My Fun Life

This post is just to gloat about how cool my life is.

March is typically my busiest month visiting schools. Last week, I logged in almost a thousand miles of driving to and fro, hither and yon from southern Massachusetts to waaaaay up in Maine. On the same day!

I am incredibly fortunate to be able to do what I do for a living. I'm thankful for it every day (except when I'm sitting in traffic on my way to a school - then my thankfulness is sorely tested, I admit).

Here is a photographic essay of some of my thrilling adventures in the past few weeks.

Authorfest 2013 at Greenwood Elementary. I'm in good company at this cool event!

Some awesome stories created by Mr. Cormier's class at Sanbornton Elementary. Mr. Cormier was even working on a sweet blues version of this book.

And the kindergarten classes at Sanbornton Elementary made the cool trees based on Fall Is Not Easy.
And, if that weren't enough, the principal made me a delicious lunch.Yup.

The librarian at Sanbornton Elementary made a great looking bulletin board with a familiar face on it...

I rocked the house at Tupelo Music Hall in White River Junction, VT with Steve Blunt and Joe Pierog. And a stuffed dinosaur. We also rocked out at Tupelo in Londonderry, NH (sold out show!) and at Oyster River High School in Durham, NH. We're planning our world domination tour soon. Be warned.

My space at the Massachusetts State Librarian Association conference in Sturbridge, MA. It looked good for a few minutes.

Then this guy showed up. This is Jef Czekaj (pronounced "Jeff") a hilarious author and illustrator who may have the most amazing sweater in the universe.

Seriously. That is not normal. It was a fun morning hanging out with him.

Next week is another full week of visits and I couldn't be happier.

Lego Marty!

My son, Alex is a confirmed Lego-maniac, often disappearing for hours on end in his room to create some elaborate masterpiece of engineering.
But now he has outdone himself. The other night I was slaving away in my studio when he came in with his hands behind his back. Instinctively, I sprang from my seat, executed a perfect ninja-like dive and roll, and hid behind my trash can. He smiled and brought his hands from behind his back to reveal the most exquisite, beautiful creation I have ever witnessed.

It was me.
Made out of Legos.
He managed to capture not only my rugged good looks and outstanding sense of fashion, but the arm is fully articulated and allows the Lego-Marty to move its hand in delicate, graceful arcs, as if drawing.

It was like watching a movie of myself. Except the Lego-Marty uses its left hand to hold the pencil, a feat I have yet to master.
While Alex was sadly unable to make the Lego-Marty actually draw without some sort of manual intervention, he did have the foresight to include an easel with an attached piece of drawing paper.

I've had the Lego-Me in my studio for several days, and while it does add a certain visual charm to the ambiance of my studio, I am sad to report that it has yet to begin actually doing my work for me.
I had secretly hoped that the Lego-Me would magically come to life at night and illustrate books for me.
At the very least, I had entertained the wish that I might be able to send it to schools to do author visits for me while I lounged around in bed, sipping coffee and reading. It's not that I don't like doing school visits. I do.
I just like lounging around in bed even more.
Alex is currently hard at work on the new, improved, school-visiting, book-illustrating Lego-Marty and I'll let him out of his bedroom as soon as it's finished.

Who Am I?

I always start my author visits by asking the kids if they know who I am and what I do.
Today, reading to a kindergarten class, I asked if they knew what my job was.

One kid raised his hand and asked, "Are you the janitor?"

Maybe I should start dressing better?

Home and Gone Again

In case any of you have been losing sleep over the fact that I appear to be perpetually still in New Jersey; fear not. I returned home safely last week.

Sadly, that fate was not shared by my pillow and some of my clothes.
While I was in New Jersey, I got an email from my lovely wife explaining that my lovely son had been taken to the lovely hospital for lung x-rays. He had a lovely case of pneumonia.

This, I freely admit, upset me a bit.

I woke up very early the next day (like 3:30 early) and decided to just hit the road and get home. It seemed a wiser option than sitting in my hotel room, staring at the ceiling and listening to the roar of the traffic racing by.

I staggered blearily around my hotel room, showered, packed up my stuff and ran a large armload of my belongings out to my car. While there, I saw something shiny and got distracted.
"Ooooh coffee!"

I wandered over to the Dunkin Donuts, conveniently located in the scenic parking lot of my hotel, and entered its sacred coffee-infused walls. The clerk behind the counter was Indian and didn't seem to have a firm grasp on conversational English yet.

"Do you have vanilla coffee made?" I asked, seeking a whimsical, flavor-filled change in my coffee drinking experiences.

The clerk looked at me, obviously not understanding the question.

"Baniya?" he asked.

"Vanilla," I nodded, "Yes, do you have any vanilla coffee?"

He stared for a moment longer and then his face broke out into a radiant smile.

"Ahhh!" he said, "Medium french baniya, cream sugar!"

"That's it!" I cried, marveling at his psychic ability to penetrate my unkempt exterior and discern my innermost desires.

He handed me my coffee and I made my way back toward my car, marveling at the fact that he had learned English based entirely on the Dunkin Donuts menu items and how the majority of customers preferred them.

I was impressed. Thrust into the streets of Calcutta or Agra or Bombay, I doubted that I would have fared as well as he had.

I hopped into my car and sped off into the night, completely forgetting about the second load of belongings that sat in my hotel room, gathering up toxic levels of hotel carpet stink that I'm certain will render my pillow unusable for several washings.

I arrived home to find Alex doing better. My joy at that news was tempered slightly by the fact that I only then realized that I had forgotten all my stuff in New Jersey.

A quick call to the hotel confirmed that they would be delighted to do absolutely nothing to help me get my stuff back.

"Uhhh, I'd have to talk to the manager about sending it back to you, but I don't really think that's gonna happen."

Thanks Motel 6!

I sent a rather panicky and completely humiliating email to Cindy, the lady who had arranged my visit to New Jersey, asking her if she could possibly go to the hotel and grab my pillow–the one with the dirty socks and undies stuffed in the pillow case–and mail it up to me.

She agreed to undertake this odious task and I will forever be in her debt.

For the past week, I have been visiting schools from Massachusetts to the White Mountains. It's been fun, but exhausting. Every school is different and I never know what to expect when I arrive. This keeps me on my toes and in a perpetual state of near paranoid alertness.

At Fuller Meadow School, I was treated to delicious lunches (Candi, the coordinator, had read my blog entry asking that I not be served Sloppy Joes and Tater Tots) and, as if that weren't enough, she sent me home with two half gallons of delicious ice cream from the ice cream stand across the street.

My trip to Campton Elementary, way up north in New Hampshire began with a presentation to the 7th and 8th graders who, I was warned, might try to kill me and eat me.

Adults, as a rule, are terrified of 7th and 8th graders. Mostly with good reason, I imagine. But my visit with them was delightful. They were fun and enthusiastic and did not throw rocks at me or try to eat me. What's funny is that I gave almost exactly the same presentation that I normally do for 4th graders. It went very well, as did the rest of the day.

The only slight glitch in the day was the last presentation I gave to the Kindergarten, first, and second grades. It appeared that some poor child was suffering from some sort of gastro-intestinal distress and kept farting throughout my presentation. The child had the uncanny ability to time his farts to whenever I paused for dramatic effect.

"And then..." I paused, savoring the magical moment of silence. And when I opened my mouth to continue...

"FFAAAAAAARRRRRRRT!"

It was very amusing for everyone.

Tomorrow I head off to Portland, Maine for three days of school visits. I'm looking forward to this trip a lot because my good friend Amy lives up there and she claims to possess knowledge of the whereabouts of an excellent Thai restaurant.

And I know that, as I have yet to get my pillow back from New Jersey, there is no way I can leave it at the hotel this time.

That Terrifying Author Came to our School and Scarred Me For Life!

As I  have mentioned before (56 trillion times at last count), I visit a lot of schools to talk about writing books. I have also mentioned before (also 56 trillion times, I just recounted) that my brother is of the opinion that I spend more time talking about what I do than actually doing what I do.
Usually, I talk about writing. Now,  I'm going to turn the tables a bit and write about talking about writing.
You might need to read that last sentence again. I know I did.

I have been visiting schools, acting like some famous hot-shot authorstrator* for almost a dozen years now. I try to change my presentation  every year to keep things interesting for schools that hire me time and time again. It would be tough to present with a row of snoring teachers lined up against the back wall.

The one constant I have always kept in my presentations is the part where I have a kid from the audience come up and model for me so I can draw him. This drawing demonstration has always been very popular with both adults and kids and it gives me the occasional opportunity to see a child traumatized irreparably. It also gives the audience the occasional opportunity to see me get traumatized irreparably and even more spectacularly than the kids.

The drawing demonstration has evolved over the years. I used to simply read my book, The Rules, then have the kids share their own rules that weren't in the book. This part of the process remains, as it allows me to collect new rules for a possible sequel.
After listening to the rules, I used to simply choose one rule that I liked, have that kid come up and draw him.

That worked until a kid stood in front of me on the stage and ate a hideous gooey strand of snot that she picked out of her nose. Her rule, I might mention, was "Don't pick your nose and eat it." It made me realize that I seemed to have a knack for picking kids that probably shouldn't be given uncensored access to an audience. So I started asking the teachers to choose the kid for me.

That worked until I had a kid throw a shoe at me. The teachers dutifully listened to the rules then selected "Don't throw shoes at people" as a winning rule. The kid came up and assumed a good shoe throwing posture, complete with shoe in hand. He posed and I drew. I drew and drew and drew as the kid threatened to throw his show at me. I assumed the kid was really getting into his role.
Until the shoe bounced off my head.

That got my attention. When I looked up at the kid, he was crying hysterically because his classmates had been laughing at him.

So I started warning kids that people would laugh at them and they would feel ridiculous. That worked until the kid came up, saw several classes of kids looking at him, grabbed the front of his pants and screamed "I gotta go to the bathroom!" He ran from the room and I never saw him again.

I would like to take this opportunity to remind you that the drawing demonstration is–by far–the most popular part of my presentations.

Today I was at a school and I listened to rules and gave my warnings and had the teachers pick a victim for me. When he was picked, this first grader ran up, jumped on to a stool I had placed next to me, fell off and landed on his head on the floor.
First graders found this very, very entertaining.
I suffered a series of tiny, but very real anxiety attacks.
Since first graders bounce, he was unharmed but unfortunately, he remained unconvinced of his own mortality. Since I always watch my models closely for early warnings of flying shoes, I had an excellent view of him as he bounced and twitched and tipped the stool in a dizzying display of acrobatic skill and death-defying bravado. It was thrilling and terrifying and I was still able to draw despite my morbid visions of the reams of paperwork that would lay before me if he fell off and injured himself.
We both survived the ordeal, but it was a close one.

I'm considering wrapping the kids in bubble wrap before they come up to model.

It would probably be really, really hard to draw, though.





*Authorstrator - A word I stole from a kid at Washington Elementary. It is brilliant and I intend to describe myself as that from now on.

Now On The Air - MarTV

You devoted, passionate followers have no doubt already noticed the cute little box that has appeared at the side of my blog.
That is the gigantic multimedia extravaganza I promised in an earlier post. I tried, for a few days, to have a player embedded right here in the blog, but it seemed to have only sporadic results. So, I offer this new, improved link directly to NH Public Television's delightful page full of me.

There, you can enjoy the giddy spectacle of me looking nervous and uncomfortable in front of lots of people and TV cameras.

I'm going to recommend that you make a big batch of popcorn, invite all your friends over and gather around the computer to witness real, actual streaming video of me on TV, being interviewed by the world renowned Rebecca Rule.


It's well worth the admission cost. In fact, I'll offer a full money back guarantee if you aren't completely satisfied with your free viewing experience.

As a side note of utmost importance: There is one point in the show where I refer to "a teacher in Salisbury" who submerged me in the swirling ocean of Author Visits I occasionally find myself drowning in.
That same teacher emailed me yesterday to remind me that he does, in fact, have a name.
I know this. I probably was aware of it during the taping of the show, too, but I was busy trying not to piddle myself with anxiety, so the subtleties of details like names escaped me briefly.
Now that I have returned to my senses and am not in imminent danger of soiling myself, his name is Bruce Johnson. In addition to being a really swell guy, he is the author of some swell reading books for adults and kids. Check him out here.

Tell him that "an author in New Boston" sent you.

Or even some really scary kids.

Part of my job as a really, really famous author is to go visit schools and talk about being a really, really famous author. My brother has helpfully pointed out to me that I make more money talking about what I do than doing what I do. To extrapolate on that theme yields the result that talking about what I do is doing what I do. I don't know where that would leave the writing and the artwork, so I prefer not to wander down that dark mental alley.

Visiting schools is always a lot of fun for me. I get a chance to show people how I write my books and how I create the artwork that goes into them. Sometimes I do writing workshops with students and teachers. I love those because I get to share my passion for writing and I don't have to correct any papers after.
I also get a chance to answer questions.
That's when things get really thrilling. Especially when I visit a kindergarten class.
I usually don't have kindergarten come to my presentations, but occasionally, I will go to their classes and read a couple of books to them.
Then I ask if they have any questions.
They always do. Here are a few of my recent favorite kindergarten questions:

"I go to bed at 7,  but sometimes I eat Pop-Tarts for dinner."

"My father works in Boston."

"I love you. What's your name?"

"When is snack?"

And, my all time favorite question asked by a kindergartener:

"Do all wrestlers drive trucks?"

"You bet they do," I told him, "Big red ones. With thumping stereos and giant tires."

"Oh."

He was happy. And I presume I'll see him in the ring some day, sweating and grunting and throwing his opponent around before he drives home in his shiny, red truck.

My first job out of college, with a teaching degree clutched tightly in my hand, was as a kindergarten teacher. It was a summer program and I was able to last for almost a whole month before I teetered dangerously close to the cliff of insanity. I was obviously not built for kindergarten in large doses. I love visiting their classes now, though. Because I know that, no matter how scary those kindergarteners might be, I can visit with them, make them laugh, and then escape!

Typically, I find that things go very well with the older kids, too. Even the ones who start out being too cool to listen to a lame-o picture book writer usually have a very good time in my presentations. Possibly because I remind them frequently that they are out of class and not currently taking a math test.  That makes me look cool to them.
Either that or my shiny red truck.