A red-letter day! The middle-grade novel is finished. 18,487 words. Of course, this is only the first draft, and it needs to be edited and revised--only because I think a novel's beginning is somehow supposed to be connected to its ending, and this one's beginning has only a vague connection to the ending. Oh well, revision is fun. The hard work is actually over. I at least have something now I can work with. My three editors who have been awaiting nonfiction proposals (long overdue) will cheer at this news because while the middle-grade beast rests, I'll turn my attention to those.

Also, another glowing review of We Are One arrived. It's so cool that at least some people are paying attention to it.

A most excellent and laugh-filled read last night: Roxie and the Hooligans by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor. You absolutely MUST read it.

The Kirkus review of We Are One: The Story of Bayard Rustin was just forwarded to me. Phew! I can almost breathe again. It glows, saying, "An effective mix of major historical events and small, telling anecdotes, along with the attractive photo-essay format, make this a fascinating volume, informative and well written." So no bloodletting today!

On the other hand, yesterday afternoon the Read/Write disk I use to compose my books on suddenly and without warning turned into a Read-Only disk. This means I cannot edit/delete/or add to the 12 chapters that already exist. To say I was not a happy camper is putting it mildly. Pam Munoz Ryan, my buddy, e-mailed to say that maybe I could find a local computer geek in town to remedy the problem. I explained to her that in this town of 100 living folks, I'm the geekiest one around. I did, after much hair pulling, figure out a way around the problem. It's not pretty, but it will have to do until I return to Tucson in October.

Yesterday was big-brother Wayne's birthday in Grand Junction--I won't say which birthday. I trust it was a grand one with something chocolate to consume. Happy Birthday!

Last night's reads: The Blue Ghost, by Marion Dane Bauer. If you like intergenerational stories with a ghostly element, this one's for you--a fascinating chapter book. Also, Paint the Wind, by Pam Munoz Ryan. I'm predicting this one will catch the eyes of the Newbery Committee.

Coolish after Tucson's summer temperatures--highs in the low to mid-70s and lows in the 50s. I can live with it. Perfect weather to be working in the yard, tidying up before the leaves begin to change color and drop. Every other house seems to be on the market here, and I don't know if that's a sign of a strong economy or one that has bitten the dust. Probably the latter, given the uncertain climate in the wake of the mortgage lending debacle. Donated a copy of We Are One to the local library, whose total book budget is $1,000 annually. Pitiful. But unfortunately, not uncommon in the United States. The U.S. gives a lot of lip-service to valuing children and education. Unfortunately, that's all it is: lip-service.

We came home to visitors. A family of mice had set up housekeeping in the downstairs bathroom, so they had to be relocated before we could really start any projects here. Cute little critters, but definitely not the sort you find in children's picture books. What a mess they left! But bottles of bleach later, everything is relatively back to normal. And as of today, Kubric and I have even been able to return to our usual writing routine...starting and finishing chapter 10. 13,800 words at this point; 2 more chapters to go (I think). I don't know why at this point in a book I start to get so excited because all it REALLY means is that I get to start all over with editing and revision...even if I can clearly see the end in front of me.

Until next time...

12,800 words. Next up is Chapter 10, and a change in viewpoint. But there's a little road trip to Sitges over the next couple of days, so I don't anticipate getting any work done or any new posts until things settle down a bit.

Was stumped by a plot point, so didn't get much (if any) writing done today. The good news is I think I've figured out how to extract my lead characters from their situation and where in the manuscript to set it up so that they have the tools to do it. I'm packing for a short road trip, so I doubt that much physical work gets done on it in the next few days. But maybe.

Recent fun reads: Clementine by Sara Pennypacker and the sequel, The Talented Clementine.

Last night my editor sent e-mail. "Did you see the Booklist review?" she asked. That was it. An editor should never say that to a writer without some sort of preface or appendage, as we're an insecure lot. The whole notion of reviews is nerve-racking because--like many writers--I always assume the worst. But I don't even like reading reviews when they're starred, glowing, and wonderfully accurate and articulate--just because reviews, whether good or otherwise, are unsettling. It has oft been said that writers forget the great reviews the second they've been read, but can quote verbatim every word of every single less-than-glowing review. For me, that's true. Now by "preface" or "appendage," I'm thinking something along the lines of the following: Congratulations! Have you seen the Booklist review? or Did you see the Booklist review? It's wonderful! or even How disappointing! Did you see the Booklist review? You know...something to give us an inkling of whether we should be heading to the bathroom to open a vein or not. But no, there it was: "Did you see the Booklist review?"

Someone--another writer--once asked me what I did when I received a review that was less than flattering. I should have been offended that this writer, who is now a friend, assumed that I might have experience with unflattering reviews. But the fact is, I did and do. What did I do? Upon receiving a lukewarm review once, I swallowed a bottle of pills and after puking up my guts for four solid days, I decided there had to be a more constructive way to handle the disappointing news. Just kidding--except for the part about deciding there had to be something constructive I could do. I looked up every review that I could find written by this particular reviewer, and guess what. They were all lukewarm or, worse, flat-out negative. The next thing I did is I looked up the reviews of several books that I particularly enjoyed and written by authors whose work I admired, and almost every one of those had negative or lukewarm reviews. So on the one hand, I learned something about the reviewer and on the other, I rationalized that I was in very good company.

"Did you see the Booklist review?" I e-mailed my editor immediately saying I had not. And then I added: Do I want to? Before the night was out she responded: "YES! It's great!" And she copied the review into her e-mail. I read it and am happy to report that We Are One: The Story of Bayard Rustin is off to a good start. I'm not sure I'd call the review "great," but it is solid. Great would have been seeing a star next to it, and I didn't see a star...unless it got lost in the scanning. No star. No star. Do you see what I mean about reviews being unsettling?

I spent the morning reviewing / revising what I've written and sorted out the rope problem along the way. Now I'm closing in on the end of chapter seven. I need to start thinking about a couple of proposals I promised one of my editors, but at this point getting as deep into this novel as I possibly can is priority one. I'd like the rough of it finished by the end of this month, mid-September at the latest. Then I'll be able to start having fun with revisions.

Yes, fun. Revising is always fun (sometimes a bit frustrating, but mostly not) because this is where you get to tinker. The basic story is there; this is just noodle time, time to make it better, time to try and make the words sing on the page.

First word on We Are One is positive; glowing, in fact. I'm holding my breath in anticipation of the first "big" review notices.

Holy Hydraulics! I seem to have written myself into a corner. I need for a character to reach for a rope or ?? but I haven't written a rope or ?? into the story. Need to figure out where one can be planted. I hate when that happens. But it happens all the time, so I should be used to it. I'll need to review what has been written so far and see if I can find a likely place to plant one. So far: 10,000 words. Happy weekend!

It was another productive writing day (9,000 words now). If only I knew where the characters are taking me. Two new characters were introduced--the professor and Mr. Patterson. Originally, I had planned on only one other character at this point in the story--and he was not a professor- or Patterson-type. True to my word, I did not answer the phone today and the person or persons who called today chose not to leave a message. So all I can say is that if it was you, please understand that I work at home. Just because I am home does not mean that I am not working. After struggling through the first five chapters, this things seems to be taking off finally. Yay!

I need to run some errands for the HOA this morning--one of many downsides to living in a homeowners' association and serving on its board. In my humble estimation, HOAs should be outlawed because they give people with only marginal taste and nothing better to do license to snoop, and from what I've seen, they have very little impact on keeping property values high. Property values seem to rise of their own accord, with or without an HOA. But enough about that--if I dwell on the topic too long, I get cranky.

I'm looking forward to another productive writing day. The answering machine is on, and I have vowed not to pick up unless it's an emergency; the courtyard gate is locked; buckets are positioned under the ceiling leaks on this rainy day in Tucson. Diet Coke and turkey roll-ups are at hand. For all practical purposes, I am not at home--even though I am.

I managed to work for a few hours this morning on the novel (8,000 words, so far). It always surprises me when a story takes off on its own, and this usually doesn't happen until I've visited with the characters a while and tried to tell the story I think I'm telling. Then, suddenly, the characters begin to speak. They take over. They tell the story I should be telling (one hopes). I had a notion of where this story was headed when I started, but I don't know for certain that this is where it will go now that the characters are writing their own cue cards. I'm just a passenger along for the ride, wherever it leads. And with any luck the journey will be both enjoyable and publishable.

Spent part of the afternoon reading Mysteries of the Mummy Kids by Kelly Milner Halls. Fascinating! And recommended, if you don't mind scary pictures. Personally, I've always enjoyed a good scare.

A revision day as I read the novel from the beginning, tweaking it along the way.

Oh, my! All I've been doing since I last posted is painting the house. The guest bathroom is now red, blazing red. It's the same color I will use in my office. According to feng shui, red is a very lucky color, and I think I'm due some good luck. Yesterday, however, I had a slight interruption (and bad luck): I discovered when the heavens opened up that my newly painted kitchen ceiling leaks. A brand new house, and a leaky ceiling. Just ask me about my builder in e-mail and I'll fill you in on who NOT to contract with in Tucson.

I need to start thinking about my talk for the Arizona Reading Association. It isn't until October, but it really is time consuming to put together a talk that works. And I'll need to collect some information for it. My proposal said I'd talk about biography. What burning questions do YOU have about biographies and the writing/researching of them? (E-mail ldb@brimner.com, subject line: "Bio Qs" so my spamanator doesn't discard it.)

Until next time...