James Preller’s Blog

Stories Behind the Story: The Case of the Class Clown

A while back, I got a surprising phone call about this book: a group (legitimate, apparently) named Arts Power wanted to turn it into a musical.

Okay, great. And so they have. I have not seen it, though I did have the opportunity to read the adaptation, which smartly compressed the cast to four characters. Really, it’s all up to the songs, and I haven’t heard ‘em. But it’s definitely an honor to have that book plucked from the torrent and highlighted in this way. Break a leg, Arts Power!

As for the book itself . . .

I see that it is dedicated to teacher Mary Szczech and the children in her 1999-2000 classroom. When we first moved to the town of Delmar, this would be 11-12 years ago, I contacted the local elementary school in the hope of finding a teacher who would allow me to sit in on classes throughout the year. I understood that it would take a certain kind of teacher, open and confident. Enter Mary Szczech. My time in Mary’s classroom was so helpful to me — I learned so much — that I’ve adopted that research strategy for many subsequent projects. I like to get inside the classroom, soak up the atmosphere, all those little details I couldn’t possibly make  up.

I sometimes struggle with kicking off the mystery proper. There are books in the series when the actual “client with a case” doesn’t show up until 3-4 chapters into the book. Other times, like this one, Jigsaw is in detective mode from page one. Here we find Jigsaw, Mila, and Athena Lorenzo (the client) up Jigsaw’s tree house. Strange as it sounds, when they are up there, I know I’m on firm ground.

* Jigsaw’s father has a scene in the book when Mila overhears him talking to a bunch of raisins: “Listen here, you dried-up grapes. I need you to concentrate.” When questioned, he claims to be training them. “You’ve heard of a flea circus? Well, I’m starting a raisin circus.” Thus the theme of practical jokes — in good taste and poor — is established. When my son Nick was little, I used to perform the same raisin trick for him. And in that way, you see my curious attachments in this series: I strongly identify with Jigsaw . . . and his father. I’m both guys.

* As for the case, a series of pranks has been running through the school. Somebody is pulling fast ones all over the place. This presents a major conflict for Jigsaw, since he suspects one of his best friends, Ralphie Jordan:

That night, I took a long, hot bath. I lay perfectly still, thinking about my good pal Ralphie Jordan. It sounded like the kind of pranks he’d pull. I put my head under the water and counted as high as I could. When I came up for air, I knew two things: Catching Ralphie wouldn’t be easy. And it wouldn’t be fun.

* Another suspect emerges, though Jigsaw himself doesn’t at first notice. It’s the humor-challenged Helen Zuckerman, who’s been telling a lot of corny jokes lately:

For some reason, Helen Zuckerman had decided to become funny. Which is sort of like deciding to become a tall redhead. Some things you just can’t change. And Helen Zuckerman, no matter how hard she tried, was about as funny as a spelling test.

* One of the things I learned during my visits to Mary Szczech’s class was the clap-clap thing, which I put into my books:

Ms. Gleason clapped her hands softly, clap-clap. That was our signal to be quiet. We all clapped back, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP.

* I put another true life event into this story. At the time of this book, we owned a basset hound named Seamus, who was a slave to his nose and pretty much untrainable. One morning Seamus got out and Lisa had to run around the neighborhood in her bathrobe trying to catch him. So naturally Ms. Gleason tells her students:

“Wow, what a morning! My crazy basset hound, Brutus, got loose again. You should have seen me. I was in my bathrobe, chasing Brutus through my neighbor’s garden!”

We all laughed. We loved it when Ms. Gleason told us her Brutus stories. Her dog sounded like a real nut.

What else?

* The students fix two broken sentences to start the morning, and I took that practice directly from Mrs. Szczech’s classroom: that boy don’t go to pottsford school any more and ms willard will learn us how to multiply this year said irving

Can you find what’s wrong?

* The raisin trick returns, when Mr. Jones puts his “five best swimmers” into a glass of seltzer. Try it sometime.

* In almost every book, I like to reference a real-life title. In this one, Jigsaw and his father are reading Shiloh together. As a parent, I love those quiet moments together.

My dad closed the book and stood up to leave.

“Hey, Dad . . .”

“Yeah?”

“You were funny tonight, with the raisins.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Funny how?” he asked, rubbing his chin. “Funny strange? Or funny ha-ha?”

I smiled. “Just plain funny.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. “I try.”

* The school librarian is named Mrs. Kranepool, after the original New York Met, a player beloved by my mother. Do you see how the writing process works for me? I’m constantly drawing upon my own life for ideas. It’s not all daydreams and wild leaps of the imagination.

All interior artwork shown from The Case of the Class Clown was illustrated by Jamie Smith. The cover illustration was done by R. W. Alley.

Overheard: “It’s Cadbury Egg Season!”

My wife is attuned to earth’s natural rhythms, the first buds of Spring, of planting and, later, the summer harvest. When the season is ripe, Lisa loves to go out to pick apples, strawberries, raspberries, whatever’s in season. She’ll even go so far as to cook a fresh beet (waaaaay overboard, if you ask me).

Which is why I always get a kick out it when, around this time of year, she enters a store and suddenly yelps, “It’s Cadbury Egg season!”

Lisa is referring, in case there’s any doubt, to the mini eggs. She has no use for the cream-filled monsters. But those delicious little eggs, with the perfect light candy covering? She can’t resist them. After all, they’re in season. And then, sadly, they’ll vanish. Get ‘em while they’re ripe on the vine!

What I’ve Been Working On: A Brief Sample

In college I had a teacher, Dr. Pat Meanor at Oneonta, who said something that I’ve always taken to heart. He said if you want to write, then you had better shut your mouth. Don’t talk about it. Otherwise all that creative energy escapes out your mouth instead of your hands (writers, after all, work with their hands).

I’ve been reluctant to talk about works in progress ever since. It feels to me like misplaced focus. So easy to talk about it, much harder to sit down and do it. Besides, as everybody knows, talk is cheap, the purview of phonies. The only thing that matters is what you get down on the page. Yet this blog is intended, in part, to document “the writer’s life.” So here’s a quick update.

This summer, I have two hardcover books coming out. First there’s A Pirate’s Guide to First Grade (Feiwel & Friends), a picture book illustrated by Greg Ruth. I think it’s a lot of fun, with real kid-appeal, and Greg Ruth is a brilliant artist. For more on that, click here.

Justin Fisher Declares War! (Scholastic), a middle grade sequel-of-sorts to Along Came Spider. It’s set in the same school and a few characters from the first book reappear in minor roles. This is my Rebound Book after Bystander, which was a far more ambitious novel. That is: Justin Fisher Declares War! is lighthearted, easy-to-read, funny, fast, almost frivolous. NOTE: In no way do you need to read Spider in order to enjoy Justin. The book stands on its own.

What am I writing now? Well, I’m thrilled to be working on my first YA, involving characters ages 16 years old. It’s been a liberating experience as a writer, and I feel as if I’m working in my natural voice. I’ve been pushed and stretched in new ways, and it’s taken a while to find myself on terra firma. I’ve splashed around a bit. Maybe that’s appropriate, because the book is set on Long Island, with many scenes at Jones Beach (my old haunt); it involves a boy-girl relationship, a car crash, summer friendships, and other stuff. The truth? I don’t want to talk about it; I want to write it. So that’s what I’ve been doing.

Below you’ll find a brief sample from an early chapter. Remember, this is YA and contains some language. I must emphasize, we’re talking Unedited First Draft. I’ll certainly make many changes in subsequent revisions before I send this to my editor, ultra-cool Liz Szabla, who has not read a word of it yet. Absolutely no one has seen this before. Raw output. Maybe it all gets scrapped; too soon to tell.

Jude squeezed his eyes shut, blinking away the sun’s glare, and waited for the eight-fifteen-in-the-freaking-morning bus. On a Saturday, no less. The stop was located beneath the elevated Long Island railroad, with rails that hummed overhead and stretched across the length of the island, connecting the farthest points east all the way to Pennsylvania Station in Manhattan. Ever since his family relocated to the island five years ago, New York City had beckoned to Jude, offering an exotic world of freedom and possibility. The city stood as a skyscrapery refutation of his suburban life, escape only a train ticket and 45 minutes away.

He sat cross-legged on the curb, leaned back on his hands, and scanned the road for coming traffic. Most people around here drove like psychopaths and Jude wasn’t eager to have his legs run over. It might ruin his weekend, the bleeding stumps, all that dragging around. Better, he thought, not to get run over in the first place, so he cast a wary eye down the road. Today was the first day of the rest of Jude’s life and he would spend it at Jones Beach – starting a new summer job at a concession stand. Nobody’d want to miss that kind of excitement. Barely awake, he had dressed in the required dweebware, a uniform of black pants and orange t-shirt. Because, like, naturally you wear black pants to the beach. Jude Fox was on his unmerry way to becoming a minimum-wage flunky, a hot dog grilling, soda spilling concession stand worker. Greatness to follow.

The morning sun shone not high above the horizon, garish and bright, so Jude stepped back into the station’s cool cement shadows. It was going to be a hot one, the first scorcher of summer; not a cloud in sight, just blue June skies. In truth, Jude didn’t hate the idea of working. He’d heard that beach jobs could be okay, even fun. But Jude was a realist; he knew it would basically suck. Had to, right? After all, he’d heard people complain about their jobs all his life, why should his job be any different. So he could not help but wonder if taking this job had been a mistake. Sometimes it felt to Jude that he was just like those trains overhead, traveling along between two steel rails, the course of his teenage life mapped out long ago. No steering wheel, no brakes. Jude followed the path carved out for him, no different from anybody else. In two years, college; after that, marriage, kids, and it’s a wonderful life.

These are the thoughts you have when you wake up too damn early on a Saturday.

Join me on the “MARCH TO FIFTY!”

Yes, it’s my birthday today, February 1. I’m an inglorious 49. Which means that I am now embarking on a fun-filled, yearlong journey to fabulous 50. Cocktails included!

I invite you to join with me in the celebration. You don’t need to be 49. The extravaganza is open to everybody. You can be 5 or 35, so long as you are determined to reach the same goal. The Big Five-O. If you already made it there, holy cow, I want to shake your hand — or at least offer you a place to sit down.

Quick question:

Q. Is fifty too young to be worried about bladder problems?

A. Depends.

Cue the song:

If I was a clever chap with technical chops, I’d edit something new with clips from my life. Same graphics, same song, same waves, different actors. Preller Five-O! That would be hysterical, right? Paul, you out there? Do we know how to do that?

So you may be wondering, what will this MARCH TO FIFTY be like? Or even, Is it very far? First, no promises, except one: All your wildest dreams will come true.

You’re going to have to trust me on this.

I’m envisioning a yearlong celebration at a variety of venues, a movable feast if you will, with unconfirmed guest appearances by inspirational luminaries such as . . .

Clint Eastwood . . .

Betty White . . .

Leonard Nimoy . . .

and, if the gods so desire it, Dick Clark to perform the final countdown . . .

Dick needs to spend less time in the sun, methinks.

Moving right along, the MARCH TO FIFTY will culminate on February 1, 2011, with a blown wish and a slice of cake.

Don’t miss out. Reserve your seats now. Walkers and canes available for a modest rental fee. I’m predicting wild times, with lots of licking and moisture!

My wife Lisa always has the same comment when talk turns to her beloved’s Big Five-O. She invariably (and too cheerfully) refers to “the mandatory checkup.” Or more euphemistically, “the procedure.” You know, that routine screening test for people 50 years of age or older. My wife seems downright giddy at the prospect. Too giddy, if you ask me.

When Lisa was a nurse still studying to become a midwife, she attended several of those (cough, cough) procedures. Despite my protests, she described them to me in gritty detail. So I have a pretty good idea of what’s coming and, for that matter, where it’s going.

On this topic, Dave Barry may be king. Wrote Barry:

I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis . Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn’t really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, ‘HE’S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!’

Click here for more hilarity on that. The guy is funny. I’ll be laughing all the way to fifty.

As for the procedure, I’m pretty sure it involves something commonly found in most suburban backyards:

In the meantime, I’ll try to enjoy inglorious 49 while it lasts!

Music Video Weekend: “Shakin’ All Over”

My son Gavin, ten years old, is a true musician. He’s played piano for seven years and started playing guitar two-three years ago.

It’s fascinating to watch him slowly develop his own personal taste in music. The big hurdle is that at his age, Gavin simply isn’t familiar with a whole lot of music; doesn’t have strong personal associations with different tunes that might attach themselves to specific times, places, faces.

While I don’t mean to force-feed him my taste in music, I do try to expose the G-Man to a wide variety of sounds. Living under this roof, that’s going to happen naturally. There are also songs that I feel he’s got to hear, and know, and play. For example, the classic riff from “Shakin’ All Over.”  The song was first popularly played by Johnny Kidd and the Pirates in 1960, and reached #1 in the U.K. charts. The riff belongs in any guitarist’s vocabulary.

I played a few different versions of the song for Gavin, Johnny Kidd’s of course, and The Who at Leeds, plus this new find, an alt-country singer who I’m pretty excited about, Eileen Jewell. I just picked up her latest disk, “Sea of Tears,” and think she’s the real deal:

She’s cool, don’t you think? I want to see that band in a small bar some night.

Gavin will then seek out various lessons on Youtube, which is just an amazing resource for musicians. Here Kim Mitchell explains the importance of this riff as it pertains to soloing in general, how it relates to the pentatonic scale, and in his words, “just wanking around”:

Then this English bloke, Dave Jones, who seems very nice, patiently offers a step-by-step lesson. You’ll likely find this boring, and I don’t expect many readers will look at it, but I think it’s fascinating, this man unraveling the mystery.  (The “Shakin’ All Over” riff begins at 4:40 in the clip.) Twenty minutes later, Gavin is playing the riff and moving on to his spelling homework.

I want to add how grateful I am for the quality of these lessons — and many more that are available. These guys are teachers, givers, living examples; the league of gentleman, the brotherhood of rock-n-roll. It’s so cool that Gavin can learn from them. Thanks Kim, Dave, and all you others.

RIP, J.D.

“I hope to hell that when I do die somebody has the sense to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.” –J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

I guess I’ll have to pull this one off the shelf again — and read it yet another time — and always with awe. What a voice. Rest in peace, Mr. Salinger. And thank you.

Some more quotes from the book.

And here’s an obituary worth reading. I’m sure there are many more to come.

——-

UPDATE: Wow, consider this question: What’s In Salinger’s Safe? Has he been writing all along?

“Teachers Make A Difference,” performed by Taylor Mali

I understand that in some exotic cultures poetry — actual poetry — is celebrated on Fridays. For example: here, and here, and here. This week I decided to play along. But with a difference. Here at JamesPreller.com, we’re all about winning. So I’m getting a head start.

Seriously, if you know a teacher, you might want to share this.

Here’s slam poet Taylor Mali answering the question, “What do teachers make?”

From the incredible TED site:

Mali is a vocal advocate of teachers and the nobility of teaching, having himself spent nine years in the classroom teaching English, history, math and SAT test preparation. He has performed and lectured for teachers all over the world, and his New Teacher Project has a goal of creating 1,000 new teachers through “poetry, persuasion and perseverance.”

Fan Mail Wednesday #74-75

I’m feeling pushed these days — mostly in a good way — so it’s hard to get to these letters. The demands of standard mail can be time-consuming and expensive. I’ll admit it: sometimes I get behind and never catch up on my replies. Then I feel awful about myself and vow never to fall behind again. Rinse, repeat.

And so it goes.

Like I’ve said before: I really appreciate letters that come with Self-Addressed, Stamped Envelopes.

I heated up my trusty, dusty scanner for these two. First, I received a lovely drawing from a girl named Lindsey:

I replied:

Dear Lindsey,

Thank you so much for your kind letter. It is not everyday that I receive such beautiful, creative artwork in the mail. I especially liked your idea for the book tree (not shown in the scan above) — I wish books really did grow on trees! Then I could go out and play instead of sitting here alone at my desk trying to think up new ideas.

I taped your picture on the wall in my office, so I can look over at it each day for inspiration. I’ll think of you and smile.

Thank you for that gift!

JP

Letter #75:

This also came in the mail (I scanned only the front page; it goes on, and on, a bit longer, but you get the idea):

I replied:

Dear Mukul,

Thanks for your letter. I need all the ideas I can get, so thanks for including a few spare ones of your own. I wish that I had so many ideas that I could give them away for free.

Um, they were free, weren’t they?

I don’t, like, owe you any money, do I?

I love traveling. Sadly, we haven’t been able to do much of it in the past several years. We’re working hard to pay our bills and save our money; we’re not in spending mode these days. But a dream that I’ve had for a long time is to bring my family to Ireland. I’ve been there several times on my own, but not in many years. I have roots there, since my grandmother was born in Ireland. She came to this country as an immigrant. In a way I can’t fully explain, I’ve always felt welcome and at home whenever I’ve visited that country. It’s as if there’s a part of me still there, almost magically, and I reconnect to it when I step on those shores. I wish I could live in Ireland for half the year — maybe someday. But mostly I’d love for my children to experience it, to feel just a little bit of what I’ve felt.

There are so many, many places I’d love to visit. Vietnam and India, Australia and Denmark, Costa Rica and New Jersey! The list goes on and on. Hopefully some of those dreams will come true.

Thanks for writing to me.

JP

Stories Behind the Story: The Case of the Snowboarding Superstar

As part of a continuing (read: sporadic) series of posts, I take a look back at old Jigsaw Jones titles with the intention of providing my Nation of Readers with more “extra juicy” background info.

If you are like me, you might gag at the thought of yet another writer describing his “creative process.” There is something oh-so-wearying about it. The phrase, “Don’t be a gasbag,” leaps to mind. But let’s see if I can pull this off without too much self-aggrandizement. The simple truth is that I am proud of this series and I sometimes (often?) wonder how much longer they’ll be around. I see this blog as document, as archive.

Today’s title is seasonally appropriate, Jigsaw Jones #29: The Case of the Snowboarding Superstar. It begins with Jigsaw chatting with two of his brothers, Daniel and Nick, as they prepare for a family ski vacation.

Some background: My father was a veteran of World War II, who returned home, got married, went to college on the G.I. Bill — a great investment by the Federal Government, by the way — and looked with my mother for a nice place to settle down and raise a family. Suburbia, preferably. He found a newly-built home in Wantagh, Long Island, designed after the Levittown model (for a fascinating history on that, click here). They bought a three-bedroom house for somewhere along the lines of $12,500.

One problem: My parents kept having children. Seven in all. It got crowded. At one point when I was still quite young, my folks slept in the back bedroom, my two sisters (Barbara and Jean) shared a small room, three boys had the front room (John, Al, me), and my father turned the garage into a bedroom for the oldest boys (Neal and Bill). I have strong memories of those early childhood days, sharing that crowded room with two big and somewhat mysterious brothers.

Below, here’s my whole family except for Mom, 1967. We always dressed that way! I shared a bedroom with the two goons on the right — don’t let the ties fool you.

The dynamic in the book’s first chapter, with two older brothers schooling Jigsaw, springs directly from my sense of those times.

They are teaching Jigsaw how to talk cool, in the snowboarder’s hipster jargon:

“Let us quiz you, Jigsaw,” Nick said. “What do you call someone if you don’t know their name?”

I thought for a moment. “Dude,” I answered.

“Excellent!” Nick cheered. “What’s a face-plant?”

“It’s when you fall into the snow face-first.”

“Awesome, Jigsaw,” Daniel said. “Totally gnarly!”

“Gnarly?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“It means very, very cool,” Nick explained. “Do you smell me?”

I sniffed, confused. “What?”

“Do you smell me?” Nick repeated. “It means, do you understand?”

“Not exactly,” I groaned.

In the next chapter, Jigsaw gets to try out his new language skills on Mila Yeh, his partner and best friend:

“I’m jealous,” Mila complained. “I wish I were going  on a ski trip.”

“Snowboarding,” I corrected her.

“It sounds hard,” Mila said. “I hear that beginners fall down a lot.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I think it will be sick.”

“Sick?” Mila asked. “Who’s sick?”

“Not who,” I said. “It. Snowboarding will be sick.”

Mila frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s the opposite of wack,” I explained.

“Okaaay,” Mila murmured.

“Do you smell me?” I asked.

Mila sniffed. “Well, now that you mention it, you do smell a little ripe.”

Don’t they have a nice friendship? Anyway, some random things:

* I loved the setup for the book, with Jigsaw away from Mila for the first time. It gave the book a different shape — and put Jigsaw in a tough situation. After all, this was #29 in the series, so I was eager to find new ways to keep it fresh. I know that some successful series, like The Magic Tree House, tend to follow a more rigid formula. And I understand the reasons why that’s appealing and reassuring for young readers. But it just wasn’t me. For better and for worse, I kept trying to mix things up.

* Mila mentions to Jigsaw that she’s practicing for a piano recital. Her song will be “The Maple Leaf Rag.” This comes from my son, Gavin, who also played that song in a recital.

* Grams and Billy are left behind to “mind the fort.” This expression, used by Mr. Jones, was something my father commonly said. I love his old verbal habits, the phrases he often used, and I try to keep them alive as best as I can — more than ever now that he’s gone. It’s a way of keeping that connection alive. I hear those phrases and think of Dad, all the more so when his words come out of my mouth.

* I once edited a book on snowboarding, written by Joe Layden. I learned a lot about the sport in the process, so it was comfortable territory for me to explore in the context of a Jigsaw Jones mystery.

In my story, a star snowboarder named Lance Mashman (love that name!) is at the lodge for an upcoming exhibition. However, someone steals his lucky bandanna — and with it, his confidence. While working on No Limits, I was impressed by many of the top female snowboarders, such as Shannon Dunn and Victoria Jealouse. They had a vitality and strength that inspired me, qualities I love to see in my own daughter. Also, they conveyed a refreshing take on competition, much different than you normally hear in the context of traditional athletics. So I invented the character of Tara Gianopolis, a rival to Lance, and a very cool young woman:

Illustration by Jamie Smith — crudely scanned.

“But you two compete against each other,” I said. “You are enemies . . . .”

Tara shook her head. “Man, you don’t know much about snowboarders, do you? This isn’t like football or basketball. We’re athletes, but we’re just trying to be the best we can be. It’s about nailing a backside rodeo or pulling off a perfect McTwist. It’s not about winning medals or beating people. It’s about freedom and creativity.”

“So you don’t care if you win?” I asked.

“I care, I guess,” Tara said with a shrug. “But as long as I ride well, I’m okay with whatever happens.”

* One of the suspects turns out to be Lance’s manager, Bubba Barbo, named in honor of my former editor, Maria Barbo. Once again, that’s a great aspect of writing mysteries. The genre forces the detective out into the world, this moral compass encountering life, making observations, going places, meeting new people all the time. As a series writer, that holds tremendous appeal — new characters in every book. Here’s a snippet from a conversation between Jigsaw and Bubba:

“It sounds like you think Lance is annoying,” I commented.

Bubba growled. “I don’t think he’s annoying. Lance is annoying. He’s always late. He drives me up a wall and across the ceiling.”

“You don’t like him?” I asked.

Bubba made a face. “Whaddaya, kidding? I love the kid,” he said. “Lance has talent. He’s a genius on a snowboard. A great athlete. And besides that, Lance has heart. He’s good people. You know what I’m saying?”

Yes, I knew what Bubba was saying. “I heard that he fired you this morning,” I said.

Bubba stepped back, surprised. Then he laughed out loud. “Lance fires me every week and twice on Sunday,” Bubba claimed. “It doesn’t mean anything. We’re a team.”

For fun, here’s a clip of Victoria Jealouse (and others) in action:

Click below for other posts in this series. Some day I’ll get around to every book:

Jigsaw Jones #7: The Case of the Runaway Dog

Jigsaw Jones #15: The Case of the Haunted Scarecrow

Jigsaw Jones #16: The Case of the Sneaker Sneak

Jigsaw Jones #28: The Case of the Food Fight

Jigsaw Jones #10: The Case of the Ghostwriter

One Minute Blast of Inspiration

Some days, you find exactly what you need.

“Keep going.”