I shared my love for Garfield Minus Garfield a while back. Here’s today’s post-meta-existential shot over the bow from Jon Arbuckle. I guess I’m someone who doesn’t love getting older . . .
Archive for November 15, 2008
“Way back.”
That’s a 1969 baseball card of Tony Oliva, from back when I was eight years old. I still treasure mine. Along with Mickey Mantle, and Nolan Ryan, and Hank Aaron, everybody else from that Topps set, all 660 cards.
I enjoyed this one-minute clip, where Tony Oliva — an 8-time All-Star with the Twins — plays a spirited game of wii baseball with his grandson. Tony hit 220 home runs in his career. Apparently it still gives him a thrill.
Hat tip to Aaron Gleeman for finding the clip.
Jigsaw Jones Edits, Warts and All
Last Friday I handed in the first draft of Jigsaw Jones: The Case of the Skeleton’s Secret. In series publishing, things move quickly. Because the manuscript ran a little long — and because I’m far from perfect — my editor, Matt Ringler, returned the first draft with some comments, suggestions, and cuts. This is all normal operating procedure. My job was to then respond to Matt’s editorial comments and send a revised manuscript to him, which I have already done. None of this is genius; just basic revision. And, I should add, with more tweaks to come down the road.
Here are four brief sections, showing Matt’s suggested cuts in red, and my changes in green, which were made on top of Matt’s. I want to be honest here, show my mistakes, flubs, blunders, and weak sentences. Possibly this is instructive for any teacher working on writing in the classroom. Hopefully this post demonstrates the importance of a strong editor, the value of revision, and how much we need all the help we can get! Cutting is almost always a good thing.
1
ORIGINAL VERSION w/ EDITS:
Mila pulled on the strands of her long black hair. She was a good listener. That made her a good detective – and a good friend.
I continued, “Everybody has their party at the Putt-Putt Emporium,” I said. “Everybody — except for me.” Laser Tag rocks. Plus get soda and pizza!”
“Did you try whining?” Mila suggested.
“Of course,” I said. “I complained for a week.”
“How about begging?”
“That only made things worse,” I said.
“Worse?” Mila echoed.
“Yeah, my dad wanted to strangle me at one point,” I said. “And he’s not really the strangling type.”
“Good thing.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said.
“But you’ll still celebrate your birthday, right?” Mila said.
“Sure, we’ll have cake and presents,” I said. “I’ll pick my favorite dinner. But let’s face it, Mila. Laser Tag would have been way cooler.”
Mila shrugged. “I’d rather have a sleepover, watch a DVD, and paint my toenails.”
* * * * *
REVISED VERSION:
Mila was a good listener. That made her a good detective – and a good friend.
“Everybody has their party at the Putt-Putt Emporium,” I said. “Everybody – except for me.”
“But you’ll still celebrate your birthday, right?” Mila said.
“Sure, we’ll have cake and presents,” I said. “I’ll pick my favorite dinner. But let’s face it, Mila. Laser Tag would have been way cooler.”
Mila shrugged. “I’d rather have a sleepover, watch a DVD, and paint my toenails.”
2
ORIGINAL VERSION w/ EDITS:
Reginald walked down a long hallway. We tagged along behind, our stocking feet sliding on the cool tile floor. We made two lefts and a right at an old grandfather clock. As we walked, I thought about Reginald. Sure, he was the richest kid I’d ever met. Spoiled, too. He had everything a kid could want. And maybe he did eat too many cucumber sandwiches. But he was always a good friend. Mila thought he was lonely. She Mila was probably may have been right. She often was.
Reginald stopped before a white door. He pressed the tips of his fingers together. “I’m awfully glad to see you two. My Auntie Griselda is visiting from La Jolla. She’s very proper. I have to be on my best behavior. It can be a little . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Boring?” Mila suggested.
“Indeed, yes, rather,” Reginald confessed.
* * * * *
REVISED VERSION:
Reginald walked down a long hallway. We tagged along behind, our stocking feet sliding on the tile floor. We made two lefts and a right at an old grandfather clock. As we walked, I thought about Reginald. Sure, he was the richest kid I’d ever met. And maybe he did eat too many cucumber sandwiches. But he was a friend. Mila thought he was lonely. She may have been right.
Reginald stopped before a white door. “I’m awfully glad to see you two. My Auntie Griselda is visiting from La Jolla. She’s very proper. I have to be on my best behavior. It can be a little . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Boring?” Mila suggested.
“Indeed, yes, rather,” Reginald confessed.
3
NOTE: In this scene, Jigsaw is at Reginald Pinkerton Armitage’s house, where Jigsaw just borrowed a “Spy Ear,” a listening device that magnifies sound. Faithful blog readers might recall my whimsical desire to have someone — anyone — fart in a Jigsaw Jones book. Even when I dreamed of it, and wrote it, I knew it wasn’t right for Jigsaw. But still: I had to get it out of my system.
On our return trip to the front door, I switched on the Magnifying Spy Ear to see if it really worked. Thump, thump, thump. The sound of our stocking feeet pounded on the floor like small explosions. Then I heard a faint popping sound. Like this: poof.
“Um, Reg?” I asked. “Did you just . . . toot?”
“Certainly not!” he protested. “Armitages don’t, as you say, toot..”
“You don’t? Never, ever?” I asked.
Reginald stood ramrod straight. ““It’s not something an Armitage does.”
“Nobody in your family, huh?” I said. “That’s amazing.”
Poof.
There it was again. And this time, the sound was loud and clear. Even Mila heard it – without the Magnifying Ear.
Reggie fumbled with his eyeglasses. He dropped them to floor, picked them up again. His face turned a deep crimson. (That’s a ten-dollar word for red.)
I titled my head, waiting.
“Not so bad, is it?” I asked.Reginald’s eyes widened. He grinned. “I liked it!”
Poof, poof, poof.
“Okaaaaay, Reg, let’s not get carried away. It sounds like we’re in a shooting gallery at the carnival.”
Mila snickered, and so did Reginald.
“A carnival, that’s rich,” Reginald said. “Please excuse my manners. But it does feel rather good, doesn’t it?”
“I daresay,” I said with a smile.
* * * * *
REVISED VERSION:
On our return trip to the front door, I switched on the Spy Ear to see if it really worked.
[NOTE: Ha– so much for Little Toot! But I enjoyed writing it, even though I knew it was destined for the scrap heap. At this point, we added a brief exchange where Jigsaw overhears a conversation between the butler and Gus the driver.]
4
ORIGINAL VERSION:
When I need thinking time, I usually pull out a new jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately, I didn’t have new ones. I did a couple of easy 100-piece puzzles, but my heart wasn’t into it. As a detective, I liked to take action. Do stuff. Make things happen. But there wasn’t much I could do. I had to sit back and wait for the riddler to make a mistake.
* * * * *
REVISED VERSION:
As a detective, I liked to take action. Make things happen. But there wasn’t much I could do. I had to sit back and wait for the riddler to make a mistake.
Category: Jigsaw Jones, the writing process / Tags: Editing Jigsaw Jones, James Preller's writing process, Jigsaw Jones, Matt Ringler, Revision
From Sketch to Finish: Loren Long, Barnstormers
You roll the cursor over Loren Long’s sketches and watch as the finishes magically appear. It would be nice if other illustrators copied this technique. I love this process stuff, how it all happens. Love. It. I mean to say: Yes, please do pay attention to the man behind the curtain.
Thanks to Nan Hoekstra at Anokaberry for first bringing it to my attention.
A Craig Walker Story, or Two
My friend, Caroline, noticed her young son fidgeting around in that nervous leaky way all parents recognize.
“Elliott, do you need to use the bathroom?”
“Yes, Mom, I do,” Elliott chirped. “And it’s your lucky day — because I have to poop!”
Which reminded me of a story my pal, Craig Walker, used to tell.
He was at Hallmark at the time. This is the early 80’s. After a lengthy effort, Craig’s major project for a new line of greeting cards got shot down. Something he had worked on for weeks and possibly months. An abject failure. So Craig and his friend, Steve, decided to drown their troubles in a sleazy bar. (Craig loved dive bars almost as much as he distrusted fern bars; when given a choice, he always went down-market. One clue to Craig is knowing that one of his all-time favorite movies was “Five Easy Pieces.”)
This place was a dark damp dump. A few grizzled denizens slumped on stools, an old jukebox with blown speakers, peanut shells on the floor, the smell of stale beer. A bar perfectly suited to their sour moods. The waitress/bartender was one of those old battle axes, gimp-legged, wearing too much makeup and yet somehow not nearly enough, missing some teeth, arthritic hands like claws. Craig and Steve ordered a few rounds, Bud in longneck bottles, defeated and miserable.
After a while, the waitress shuffled over. “Any more, boys? Happy Hour is almost over.”
I can hear Craig telling that story. Like all the stories that Craig loved, he told it many, many times. He did the same with favorite jokes; he repeated them endlessly, and laughed merrily after each telling. Somehow the repetition and accumulation made them funnier.
“Happy hour?” they repeated. There was a dumbstruck silence, and the slow dawning of recognition. They looked around. “This . . . this . . . is happy hour?!”
Craig and Steve broke into laughter.
And ordered another round.
Yep, that’s an old copy of the in-house newsletter for Scholastic, where I worked for five years. At the time, 1986, a small number of us had just launched the Firefly Preschool Book Club, which still thrives today. Craig picked the books, I wrote about them, and Barbara Marcus cracked the whip. Good times. Looking back, a significant part of my job was to sit in Craig Walker’s office for hours to discuss all the books that were offered on SeeSaw Book Club and Firefly. What an education. What a privilege. My thanks to Cynthia Maloney for hording that newsletter and passing on a jpg to me.
One more quick Craig story. After my divorce, I married Lisa in 1998. At the wedding, my mother saw Craig and exclaimed, “Craig, I’m so happy to see you again. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Craig replied, “Oh yes, I come to all of Jimmy’s weddings.”
Category: Greatest Hits, Uncategorized / Tags: Barbara Marcus, Craig Walker, Craig Walker Remembered, Cynthia Maloney, Firefly Book Club, Hallmark, Happy Hour, Scott Hunt