A Mime in Times Square

Friends, Family, and Fellow Writers (or a mix of these), I'd love to see you this Saturday at the King's English Bookshop. Here are the details, straight from our press release: Three Friends, Three Books Rick Walton, Kristyn Crow, and Sharlee Glenn have been friends for years. When Kristyn and Sharlee were both fledgling writers, they turned to Rick, the granddaddy of picture book writing in Utah, for advice and encouragement. So when it turned out that all three writers had books coming out from national publishers within a few weeks of each other this year, they decided to join forces and celebrate by throwing a grand triple book release party. The big event will take place this coming Saturday, May 3, from 11:00 to 1:00 at The King's English Bookshop at 1511 South 1500 East, Salt Lake City. Rick Walton is the author of over sixty books for children, including Once There Was a Bull . . . Frog, So Many Bunnies, and Bertie was a Watch Dog. In this new book, What Do We do w

I’m often asked, “Why don’t you write a novel?” And the answer is, I’ ve attempted it many times. I’ ve started dozens of novels, but I don’t seem to have the endurance to finish them. Every time I make this attempt and fizzle, I become more and more impressed with Stephenie Meyer , Shannon Hale , Mette Ivie Harrison , and other authors whose books I love. I have a couple of novel manuscripts that I secretly believe might have real promise, if they were ever finished. I’m starting to worry that writing a novel is a marathon, and I’m a short-sprint runner. Not that picture book manuscripts are written quickly. But I can shuffle them around like cards in a deck. When I get tired of one, I can put it aside and work on another. That way I’ ve entered an entirely different world, with different characters and rules--one I haven’t seen for a while and have missed. It gives me a renewed excitement for the piece which drives me along. I’ ve often wondered how a novelist does his/her shuff

Curses. Foiled again.

So, a coule of days ago my stepdaughter silled esi on my lato and now the letter on my keyboard which comes after “o” and before “q” is dead. I mean dead and residing somewhere in the heaven for defunct lato keys. Now I can’t hel but be ainfully aware of the importance of one letter in our alphabet. (Hey, cool, Word is correcting some of my misselled words and inserting the missing “__” (letter after o and before q) for me. Sometimes. Now I’ve been whining to my husband, “I need a “___.” And he says, “When you gotta go, you gotta go.” And I say, “No, no, no…the letter “____” doesn’t work on my keyboard. I need a new lato.” He says, “A new one? Why don’t you just get it fixed?” And I say, “So, what…I’m gonna call some dude and tell him my “_” isn’t working?” “Uh-huh.” It figures. Only writers understand the ain of losing access to a single letter of the alphabet.

Yesterday I got to walk into a Barnes and Noble and buy a copy of my book, COOL DADDY RAT, right off the shelves. Lame, you say? Maybe. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into bookstores and dreamed. That was a long-awaited moment. I’ve got a picture book workshop this Saturday that I’m putting on with author Rick Walton. It sounds like we’ll have an excellent group of writers, and even an editor and a librarian in attendance. The proceeds will go toward a picture book project we’re doing to help newly-diagnosed kids with juvenile diabetes. Rick has a son with the condition, and I have two. We’re hoping a book for very young kids will be comforting to them during an extremely confusing time. I’m looking outside right now, and there's a blizzard. That’s right. A blizzard . So much for the vanishing snowman. This means war.

I’ve decided that one of the hardest things about writing for publication is exposing oneself to rejection. Let’s face it, rejection is no fun. It hurts. It’s the realization that “something about me, or something I’ve created isn’t good enough.” And deep down, everybody wants to be good enough. Since my children are in a blended family due to divorce, I often find myself on weekends or holidays dropping them off for visitation. Today I was marveling that I still occasionally feel an emotional sting as my children run off to the arms of their other parent. As I drove away this afternoon, I wondered why. Since I’m happily married and secure in my kids’ love for me, why do these drop-offs continue to be uncomfortable? As I thought about it, I realized that it’s the reminder of the rejection--the reminder that at one time, I somehow wasn’t good enough. When we write, we spend countless hours encapsulating thousands of our thoughts into organized typed symbols. That’s a strange process, w

As you can see, I'm still doing the marketing thing. Today I'm sending off these postcards to independent booksellers, jazz and music stores, etc. Gotta get the word out about the book! I've hand-addressed more than two-hundred so far. If I didn't have carpal tunnel before, I might now.

Last Monday I was able to give a picture book presentation at Weber State. That was a fun experience because I shared, in detail, the story of COOL DADDY RAT’s publication. That manuscript definitely went on a rough ride. For example, I talked about the awful experience of sitting across from an agent (not mine) who was reading the story with a confused look on her face while she started to chuckle. In my hopeful, wanna-be-published mindset, I tried nervously to determine whether her chuckles were good or bad. Suddenly she handed me back the manuscript and said, “WHO sent you to me?” And then, looking up into the air, she whispered to the listening universe, “Why do they always send these people to me?” (Hmmm. Not sure who "these people" are or how I unwittingly joined the group.) Anyway, I was dismissed from her presence, crushed . The reason I had the meeting with her in the first place was because a well-known children's book author had recommended my story to her,