Dance Like Olivia

25 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by Larissa Theule in The Writing Life, Uncategorized

Tags

" writing at home with small children, "Every soul is a circus, Martha Graham, OLIVIA AND THE FAIRY PRINCESSES

In Ian Falconer’s Olivia and the Fairy Princesses (Atheneum, 2012), Olivia spurns being a fairy princess ballerina because everyone wants to be one. She says she is “trying to develop a more stark, modern style.”

I love this page with a deep and abiding passion because Olivia’s stretching limbs and contorted face mirror how I have felt being a writer at home with small children. Martha Graham, the dancer whose “Lamentation” Olivia tries to emulate, did not dance for beauty but to challenge and reveal the parts of us that cannot be communicated in words, the angular and pin-sharp feelings that have no clear expression.

The world of writing at home with small children has no clear expression, except to say that it is not unlike dancing inside a large sleeve of stretchy material that moves with you and against you at all times, often starkly. One can hope for modern.

My youngest started preschool full-time last week. I kissed her and hugged her and loved her. After drop-off I sat in my car for a long time. I danced a little in my seat.

A happier dance by Martha Graham is called, “Every Soul Is a Circus,” which feels completely true.

Honk!

16 Monday Dec 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in The Writing Life

≈ 2 Comments

When I was seventeen we lived in Costa Rica, on the mountaintop rainforest of San Ramon de Tres Rios. We lived in a cabin surrounded by bushes with pink blossoms as large as human heads. A red hummingbird feeder hung outside the kitchen window and the beautiful little birds zinged to and fro, from flowers to feeder and back again. In the evenings, sunsets lit fires in the sky.

One day the neighbors bought a goose and set to plumping it up.

Every morning for many months that goose honked — loud, boisterous, look-at-me-ain’t-I-something kind of honking, and continued honking until I would roll out of bed, bleary-eyed and slightly distraught.

Dad would hand me a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

Mom stood at the kitchen window watching the hummingbirds, a dishcloth flung over her shoulder. My brother ate cereal. Dad squeezed more oranges.

The goose honked.

“Christmas is only a week away,” said Mom.

Honk.

We nodded.

These days, I’m revising a picture book and there’s a beautiful little two-line sequence that is my darling. But the lines are honking, the story slightly distraught. I never loved the neighbor’s goose the way I love these two lines.

Even so, Christmas is only a week away.

Telling the Story

30 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in Uncategorized

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Tags

mannekin pis, tiananmen square, Vladimir Radunsky

We are about to repatriate to the US and during our last weeks in China we’re making an extra effort to take our two preschool-age kids to historical landmarks. Two weekends ago we visited the Great Wall and other places in Beijing like the Temple of Heaven and Tiananmen Square.

Before we left on our trip to Beijing, the prospect of visiting Tiananmen Square was giving me a little trouble of mind. I wanted the kids to know what happened there, the silencing of cries for freedom and subsequent death blows, the total beat down of hope that echoed around the world but is still silenced here in China. I wanted them to know these things while they stood there, the Square beneath their feet, their adoring parents at hand, and not to be read about in a lifeless history textbook some ten years in the future.

But how would I tell them? I get heart palpitations and sweaty hands when my four-year old wants to know what it means to die. How do I explain? Will he have nightmares? I don’t want him to think about these dark matters.

Yet he does think about them because the world in all its greatness and ugliness is making itself known to him, every day a little more. He wants to know the definition of death, but he’s also asking me to tell him how to feel when something or someone dies. I tell him, briefly, reluctantly, and then do what I often do when I run out of words of my own, go to the bookshelf to find a story written by an author more adept than I at illuminating life’s dark side with humor and grace. (Fairy tales do this wonderfully.)

My mother-in-law, an exceptional 3rd grade teacher and grandmother extraordinaire, looked at me in surprise one time as I read the kids Vladimir Radunsky’s Mannekin Pis: A Simple Story of a Boy who Peed on a War. I was reading the kids a book about war!

Yes, both because it’s a pretty funny story and because it’s through story that we learn to empathize.

When kids read about or witness the beating down of hope, how should they feel? What should they do about it? They want to know, and stories, funny or sad, fiction or biography, teach them.

When they see news clips of children being shot and killed in their classrooms, their teachers’ arms wrapped around them, how should they feel?

When they are bullied, or see someone else being bullied, or themselves feel the shame of bullying others, what should they do?

I’ve been reading Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water, as I do every four months or so when my soul needs settling. She teaches me about faith and writing, but also about children.

She writes about the gift of second sight, “that gift which allows us to peek for a moment at the world beyond ordinary space and time.”

Children have this gift of second sight. As we grow up most of us lose this gift, but children filter life through a lens different than ours. Their own stories are as closely linked to the stories they read and hear about as they are to their parents’ and siblings’. They see the middling place between love and hurt, sadness and joy as opposing sides of the same fabric, the magic that makes heroes of cowards and princes of paupers. For all the big bad wrongs of the world for them to know and imagine, they are able to imagine even bigger, more glorious ways of righting those wrongs.

They can be princes.

They will be heroes.

As it happened, when we stood in Tiananmen Square, it was post naptime and the only thing my kids could think about was their promised ice cream.

So when we returned home, taking advantage of our fresh memories of the place and trusting in the kids’ second sight to adapt the story to their own young hearts, I fumbled my way through a brief retelling of the student uprising.

The kids didn’t notice my clumsy words. They’re two and four and think I’m cool. Also, they were playing with their castle, which was being threatened by a two-headed dragon.

The dragon burned down the castle and everyone in it died, except for one lone knight, sitting astride a royal charger on the arm of the couch some distance away.

The knight raised his sword, a hero in the making.

The kids continued playing while I talked, but they heard the story, I’m sure of it. And they understood two important things.

Firstly, that a wrong occurred at Tiananmen Square.

Secondly, how their mom feels about that wrong.

Telling my children the story is what I did about it.

Monkeying Around

25 Thursday Jul 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in Fiction, In Real Life

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

baboon, family, telling family stories

Lately, my son has been asking to be told family stories.

Stories like this one:

When I was a kid, we lived in Nigeria—that’s in Africa. We kids ran around naked quite a lot because it was so hot. One day, your Uncle Shannon was playing in the yard when a baboon—that’s a kind of monkey with a very ugly butt—jumped down from a tall tree and landed right in front of him. Uncle Shannon ran at the baboon. The baboon fled, but then, after a minute, turned around began chasing Uncle Shannon! Imagine those two, a little boy and a big monkey, both naked as can be, chasing each other around and around in the hot, hot sun. So many bare bums!

A baboon. I didn’t feel right about choosing a photo of the infamous backside.

This story elicits lots of laughter, especially when acted out.

Telling family stories has been good for my two kids, particularly as we live far, far away from our dearest ones. They are learning where they come from, how achievement and failure, mistakes and forgiveness, loss and loyalty and love are already a part of them.

As I dig deep to remember other stories, I realize how good this remembering and telling is for me too. As of late, my WIP has been a sleepy old thing. Yawn. But with the telling of family stories, I sense it waking, little by little. The more family stories I tell, the more truths are remembered to me about what it means to be human, about the strength and innovation that are a part of all of us, and these truths are my WIP’s caffeine.

My brothers and sister (the orange coat is me)

Every family has at least one story about one of their own achieving the impossible, surviving colossal failure, crossing mighty waters, forgiving the unforgivable, finding courage they never knew they had, (or just monkeying around)—in big or small ways stretching their resources to make the world a better place for the generations to come.

It’s impossible to write fiction without embedding in it your worldview. Who you are is the fiction you write. Fairly self-evident but worth remembering just the same–who you are is as much about who and where you come from as the individual you have grown to be.

Jet Lag

20 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in Uncategorized

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My brother is a chronic insomniac.

I have jet lag so severe that night is day.

In the kitchen, in wee hours:

“Hey.”

“‘Sup.”

Midnight dew is brain food and I know he’s thinking about the movie he’s making, which reminds me of how I should be thinking about the book I’m making.

He has the craziest, wildest hair. Seriously. You should see his hair. W.I.L.D.

The quiet night, dark river speak of quiet, no cars, few lights, everyone softly sleep breathing instead of laughing, wresting wake breathing, which means there’s more air for the jet lagged and insomniacs with lids still up.

You probably know this, but I have to relearn it every time: Visine does not fix the pain.

Did anyone find and bathe Crush? Crush is my sister’s son’s pet turtle. He has the (slow) run of the yard during the day. Sometimes he (slow) runs down the sidewalk when the kids are playing badminton.

“‘Night.”

“Yuh.”

Tired as I am, backwards, or upside down body-clock time will leave me with a memory of hair so wild I could knit a sweater out of it.

If the hair were straight.

And if I knit.

This is jet lag, don’t you know.

Lipstick

07 Thursday Mar 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in In Real Life, The Writing Life

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

advice, bossy boots, breathe, International Women's Day, lipstick

Almost forty years ago, on a warm summer evening, a charming coed double-booked. Laurel couldn’t say no to Bill or Peter, so she said yes to both.

Bill and Peter were both good-looking young men, but Peter was a shade bolder than Bill. His bellbottoms flared more. He was the star pitcher of the baseball team. He wanted to travel and see the world. And he knew that Bill had a date with Laurel prior to his own, so, naturally, he showed up early.

Sure enough, Bill’s car was still parked in the driveway.

Laurel stood with Bill on the steps and seeing Peter pull up, blushed at being found out and ran inside.

Peter stepped out of his truck. “Bill.”

“Peter.”

Inside, Laurel burst into tears. “He’s impossible!” she cried.

Her mother, a stylish woman, peered out the window. Maybe she smiled. Young love, that sweet old thing. Years of experience had taught her the importance of giving pithy advice.

“Honey,” she said, “Put on a little lipstick and everything will be alright.”

Laurel did as instructed, breathed easier, and decided to take charge. She went back outside, kissed Bill on the cheek goodbye, and half a year later married Peter.

Forty years, five kids, and four continents later, Peter and Laurel are still together.

Like all good stories over time, this one has grown in my imagination. My mom’s curls are blonder and fro more, my dad’s bellbottoms are even more flamboyant, but what hasn’t changed, are my grandma’s words. “Put on a little lipstick and everything will be alright.”

She could have said something like, “Buck up,” or, alternately, given a long beautiful talk about the choices we make in life, but she didn’t.

She invoked lipstick.

I often think of this story when I write, of the everyday article of beauty that was given great power, of my grandma’s unsentimental manner in advising a quick-fix to regain self-control. She suggested making a physical change, even if just a small one.

These are the flowers I bought the other day.

For years I have subscribed to her advice and on occasion work while wearing pajamas and red lipstick. Don’t laugh. I know it’s not about the lipstick itself. The small physical change might be anything at all, like opening a window, wearing cowboy boots instead of flats, going for a run, getting a haircut, or buying flowers and arranging them in a vase to place next to your computer.

These are small bursts of beauty that zero in on one’s heart to kindly remind it to breathe. As a writer, it’s my belief that when I breathe better, my story will breathe better also.

If you’re feeling weathered, try lipstick.

Or bossy boots.

Or both.

(This post was unabashedly written with women in mind, but men, you’re smart too–adopt what works.)

And don’t forget that tomorrow is International Women’s Day. Celebrate!

Interview with Linda Pratt of Wernick & Pratt Agency

25 Monday Feb 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in Interviews, The Writing Biz

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

author, illustrator, Linda Pratt, Marcia Wernick, representation, Wernick & Pratt Agency

Linda Pratt is part of the dynamic duo that forms literary agency Wernick & Pratt, whose clients include such legends as Richard Peck and Mo Willems, and National Book Award Winner Kathryn Erskine.

LT: Linda, we are so happy to have you with us today. Yours is our very first agent interview, so we are especially pleased and grateful that you are willing to take time to answer a few questions. Let’s start at the very beginning. In 2011, you and Marcia Wernick left Sheldon Fogelman and stepped out on your own. How did Wernick & Pratt come into being?

LP: Marcia and I had been colleagues and friends during our tenure at the Sheldon Fogelman Agency, and we were always amused by how well we each seemed to fill the spaces in the other’s skill set. For example, Marcia is an expert in subsidiary rights having negotiated licenses for everything from film and theatrical plays, to audio and translation editions, and all kinds of merchandise, including ringtones! I have a finance/accounting background so the administrative aspects of running a business such as forecasting and financial analytics are more in my wheelhouse. When it came time to think about the next phase in our professional careers, the question of who we each wanted on that journey was a no brainer. We have similar approaches to working with our individual authors and illustrators, and together we are able to pool our specific skill sets to offer the kind of full service representation that we each feel is so important in creating long term careers for our clients.

LT: You represent both authors and illustrators, and those particularly remarkable author/illustrators. Do you find that dealing in both pictures and words lends you a unique perspective as an agent?

LP: Hmmm. That’s an interesting question that I’ve never really consciously broken down in my mind. I’m glad you asked, though, so that I have to! The answer for me would be that pictures and words are really just two different forms of language. I suppose the uniqueness in perspective is the same as one might get being bilingual.

I drew all the time as a kid and well into my teens, and my drawings were always illustration. I created a lot of characters, some people, but many anthropomorphic. I was also an avid reader, and I love language. Turns of phrase just fascinate me. In fact, I’ve been known to get so caught up with my romance with words that I can pick up an accent or way of talking very easily if I’m in a place too long. So the idea of communicating through words and pictures is something that has always been a part of my life. I take it for granted, like riding a bike.

LT: One of the hallmarks of your agency is your commitment to clients’ long-term careers. Can you speak to this?

LP: Authors and illustrators have already spent a lot of time pursuing their craft before we ever come into the picture. As such, Marcia and I feel that it is only fair that in offering representation to someone we are going in with a long-term view of working as well. There are a number of aspects as to what that means to us.

We don’t pursue relationships with the idea of floating a title out to publishers and if we can’t place it, “Well, thank you very much. You’re on your own again.” There are times when the title on which we based our offer of representation doesn’t sell. That’s OK. We’re interested in helping our clients move forward to their next project and the project after that. As an example, one of my author clients originally came to me for representation with a beautifully written historical middle grade novel. It hasn’t sold…..yet. But her skill as a writer was so clear in that piece that I knew she had many other books to write. Ironically, her first sales wound up being picture books. In fact, one was just optioned for TV.

When you work with someone long enough, things change, too. Sometimes it’s the industry. The market for the kinds of books an author or illustrator has been doing may not be there in the same way. Sometimes it’s the client’s creative approach. An author or illustrator may feel pigeonholed by an expectation for certain kinds of work when they really want to be doing something very different. Helping to navigate these shifts is another aspect of working long term.

There is also the goal of protecting a client’s control over their creations for the long term. If a book becomes a major success, suddenly there are many, many opportunities to exploit rights beyond the original book. We work to allow our clients the most freedom to make decisions on how and the degree to which their work is used and/or licensed in other forms.

LT: When reading manuscripts, from the slushpile or otherwise, a): where is your favorite place to read, and b): what are you hoping to find?

LP: a) My favorite place to read is in our guest bedroom. Guest rooms never seem to have the clutter of everyday in them. No paperwork, laundry hamper, discarded shoes and clothes, etc., which gives them a bit of a Bed and Breakfast feel. Reading there feels like a mini-getaway. Plus, our guest room has my childhood bed in it. An antique brass bed that my parents found in the back of a junk shop when I was 3. There are also books everywhere and artwork from far away lands. So a bit of the familiar coupled with the possibility of places unknown in one place. The same makings of a good book!

b) The primary thing that I’m always hoping for in reading a manuscript is to connect with the character. They can be kind, funny, prickly, morally questionable, or anything else. No matter what their personality traits are, there has to be a point of connection with the reader, though. I think this comes out of creating a feeling of empathy.

For example, like so many, I’ve spent my last number of Sunday evenings watching Downton Abbey. Thomas, who is now Under Butler of the house, is a mean spirited, vindictive character. While I’m not claiming to have never been mean in my life (cue a breezy glass house if I did), his brand of vindictiveness is not something with which I identify. While his story evolved over the season to make him a much more tragic figure, which made him much more empathetic, the turning point for me in being able to relate to him came before the major drama in his character arc. It was his reaction to Lady Sybil’s death that gave me a bridge to relate to him. The fact that he, more than anyone else downstairs, took it the hardest made him more humane.

It’s these kinds of layers of complexities and contradictions in characters on the page that I want to discover. The little things that make me see the unexpected or nuanced aspects of a character’s inner being. When you see a writer who understands this so often they also have a strong sense of voice, too, because the two go hand in hand.

LT: Now for the heart of the matter:
Coffee or tea?
LP: Tea. All four of my grandparents are from Scotland. Everyone drank tea in my family. Even the coffee drinkers still have a cup now and again.

Dogs or cats?
Dogs. We have a scruffy little terrier mix. She’s my first little dog. I had always thought of myself as a big dog gal until I fell in love with her photo on Petfinder.com.

Running or zumba?
Running, but unfortunately I’ve had to take a break due to an injury. My husband is hoping it will heal quickly because I can get a little cranky when I haven’t exercised.

LT: Lastly, do you have any advice for writers seeking representation?

LP: Marcia and I always say that the things that we look for in clients are:
a) They are talented.
b) That we connect with them. We have to feel like they like and trust us and vice versa us about them. This doesn’t mean being best friends, but in any long term relationship bumps can arise. If you didn’t like or trust one another all that much at the start, you won’t grow to if you find yourselves in a bumpy patch. Failure would be a certainty under that circumstance.
c) We have to have an idea of how we envision helping the Author reach their goals.
d) There is a sense of flexibility since no person, industry, or career is stagnant, and changes are inevitable, and an ability to change with them is the key to surviving for the long term.

I’d say a writer may be wise to seek these same things in their agent.

The other thing I would say is that a “no” today may not be a “no” forever. If you get any feedback, and you feel that you’ve addressed the concern raised, it would likely be OK to approach that agent again unless they have a stated policy otherwise. It’d probably be best to approach the agent with a new piece if a revision wasn’t specifically requested on the original submission. If you do want to go back with an unsolicited revision, however, you should probably query the agent first before resubmitting.

LT: Linda, thank you so much!

Searching for Snow

10 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by Larissa Theule in In Real Life, The Writing Life

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bamboo forest, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Moganshan, snow, write what you know

During the holidays we went to Los Angeles to look for snow.

Yes, LA.

Mt. Baldy would have snow, we were certain of it. My kids, in their shortness and youth, have not yet made snow angels. They haven’t tackled their dad into a drift and haven’t been warned against the perils of eating the yellow stuff. Not the end of the world, I know, but still, it’s SNOW. Every kid should know in their bones the powerful chill and thrill of it.

We didn’t find snow at Baldy.

So we headed up north a ways to Olympia.

You’re right of course, had we really wanted to find snow we should have gone straight to Minnesota where, my husband assures me, kids are taught how to treat frostbite in tandem to their ABCs, but we were time-bound in our goal and our paramount motive for the trip was to spend time with family. So, we looked and hoped but didn’t find snow.

Wouldn’t you know, when we returned home to Shanghai, it was snowing. Nothing substantial, but still. To have searched half a world away for what already existed at home.

Prone to metaphor and looking for just such a one to think on, naturally I understood our search for snow within the context of story. As in, looking for a new story to tell. One can look everywhere and all over, but in the same spirit as “write what you know,” one’s new story is already at home within.

During Chinese New Year (year of the snake), our search and story will continue as we visit what freeze is nearest us, in Moganshan, the legendary bamboo forests featured in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. We have been promised that there at last we will find deep snow, even of the yellow variety.

Like this, but with snow and minus the ninjas.

Dirty Feet of Fear

20 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by Larissa Theule in In Real Life

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

end of the world, Gandhi, living without fear

Tomorrow the world is going to end. I am so excited. I’ve got bills due that I’d rather not pay, and also, now I won’t have to strain a muscle while losing the five pounds I planned on adopting during the holidays. . .

Many of us are afraid, afraid of what has happened in recent days and of what might happen tomorrow (any tomorrow).

Fear is a fugly disease. It is so because it paralyzes the soul, which is bad because within the soul reside the energizing foods of our existence, like creativity, love, and charity. We are all of us afraid, everyday of something, and living beyond fear is a choice we make, not once but always, like choosing to be faithful to a spouse.

But fear is contagious.

Misery loves company, so too do people bound by fear long for companions. They wish to see others be afraid to walk out the door, to send their kids to school, to wake up tomorrow morning. Nothing but a colossal sledgehammer, or, say, a meteor, could better break our world apart than the wilful sharing of fear.

Gandhi said, “I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.”

Nor should any of us. Because when life does require us to be brave, to stand up for what is right, God forbid our souls be paralyzed by fear.

Today, tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, combat fear and its fallout with what is just and kind.

And enjoy (because as bleak as the days may seem, we are still allowed to do this) – life.

Books My Kids Love to Pieces

26 Monday Nov 2012

Posted by Larissa Theule in In Real Life, We're Inspired, We're Reading

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

All God's Critters, Axel Scheffler, Going on a Bear Hunt, Helen Oxenbury, Julia Donaldson, Kadir Nelson, Kids books, Mannekin Pis: A Simple Story of a Boy Who Peed On a War, Michael Rosen, presents, The Smartest Giant in Town, Vladimir Radunsky

Of the books on our family’s shelves, a few in particular have been read to breaking point, but as Oscar Wilde said, “If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.” In this spirit, kids make the best book critics. Their rating system is simple: love it or leave it.

It’s holiday season. It’s present time, baby. So if you’re looking for good books to give to the children enriching your life, here are a few beloved by the critics in this household.

GOING ON A BEAR HUNT by Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury

Duct tape on its spine is a sure sign that a book is good. We’ve tried to replace this copy with a bigger, better version, but the kids will have none of it. This board book copy is like an ugly dog you love all the more because he’s so ugly. But there’s nothing ugly at all about the story itself, which most of you probably already know. Truly, an adventure at every reading.

MANNEKIN PIS: A SIMPLE STORY OF A BOY WHO PEED ON A WAR by Vladimir Radunsky

Even though this book has a number of page corners missing and has made my son cry, he continues to ask for it. A boy loses his parents, is entirely alone in the middle of a war (this is where the tears brim), when suddenly his single most concern is that he really needs to pee. So he does and it sprays all over the people fighting, who then stop fighting and begin laughing instead. It’s very funny, made more so because this primitive act of nature stands in stark contrast to the boy’s scary circumstances. My son’s laughter is loaded with giddy relief, and I’ve come to realize that this story illustrates a valuable lesson, that laughter is never more important than when life seems its bleakest.

ALL GOD’S CRITTERS song by Bill Staines, illustrated by Kadir Nelson

There must be an entire roll of scotch tape keeping this one together. Sing-along books don’t get much better than this. The song itself is well known, fun and catchy, but holy moly, Kadir Nelson’s illustrations are best of the best. At the finale, when the animals take a bow and the audience goes wild, my own little reader-audience sponaneously clap and shout, “Hurray, God’s critters!” and happy mom that I am to see my kids so joyful about story and song, I think of this book as guaranteed five minutes of magic. Note, to be sung with gusto. Aim for losing your voice, and have orange juice on hand for when you do.

THE SMARTEST GIANT IN TOWN by Julia Donaldson, illustrated by Axel Scheffler

This book does not have any tape on it and has not yet lost a page, but it’s well on its way to bruisedom. I love this book as much as the kids do. “Smartest” is used in the English sense of the word, meaning well dressed. A giant wears shabby clothes but longs to be a smart dresser, so he buys a new set of digs. Then, as he walks along, he meets small friends in need. He doesn’t hesitate to give the shirt off his back for a goat who needs a new sail for his boat. Pretty soon he’s given away most of his new clothes and is frightfully cold. There is song, there is an abundance of giving, and in true Julia Donaldson form, there is also stunning rhythm and rhyme, perfect for chanting in unison during long family bike rides.