Archive for January 22, 2009

Deleted Scenes 3: Six Innings

I’ve got about 10,000 words sitting in a scrap heap, savagely cut from Six Innings during the revision process. Here’s one little scene — a conversation, really — that didn’t make the book. For two reasons: 1) It’s a scene with two adults, not a kid in sight; 2) It takes us away from the game itself, and we got to a point where we decided to be careful about how often we do that.

With any ensemble piece, confusing the reader is a constant danger. It’s much simpler with one strong character running straight through the narrative (ask Jigsaw). But that was never my intention, for better and for worse. I had Robert Altman in mind, “Nashville,” a large cast. So the game became the single thread running through the narrative, because it was the game that brought all those characters together in the first place, that point in their lives where they connected for those two hours. On a diamond.

Back to the deleted scene: I needed to write this scene, I needed to say it, and know it, but maybe I didn’t need it in the book. Who knows! When I first told people about writing Six Innings, they’d say, “Are you going to tell about how horrible some of the parents and coaches can be?”

Well, no. Not this book. But also, that’s really not been my experience. And when it comes to coaches, yes, I’m biased. I see how much time they put into a season. All on a voluntary basis, without pay, and often without thanks from parents. My overall impression is that these coaches are good men, who are present for our kids, who do their best. Are they flawed? Yup. Do they care first about their own children? Sometimes. Do I like them all? Nope. But I know a lot of these guys. The solution is always the same: Shut up and get involved. And this scene, written below, expresses one little aspect of what I know.

– – – – –

Jeff Reid snapped on the lamp on his night table. The clock read three o’clock, the wrong three o’clock. He was wide awake, climbed out of bed.

“Honey, what is it?” Naomi Reid groggily asked.

“Can’t sleep,” he explained.

Naomi Reid knew her husband. “Thinking about the game tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Turn out the light, come back to bed,” she told him. “It’s just a Little League game.”

“It’s for the championship,” he corrected his wife.

Naomi yawned, bone tired. Shut her eyes.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we won?” Jeff said.

Naomi didn’t hear, or didn’t answer.

Jeff continued talking. “I mean, not for me. For the boys. I’d love for them to have that feeling. Winners, you know?”

Naomi squinted at her husband. “For the boys?” she repeated skeptically. “Not for you?”

Jeff laughed. “Okay, for me, too. I admit it: I’ve never won anything in my life. But mostly I’d love to see those boys win. Imagine the look on Branden’s face. They’ve played so hard this year. Such good kids, you know. They deserve this.”

He paused, “I have to find a scrap of paper. I want to write down some ideas for the lineup.”

Naomi Reid, wife to this good man for eighteen long years that had rolled by like winning seasons, grumbled her assent. “Come to bed soon. You’ll need your sleep. And Jeff,” she said, “those boys are lucky to have you.”

Fan Mail Wednesday #26

Sound the trumpets, roast a fatted calf! It’s Fan Mail Wednesday! Here’s a nice letter from Jake, and my reply, and Jake’s mom’s reply, and my reply to that . . .

Dear Mr. Preller,

My name is Jake and I am 9 years old. I am a big fan of your Jigsaw Jones books. I almost read the whole series! Usually kids want toys or video games, but last year for Christmas I asked for your books. I also have the book Six Innings, but I am looking forward to it. I think that you are a great author because you are very creative. Also, you are very good at making me want to read your books over and over again, and keeping the books a mystery. You are a very good author and I hope that I can read and enjoy more of your books!

Sincerely,
Jake

P.S. I only need three more books to read in the Jigsaw Jones Series!

I wrote back:

Dear Jake,

Wow, thanks for that kind letter. When I read things like this, it motivates me. It makes me want to keep writing, keep challenging myself to do more, try harder, write better.

Thank you for being that kind of reader for me. I’m truly lucky to have you; I’m grateful for all the books you’ve read.

I hope you enjoy Six Innings when the time is right for you to read it. I always have a big stack of books by my bedside, all waiting on line to be read next. As the saying goes, “So many books, so little time!”

JP

At that point, I figured I was done with Jake. Maybe I’d take the rest of the day off, maybe even take a little bubble bath in the tub . . .

Then this comes in the mail . . .

Dear Mr. Preller,

Thank you so much for writing back. You totally made my son’s night! He was so excited that you wrote back, and so soon, that he got out of bed and ran downstairs to read your email. Then, we printed it out because he wanted to save it. He wrote his letter to you all by himself and sent it off. I was so proud of it when I read it myself. He really did ask for your books for Christmas last year and then proceeded to read a book a day until he was done! There are 3 books missing from his collection and we’re unable to find them, but we will continue to search for them!

Your writing style has really spoken to my son and made a reader out of him. Thank you for that! And thank you for sharing your gift with people all over the world!

Keep it up, we look forward to more and more James Preller books!

Regards,

Andrea

Here’s my answer to that, in case any other fans of the series are encountering a similar problem (and from what I know, many are):

Andrea,

Very nice, thank you. I’m sorry to say that Scholastic no longer promotes Jigsaw Jones in trade (i.e., book stores), so they are getting harder to locate. Sometimes you find them in stores, sometimes you don’t. Some titles in the series are only available through Scholastic Book Clubs. For those, you can try this number, 1-800-724-6527, or navigate through this website (yes, parents can order directly). Good luck.

Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bullying

When I was working on Bystander (Fall, 2009), a book that centers on bullying, I kept running across different quotes by Martin Luther King, Jr. He would often express the same idea in subtle variations. In essence, Dr. King issued an indictment against the tyranny of silence, reminding us all of our responsibility to speak up. King believed in the common good. He had an abiding faith in his fellow man. If only we would all stand up and be heard, then justice and democracy and human kindness would surely prevail over cruelty and prejudice.

That’s partly why I named the book, Bystander. Not bully. Not victim. I wanted the focus to be on the overwhelming majority of us who stand by as mute witness; and how we are, therefore, complicit in acts of cruelty, our silence a form of tacit agreement. For responsibility is nothing if not an “ability” to “respond.” That’s where we find hope for real change. In our voices.

Here’s a few relevant quotes from Dr. King:

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”

“The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.”

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

“Cowardice asks the question, ‘Is it safe?’ Expediency asks the question, ‘Is it politic?’ But conscience asks the question, ‘Is it right?’ And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but because conscience tells one it is right.”

This brief, one-minute clip is from Martin Luther King, Jr.’s last speech. He knew what was coming, he knew.

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Our Scarecrow Tradition: Photograph, 1973

Some of you among my Nation of Readers may recall this post from October 30th, and the wonderful snaps contained therein, about the time-honored Preller tradition of building a Halloween scarecrow.

Here’s a handy visual reminder of said scarecrow, circa 2008:

Well. Recently my sister’s high school friend, Bruce Donnola (who, amazingly, went on to become !Bruce Donnola!), sent me this classic photo from 1973 — which varifies that I wasn’t lying about the whole scarecrow thing. And if I ever get it scanned, I have another b/w one from what has to be from the ’50s — same scarecrow across six decades. Prellers. Don’t. Change.

A few comments about the photo:

1) That’s my sister Jean, or two-thirds of her, on the left; Bruce in the middle, with his cool long hair; and the lovely and talented Sharon Kosakoff, right.

2) Bruce claims that my mother took this shot. And after careful study, I can only say: looks about right. Pointing was never Mom’s bread-and-butter. In fact, come to think of it, bread-and-butter was Mom’s bread-and-butter. And a can of Campbell’s creamy mushroom soup poured over pan-fried boneless chicken breasts.

3) Behind them, look!, that’s my old house where I used to live! 1720 Adelphi Road, Wantagh, NY. I had the same phone number my entire childhood: 718-785-7379. There’s something really nice about that.

4) Nixon was President at the time of this photo. I remember him well. Believe it or not, Nixon’s dog, Checkers, immortalized in the legendary “Checkers Speech” of 1952, is buried in my hometown, right across from the Wantagh High School. We used to hang out there sometimes, cutting classes, just for the delicious teenage irony of it.

5) I place a key dramatic scene at this exact gravesite in my upcoming novel, Bystander (Fall, 2009). Just for the nostalgic irony of it. True story.

Have a great weekend.

Writing Mighty Casey

Everybody is familiar with the classic poem by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, “Casey at the Bat,” first published in 1888 in the San Francisco Examiner. That’s 120 years ago. According to Wikipedia, Thayer was “so embarrassed by what he considered to be a doggeral that he kept his identity secret for years.” It was originally published under a pen name.

As a reminder, the poem begins:

“The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, “If only Casey could but get a whack at that–
We’d put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.”

The poem has certainly endured. Each spring, like mushrooms after a rain, new picture book versions of Thayer’s classic poem seem to arrive in our libraries, each more fabulously illustrated than the next. And no offense to these talented illustrators, but Casey grows increasingly steroidal. For example:

Yet as much as I liked the original poem, it never seemed to hold a lot of kid appeal. So the idea struck me that I could do my own version of the poem, keeping the baseball flavor and dramatic setup, but transposing it to a Little League field at the youngest, most inept, most playful level.

Thus, Mighty Casey (Feiwel & Friends, March, 2009), a decidedly different take.

I got the idea for this translocation directly from my years of Little League coaching. I’ve spent a lot of time with those kids. Here’s a recent snap from last September. That’s my Maggie, at age seven. Maggie’s state of readiness is impressive, particularly when compared to her teammate in centerfield.

I wrestled with the text for several months, going down various dead ends. In fact, the poem was saved when my editor, Liz Szabla, performed an intervention. Really, some of those early drafts were awful; a textbook case of a book being salvaged by a few, select, insightful comments from an editor. Fortunately, all anyone reads is the final result. In the end, my re-imagined version retained Thayer’s basic rhyme scheme, but broke the long lines in half. It begins:

“The outlook wasn’t brilliant

for the Delmar Dogs that day.

All summer long, the Dogs

lost every game they played.


Yes, it’s true, the Dogs had guts,

and the Dogs had heart;

but catching the baseball, well,

that was the hardest part.”

Once approved by Jean and Liz at Feiwel & Friends, it was time for the artwork. The name they came up with was a new one to me, some fellow named Matthew Cordell. I looked him up and immediately liked his style. I saw that his illustrative approach was light and accessible. I thought that he could really bring out the humor in the piece. But I was wrong about that. Matthew made it funnier, better. I’ve been lucky. While Matthew’s artwork may not be the most technically rendered, he has a feeling for children’s books, a warmth, and his work connects with young readers. Whatever it is, that special quality, Matthew has it. Here’s one sample of his artwork from the book:

Ashanti fell fast asleep;

Tommy Maney climbed a tree.

And, okay, twist my arm, here’s another few lines from the book:

Bloopers, flubs, drops, and blunders —

the Dogs could do nothing right.

Still Casey declared, “We won’t

surrender without a fight!”

When Jinn Lee clubbed a homer,

the fans stood and cheered.

The Dogs scored at last.

Said Lee, “That’s, like, sooo weird.”

Don’t you love that rhyme, cheered and weird? Thank you, thank you very much. Anyway, it’s freezing outside. Eight degrees, last I looked. But pitchers and Molinas report to Spring Training in less than a month. Breathe deep. Can’t you feel it? Baseball is around the corner. And Mighty Casey is due to arrive in bookstores March 3rd. Play ball. We’re swinging for the fences!