The above is a photo of the peonies out in my yard, which seem just about ready to bloom. This pretty much sums up my life right now — everything seems to be on the verge, with nothing fully realized. It’s a bit maddening, to know that some good news (or at least, you know, any news) might be just around the corner. I’ve been distracting myself by doing all manner of things around the house, including, but not limited to, hours of backbreaking yard work, multiple loads of laundry, emptying and filling the dishwasher, whipping up huge batches of egg salad, baking cookies, and brewing homemade limoncello. And I’ve done a ton of reading, of course.

As for the writing, it’s been slow-going lately. I have a couple of projects in development, including a picture book coming out in 2013 (which is done at my end) and some final revision work I need to do on a novel. But as far as new ideas, I have several, and I’m not exactly sure which one I want to tackle next. So I thought I might leave it in your hands. I’m going to describe (very, very generally) the three stories in my summer queue, and I invite you to comment and let me know which one you think I should work on first. Here we go…

Project #1: Contemporary middle grade. The story of a friendship between two girls and how it fades and flourishes over the course of several years. The story is told in vignettes, or parts; each vignette represents a different year in their lives.

Project #2: Contemporary middle grade. While a girl and her family visit her estranged grandfather, she uncovers a mystery.

Project #3: Contemporary middle grade, though could be YA. A boy with amnesia and some unusual scars struggles to discover who he is and what has happened to his parents.

So? What do you think?

With this week’s rain and reflection, I’ve been feeling a lot like my cat Sugar looks above: curled in on myself.

I made a feeble attempt to express my feelings about Maurice Sendak’s passing earlier this week, but really, my words can’t express how much his words and images meant (and mean) to me. Every time I write with honesty, every time I write with respect for my audience, every time I write something that feels right and true and yet dark and dangerous, I hope I am in some small way honoring him.

My grandfather passed away two years ago this week, so this month in general is a little tough for me. He was many things to me and to everyone who knew him, but he was best known for his tremendous work ethic and his ingenuity. He was always ready to help others, and he was known as the guy who could fix anything. So when I broke the leg off of my favorite Darci doll while trying to bend her into a cheerleader split (a move I’ve never been able to do, so I can’t blame the doll for her failure), and came crying to my mother, she knew what to do.

“We’ll bring it to Papa,” she said. “He’ll know how to fix it.”

I hadn’t been without the doll for any extended period of time, so it was difficult to give her up when we dropped her off at my grandparents’ house. But I could tell by the way my grandfather examined Darci and her disarticulated limb that everything was going to be okay. Surely, Papa would know how to fix it.

A week went by before he called to tell us the doll was ready. To say I had been counting the hours would not be an understatement. And when we arrived at my grandparents’ house, and the doll was presented to me, she was fixed, as promised. Unfortunately, she was a little too fixed. After much deliberation, my grandfather’s solution was to drill a hole straight through Darci’s pelvis, insert a screw, and tighten a bolt at one end. This reattached the limb, but rendered the doll completely immobile from the waist down.

I thanked my grandfather, and reserved my objections for the car ride home. But of course, to my mother, I had nothing to complain about. My doll was fixed, wasn’t it? It had only one attached leg when I dropped it off, and now it had two. Like many other times in my life, then and now, I had to be happy with the hand (or in this case, leg) I’d been dealt.

When Darci and I got home, it was clear her (and my) challenges were far from over. I tore several of her glamorous outfits until I realized not much would fit over her bolted pelvis. I couldn’t pose her as I had before, or even really walk her around, so her interactions with my other dolls and my friends’ dolls involved hopping, and eventually, a lot of sitting. A few months later, my mother caved and bought me a new Darci doll, so the old one became Janet, Darci’s beautiful, though tragically paraplegic, identical twin sister. As you might imagine, Janet added a LOT of drama to the stories I concocted at playtime. I suppose I can be thankful to my grandfather for that, too, among so many other things.

I was planning on writing about my grandfather today, who passed away two years ago yesterday. Then came the news of Maurice Sendak’s passing. I feel as if another grandfather has left me — and left us all.

This past weekend, I attended the Hudson Children’s Book Festival, which was an incredible event, well-organized and well-attended. Afterwards, my husband and I scoured the town of Hudson for antiques (and later, for me, some gourmet ice cream). We ended up finding the clock, pictured above. We’d been looking for just the right clock to for our dining room, something that reflected the style of our bungalow but wasn’t too stuffy or elegant. We found it in this clock, which hangs on our wall now. It refuses to keep the correct time, and keeps bonging at all the wrong hours, so I guess we have to fiddle with it. But none of that bothers me. I just like seeing it there and hearing its tick-tocking, and its irreverent, unexpected pronouncements.

I suppose that’s how I felt (and feel) about Maurice Sendak. He was the elder statesman of our industry, yet he remained its cheeky rebel, and his books marked time for all of our childhoods. Now that he’s gone, something will always be missing. We’ll no longer be comforted by the curmudgeonly surprise of him. Though we still have his amazing legacy of stories, the man behind them is no longer here to tell us what time it is.

I’m feeling reflective today, and off-kilter, and a little bit “down in the dumps,” as a wise man once said. But as my new-old clock bongs insistently at 10:42am, I know it’s probably just the way Mr. Sendak would like it.

I swear, the biggest pain of posting a new blog entry is finding (or often creating) an image to complement it. It just doesn’t feel right to see text without a visual. Or is it just me? (I ended up taking a photo of my glass bird collection. They seem about as thrilled with this cold, rainy day as I am.)

Despite this crapola weather, I’m feeling overwhelmed with anticipation. My best friend is about to have her first baby any day now. My grandmother is coming home from Florida in just a couple of weeks. And I have a big project out on submission.

So, how am I occupying myself during this anxious time? Unfortunately, I can’t do much writing, as I’m too excited to think straight. But I have been doing a LOT of reading, and I’ve had a lot of other things going on to distract me.

This weekend, I’ll be appearing at the Hudson Children’s Book Festival, where I’ll be signing my books from 10am – 4pm, and reading from Mr. Prickles and other stories at noon. Also, I’m helping to organize an event for REAL (Reading Aloud) in Rhode Island on June 1st at the Providence Children’s Museum, where TEN children’s book authors and illustrators will read, sell, and sign their books. (Details of these appearances here.) And I just joined a new writing group, which will meet at the end of this month — hopefully I’ll have written enough to share by that point!

What do you do to distract yourself while you’re playing the waiting game?

So…have I mentioned I’m guest-hosting a radio show this Saturday, April 28? From 7-8am Eastern, I’ll be broadcast via station WHJJ 920AM’s “Reading with Robin” show; esteemed host Robin Kall is away, and has generously invited me to fill in. I’ll be talking about writing and publishing children’s books and where I get my ideas — and I’ll drop a few hints about upcoming projects. I may even have a special guest on-air with me — I’ll reveal all as soon as I confirm the details! UPDATE: My mystery guest is a mystery no more — it’s local Providence author-illustrator dynamo Alison Paul!

Those of you who want to hear me entertain the masses can either listen via actual radio (if you’re in Rhode Island) or via this site (which is also available as an app). Just plug “WHJJ” into the search criteria and you should be fine. The show streams live from 7-8am Eastern. And if you want to ask me any writing-related questions, you can call in to the show at 1-866-920-9455.

ALSO, I’m running a little contest for my listeners. During the show, I’ll reveal a secret word. Email me here with your name, mailing address, and the correct secret word, and you’ll automatically win a sheet of Mr. Prickles stickers. And that’s not all — I’ll pick one entry at random and will send that winner their choice of any of my books, which I’ll sign and personalize!

Can’t wait for Saturday — hope you’ll tune in!

It’s been a busy couple of weeks, with many exciting new developments. But first and foremost, I’d like to introduce you to my summer writing room…

…otherwise known as the back porch. My husband and I worked on it all day Sunday — scrubbing and sweeping, hosing down furniture and rugs, and making sure these babies were all in working order.

Let there be light(s)! We’re thrilled to be able to use this space again for fun, as we had to use it to store all our kitchen reno materials last summer. Several beers and glasses of wine have been enjoyed out here already, and we’re looking forward to sharing it with guests.

(Just a few at a time, though, as our porch is on the cozy side.) In the meantime, I’m looking forward to bringing my laptop out here for some sunny, spring-summery writing.  Do you have your own seasonal writing nook? Do tell!

In other news…

I’ll be appearing at the Newport Public Library this Thursday at 10:30am, where I’ll read from my books and make OTTO-mobiles with the kids! (Registration required. Contact the library for details.)

Also, I’ve just learned I’ll be filling in as a guest host of the “Reading with Robin” radio show (station 920AM) on Saturday, April 28 from 7-9am. I’m putting together some book-related hi-jinks and working on inviting some special guests, to be announced. If you’re in the Providence area, I hope you’ll tune in!

What was your favorite outfit when you were a pre-teen or teen? For me, it was the following:

– a puffed-3/4-sleeve button-down shirt with light blue, magenta, and white stripes

– a matching magenta and white striped TIE

– magenta pants

– navy blue Bass sandals

– a gray faux Members Only jacket (similar to the real one pictured above, but purchased at our local discount department store, Caldor)

Have I given you enough of a visual? And, more important, can you feel the HOTNESS? I’d assembled this little number in the spring of 1984, when I was in eighth grade, and planned to unveil it on Easter Sunday, at church. Church was, of course, a house of holiness, but also a place to see and be seen. And boy, would I be seen that day.

I remember spending a lot of time getting ready on that Easter morning, not only making sure that my outfit looked right, but making sure that my hair was feathered perfectly (as perfect as my wavy, cowlicky hair would feather, anyway) and my makeup (blue eyeliner, pink blush, and Maybelline Strawberry Swirl Kissing Potion) was expertly applied. This may have been why my family and I were late to church, and why, when we did arrive, there was nowhere left to sit. We ended up standing in one of the aisles, where it was crowded, and hot, and reeked of incense and Easter lilies, and I could barely see anything or anyone, let alone allow my fabulous self to be seen.

Unfortunately, these crowded, hot, overwhelming conditions provided the perfect storm for one of my mega-migraines.

No, no, no, no, I told myself, trying to talk my body out of it. But it was too late: my mouth became dry, my stomach pitched, and then the headache seemed to want to pop my eyeballs right out of my skull. Everything in the room grew fuzzy.

My mother must have noticed I was having issues, because I remember her stage whispering to my father, “Richard! Richard! Go get the CAR!” Shortly thereafter, she led me and my sister back down the aisle, past all the people I’d hoped to impress, all the way to the back, where a large crowd of late-comers had gathered. Like everyone else, they’d come to worship, but on this holy day of resurrection, they were treated to a special bonus: a viewing of me, however resplendent in my Easter attire, as I resurrected my breakfast all over the back church steps.

I had hoped to make an impression that morning. And I did.

For most people, the Easter egg hunt conjures images of children scrambling to find colored plastic eggs like the ones pictured above, filled with tiny sweets (M&Ms, etc) or prizes. But in my family, things were done a little bit…differently. (If you haven’t figured this out by now, I don’t know where you’ve been.) My grandmother worked at the candy counter of a neighborhood store called the Stratford Town Fair, and got her hands on dozens of candy eggs; these were about half as small as real eggs, seemed to be made of solid sugar, and were old and hard as rocks by the time my cousins, my sister, and I were introduced to them. My grandfather had penciled a little number on each one (rendering them officially inedible) that coordinated with a list he’d make each year of all the hiding places around their house. He was really, really good at hiding them. And these eggs were not very big and not brightly-colored, which made them really, really hard to find.

I don’t remember a single Easter where we managed to find them all on our own. Invariably, my grandfather would cross off all the eggs we did find, and would then walk around the house, consulting his list, stopping here and there and giving us little hints. “You’re getting hot,” he’s say. Or “Cold, cold, cold as ice!” Finding those last few inscrutable eggs was a particular challenge and delight.

Unlike most Easter egg hunts, my family’s did not award prizes to whomever found the most eggs. In fact, I never really thought about the prizelessness of it all, until now. The endeavor of looking for those petrified candy eggs and even managing to find them was exhilarating enough. And that leads me to wonder: do you think most kids today (and their parents) would be satisfied with an Easter egg hunt without a material reward?

I had a great day at Barrington Books this past Saturday, reading and signing OTTO and Mr. Prickles and meeting the wonderful bookstore staff. The night before, as I got ready for the event, I thought it might be interesting to show you what goes into my preparations.

First, I printed out activity pages to give away with each signed book. The OTTO-mobiles page for OTTO is printed out on heavier card stock at Staples, but I print out the Prickly Love Notes and Prickly Stickers for Mr. Prickles on my printer here at home. Above is a photo of those freshly printed materials, and below you’ll see I’ve started cutting up the stickers using my handy-dandy paper cutter.

Exact measurements are required for uniform size and optimal prickliness.

Voila! And now for the Prickly Love Notes, which need to be trimmed along all four of their borders.

(A large cup of coffee helps during these proceedings.)

Finally, all the materials are done! Now it’s time to get organized.

Everything goes into my handy caddy, including crayons for bringing the Prickly Love Notes to life. By now, my venti latte is finished, and it’s time to move on to other tasks, namely…

…fixing the moth hole in the sweater I plan to wear. Thankfully, I can do this while sitting on my couch and watching a double-header of “City Confidential.”

Who knew being an author would require sewing skills?

Hope you enjoyed this little behind-the-scenes look at my pre-event productions. Of course, you can always make OTTO-mobiles or Prickly Love Notes without leaving your house (coffee and true crime television viewing optional) — and if you have a hole in your sweater, no one will know.

P.S. If you want to see actual photos of the Barrington Books event, I have them posted on the Mr. Prickles fan page on Facebook, along with pics of other past events and Prickly news and reviews. I hope you’ll become a “fan,” if you haven’t already!

Sequined baby chick purchased from Borders (RIP).

I called the winter-spring hybrid we experienced over the past few months “sprinter.” Now, it seems we’ve segued right into “sprummer.” I find the whole thing creepy, frankly. Yesterday, I had the windows open, and it even smelled like summer. And it’s March. MARCH. I even defied my own seasonal style rules and wore…wait for it…

…flip-flops. (Yes, they are gold flip-flops. That’s how I roll.)

Despite this unseasonable turn of events, I managed to get a lot of work done. Some of it was yard work, but most of it was revision work on two novels. I’ll send them to my agent next week; I’m hopeful at least one of them is close to ready. Fingers (and freshly-pedicured toes) crossed.

Today I’ll be preparing for my big day at Barrington Books, which starts tomorrow at noon. They’re having a shindig to commemorate the opening of their new children’s section, and I seem to be the main event! I’ll be reading from OTTO and Mr. Prickles, answering questions, signing books, and handing out Make Your Own Prickly Love Notes and Make Your Own OTTO-mobile activity pages. And I might just be wearing open-toed shoes. After all, it is sprummer — anything can happen. Might I even see you there?