at the Library of Congress. Getting into an "invitation only" reception was one of the perks of being chosen as the author to represent New Hampshire at the 2011 National Book Festival.

The other perks were, of course, the opportunity to learn how to blow dry socks, and the opportunity to discover how sweaty you can get running from Union Station to the National Mall in freshly dried socks. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After the reception, which Kerri and the kids drove me to, I wandered around near the Capitol Building, searching for a cab to take me back to my hotel. My recent adventure in New York had lead me to believe that 9 out of every 10 cars in a city are taxis. Not so in Washington. I wandered aimlessly to and fro, attracting the attention of the very highly strung police officers who stand guard at every street corner. When I finally managed to flag down a taxi, I gave the driver the address.

"Where?" he asked.

I repeated the address.

"Never heard o dat street, man. Get out."

"What?" I asked.

He slammed on the brakes. "I never heard o day street. Out my cab."

So I began my weary walk around the city, searching for a cab that might deliver me to the hotel. I got directions from a friendly police officer and was at least able to trudge in the proper direction until I finally managed to flag down a cab that delivered me to the hotel an the gourmet $50 pizza that Kerri had ordered in my absence.

Anyone who has ever met me will readily agree that:

1. I am a food snob.
2. I object, in the strongest possible fashion, to paying $50 for a pizza.

In fairness to Kerri, it was actually three "gourmet" pizzas, a bottle of Sprite and a plastic bag for $50. The plastic bag that the soda came in, our only souvenir from the trip, was itemized at $0.05 on the receipt.

The pizzas did not live up to their price tags and I'd prefer never to think about them again.

Instead, I will think about the festival itself, a literary bacchanal with many, many authors and many, many, many attendees, all seeking the same thing.

Free stuff.

I had been warned about this. Each state sent an envoy from the state library to show off the fact that people in their state could read. At least, I assume that's why they were there. They armed their representatives with free stuff to give to people. I really have no idea why the states felt obligated to give stuff away, but as it was in the name of literacy, I was all for it. Plus, I got some free stuff for myself.

"People will come through the pavilion," I was told by several librarians, "and they will grab anything that isn't nailed to the table. If you have a cell phone, DON'T put it on the table. They will take it."

The representatives from New Hampshire, in a bold effort to show just how cool we are, had color changing pencils to give away. "The kids will be all right," I was told, "but watch the adults."

Kids generally limited themselves to taking one or two pencils. And, even though they were asked politely to just take one, adults typically scooped up 10-20 pencils at a grab.

"Could you please just take one pencil?" the librarians asked politely.

The person would look the librarian in the eye, drop one of the 20 pencils back on the table, and throw the rest into her bag before running off into the crowd.

I suggested a metal yardstick to whack fingers with, and even offered to do the whacking, but my suggestions were ignored. My job, technically, was to merely stand around and be eye candy, something I am vastly experienced at. I was the author from New Hampshire, after all.

People wandered through the pavilion, traveling from state to state with a map of the US clutched in their sweaty, pencil filled hands. Each state had a sticker or a stamp that they would place on the map. Once you got all 50 states, you received the grand prize, a warm sense of satisfaction and a map with 50 stickers on it.

People raced from state to state in a fevered state of near frenzy to get the coveted stamps or stickers. I was conscripted into helping out with the stamping and took it upon myself to make sure people had an opportunity to slow down and enjoy the process. When they shoved their maps in my face and waved them back and forth, I put my stamp down and smiled.

"Hi," I'd say. "Having a good time this morning?"

"STAMP!"

"Yup," I'd respond, "I can't believe the crowds, can you? Amazing that this many people are..."

"STAMP!"

"Interested in books. I'm Marty Kelley, the featured author from..."

"STAMP!!!"

"New Hampshire. Do you need a stamp from New Hampshire?"

"STAMP!!!!!!"

"I've got the stamp right here," I'd say, picking it up and waving it tantalizingly, "Can you find New Hampshire on that map you've got?"

The person would scan the map frantically and jab at any state that started with an N.

"Nope. That's Nevada," I'd say, "New Hampshire is a bit more toward the eastern side."

The person would then flip the map over, looking–I assume–for China. Then he would flip it back and jab randomly again.

"You're getting closer, but that's New Jersey."

Another jab.

"New York. Getting warmer."

The person would then let fly with an agonized howl and I would smile and gently stamp a New Hampshire stamp on his map. He would then plow to the other end of the table, grab a fistful of color-changing pencils and race off into the crowd.

Notice how happy the children are after they get to meet a real, live author.

I had a wonderful time and actually met lots of very cool teachers and librarians who were there for more than the free pencils.

Some states had bookmarks.

After a few hours, I bade a fond farewell to Ann, Michael, and Kelly, the brave souls guarding New Hampshire's strategic pencil reserves, and set off with my family to wander around Washington D.C. and soak up all the historic wonder of our country.

As we wandered through the National Mall, we passed a "Legalize Medical Marijuana" rally that had drawn exactly one attendee. The organizers probably should take a hint from the librarians and start giving away free stuff.

We forced our way through the Medical Marijuana crowd and gazed in awe upon the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial. I can only assume that budget cuts are responsible for its current condition.

Likewise the state of security in the area.

When we arrived at the Lincoln Memorial where I noticed that visitors don't actually want pictures of the famous monuments. They want pictures of themselves, in front of famous monuments. This was to be a pervasive theme on our trip.

I found taking these pictures to be immensely satisfying. My family, especially my daughter, were unamused by this, however.

We eventually tired of all our wandering, made our way back to the hotel and stewed ourselves in the pool before heading to bed to rest up for another day of adventure and photographs of random strangers that lay ahead.

They Used to Just Want My Autograph

I must preface this by saying that I visit a LOT of schools. And I’ve been doing it for a long time.
I also used to teach kindergarten, although I only lasted two months in that position.
Between the two, I felt that I might have been in a position to say that I have seen it all and heard it all as far as kindergarten kids were concerned.
Not true, it appears.
Today, I was visiting a school and started my day with the kindergarten kids. They were delightful and charming and cute as buttons. Until I asked them if they had any questions.
I have been in this business long enough to know that asking kindergarteners for questions is a foolish proposition, destined to fail. Typically, when I ask for questions, it goes like this:

Me: Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me about writing books?
Some kid: I have a dog.
Me: That’s great. But I was…
Same kid: His name is Goober. He peed on the carpet once.
Another kid: I have a dog too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Me: I… uh… Are there any other questions?
Some other kid, jamming his finger into his mouth: Look! I have a loose tooth.
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Me: I… uh… Are there any questions. A question is something that I have to answer. Are there any questions?
The next kid: I don’t have a loose tooth because I lost it and my mom has brown hair but not really because she colors it because it’s actually gray but she doesn’t want people to know and my birthday is in winter and one time I saw a duck with one foot.
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Another kid: Me too!
Me: Thanks so much for letting me come visit your class today. I will be going now.

Then I slip out of the room and take a few deep, cleansing breaths.

I understand that this will happen and I am ready for it.

What I was not ready for today was the kindergarten girl who actually asked me a real, honest-to-goodness question.

It caught me a bit off guard.

So did the fact that her question was, “Can I have your underpants?”

 (Please note: these are NOT my actual underpants.)

If nothing else, I am a professional.

I handled the situation like any seasoned professional presenter might. I laughed until I nearly wet my pants.

I’m not sure how that might have affected her desire to have my undies.

I was still hunched over, trying not to snork up a lung when one of her classmates said, “They’re probably boxers.”

And, of course, they were but this didn't seem like information that needed to be shared with them.

I’m wondering how it would work out for me if I add “Marty’s Underpants” to my book order form that I leave at schools. I’ll have to ask some of my author friends how much they charge for their undies.

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!