Archive for May 19, 2009

Stories Behind the Story: The Case of the Food Fight

My wonderful editor at Scholastic, Shannon Penney, suggested this title to me. That happens sometimes, when book club editors will come up with a desired theme or vague concept, and Shannon will be assigned with the grim task of conveying it to me: Halloween, snowboarding, Halloween, Ghosts, Halloween, or whatever. I try to be open to them, find ways to make it work. But here was an idea that I instantly hated. “No, no-no, no NO-no NO,” I said. “Jigsaw would never do that, and it’s the last thing I’d want to celebrate in these books.”

Yet I could not completely deny the appeal of flying meatballs. It would be a fun scene to write. I said I’d think about it. Maybe there was a way.

Next I made a phone call to Ellen Mosher, a second-grade teacher at Westmere Elementary. Ellen did not recall witnessing any food fights, but she said there might have been a few isolated incidents of smashed cupcakes, etc. I asked, “What if a food fight happened. Let’s say it was a huge misunderstanding, no one was at truly fault, but it just kind of got out of hand. What would happen next?”

“Oh,” Ellen said. “It would be a very big deal. The principal would definitely get involved. The kids would have to do the cleanup, and write letters of apology.”

Hmmm, I thought. Maybe there was a way into this story after all. It wasn’t so much about the food fight, but about everything that happened next, the consequences. A teachable moment.  And a story I could feel good about telling.

—–

Many Jigsaw Jones books have a connection to the New York Mets, usually in the names of bit players. In this book, the lunch aide’s name is Mrs. Minaya, after the Mets’ General Manager, Omar Minaya. The other lunch aide, Mrs. Randolph, was named after the Mets’ sourpuss manager at the time, Willie Randolph.

For the mystery, Mrs. Randolph mistakenly accuses Joey Pignattano — named after a coach from the Mets (1968-1981), Joe Pignatano, an ex-Brooklyn Dodger famous for growing tomatoes in the bullpen  — of starting the food fight.

“Jigsaw, you’ve got to help me,” Joey pleaded. “I’m innocent!”

Do readers notice any of this? Does anybody care? I kind of doubt it. Mostly it’s just a thing I’ve always done in this series to entertain myself — and possibly some random Mets-loving reader out there. When it comes time to make up the name of a character, I’ll begin my search with former New York Mets.

—–

Around the time of this book, Paris Hilton was on TV with a FOX reality series called “The Simple Life,” a show where two socialites (Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie) attempt to work a series of low-paying jobs, such as doing farm work, working in fast-food restaurants, and so on. That’s where I got the idea of Paris Hilton working as a substitute school nurse. Funny, right? You know, flipping through a magazine while some kid hurls into a garbage pail. I imagined that she’d say something like, “Could you keep it down, I’m trying to polish my toenails.” So I created the character of Nurse Hilton, placed her in the middle of the mystery, and  was on my way. When I added her dog, I had the key to the mystery.

Jigsaw described her this way:

She was impossibly tall and thin. She had blond hair. And long legs that went all the way to the floor.

Jigsaw will eventually discover that Nurse Hilton was hiding Tinkerbell, her pet Chihuahua, in the filing cabinet. In the nurse’s office, Jigsaw takes in the scene:

I glanced around the room. The desktop overflowed with stacks of folders. Some had even fallen on the floor. A travel magazine opened to a photo of Paris. I saw lipstick and a hand mirror.

Why were so many folders on the desk?  Why had there been reports of barking in the lunch room? Jigsaw and Mila figure it all out in time to save Joey. And as for Nurse Hilton, she hasn’t been seen since.

Fan Mail Wednesday #43 (Monday Edition)

I spent time last night writing a post on a different topic, but then hit a snag that made it “unpublishable.” So I decided to answer this overdue letter instead. That’s right, a special Monday edition of Fan Mail Wednesday!

Dear: Mr. Preller

My name is Benjamin. I am 6 years old and in grade one.  I am doing a project on secret codes. I have read some of your Jigsaw Jones mystery books and would like to know all of the secret codes that you use in your stories.

How do they work? How do you decide what codes to use in your books?  Where did  you come up with the idea to use secret codes and how did you get the idea to do the ones you use?

My favorite book is The Case of the Spooky Sleepover.

I like the secret codes you use in your books, a lot.

From Benjamin

I replied:

Dear Benjamin,

Thanks a lot for your note. Or let me try that in code:

AADVARK WRITE RAIN THANKS BUT WINDY A HAVE BASEBALL WILL SHUCKS BREEZY LOT YOU FOR HAIL FOR TRUST US MONKEYS SUNSHINE YOUR ZIP ZAP POW SNOW NOTE COOL.

Did you figure it out? I used a Weather Code. The only words that mattered were the ones that came right after a weather word. So to solve the secret message, just circle all the weather words. Then underline all the words that come next. The underlined words — or the words that come immediately after a “weather word” — make up your secret message.

What’s fun about the Weather Code is that you can easily change it to make up new codes in the same manner. A Baseball Code. A Color Code. An Animal Code. Whatever you want.

As a kid, I definitely thought that codes were awesome. So when I started this series, I knew I had to include a new code in every book. I’ve used many different codes, including Substitution Codes, Space Codes, Up and Down Codes, Alternate Letter Codes, Telephone Codes, IPPY codes, Vowel Codes — even Pig Latin.

Today as a writer, I love codes because they offer clever ways of playing with language. I think readers learn by puzzling over codes. You have to use Brain Power.

Benjamin, I could talk about codes forever. I’ve built a small collection of different books about codes and I keep them on a nearby shelf. I read through them to find a code that seems right for Jigsaw. That’s part of the research I do for my job, and I love it. Even better, I discovered that after I learned a few codes, that I could make up my own. And you can, too!

IPPY Codes are also fun. All you have to do is add the letters IP after every consonant in each word. So the word DOG becomes DIPOGIP and SLIME becomes SIPLIPIMIPE. Of course, it’s important to know a consonant from a vowel — but I bet you do.

DIPOGIP SIPLIPIMIPE = DOG SLIME!

To learn all the codes I’ve used, I’m afraid you’ll have to read all my books. Oh, the misery! Or, hey, wait: You could buy the book, Jigsaw Jones’ Detective Tips. It doesn’t include every code I’ve ever used, but it will help you think, look, and act like a top detective.

Okay, here’s another code. It’s called a Zigzag Code. You have to start at the top left, read down, then up in a zigzag, then down, in a zigzag pattern. The tricky part is that there are no spaces between each word, so you have extra work to do.

C  N  O  S  L  E   Y  Y  T  R  C  D

A  Y  U  O  V  M  M S  E  Y  O  E

Space Codes are also easy to write (but harder to solve). All the words are spelled correctly and in the right order, but the spaces are in the wrong places. When you write the message, just put the spaces in weird places.

THA  NKSF  OR  YO  URLET  TERB  EN  JAMIN!

JP

The Yellow Balloon: My Walmart Story

About once a year I find myself in Walmart. It’s never a proud moment. But on this day I needed a copy of “Hotel California” by the Eagles, because my son Gavin was practicing the guitar solo.

For a variety of reasons, I resorted to Walmart.

One of my problems with Walmart, besides those associated with the Big Box Store economy, is that whenever I’m there I always seem to witness an example of bad parenting. Some small act of cruelty, a slapped hand, a raised voice, or some other terror. It’s just hard to watch.

But I went in and picked up my CD without incident, only $7.99, a steal.

Back in the car, I prepared to pull out of my parking space. Directly across from me, I saw a small child, not two years old, in a cart with a yellow balloon. He held it the way all young children hold balloons, with gratefulness and wonder. And at that moment, the balloon slipped from his grip.

The boy watched it fall to the ground. He reached out his stubby arms, stretched for the balloon from his seat in the shopping cart. Behind him, a man and a woman loaded the car with groceries. They didn’t see, didn’t know. The boy watched as that balloon drifted a few feet away, tumbling on the asphalt. So near, so far.

I could have gotten out, walked over, handed the boy the balloon. But even as I considered that, his mother realized what had happened. She touched the man’s arm, pointed to the balloon, spoke.

The man frowned, dismissed the balloon with a wave, returned to loading the groceries. He couldn’t be bothered. The mother stood, did nothing. The boy watched as the balloon, a yellow and elusive thing, slowly drifted away, like a promise unkept. He didn’t even cry.

I imagined fetching that balloon and returning it to the child. The smile on his face. I’d play dumb, say something like, “Here you go, little guy.” And to the parents, a shrug, “He dropped it.”

But I didn’t. I just turned the key, drove away, forgot all about it.

Fan Mail Wednesday #42

Here’s an email that came over the wire . . . all the way from South Korea!

Hi, James, how do you do? 안녕하세요?

I’m a mom living in Korea (South) with a 4th grade son (Jisuk ) and a 6th grade girl (Jiwon) and a 43 year-old husband.

All of my family enjoy reading your “Jigsaw Jones” books. Especially we enjoy listening to the story recorded. The voice actor sounds really great!!

I admire that your idea with childhood with courage, curiosity, friendship, and family union. Jigsaw and his friends have made me think about many kinds of virtues. I’ve felt sorry about me on many things for a long time, but when Jigsaw lost Rags, his grandmother helped him get up.

I, now, do not feel sorry about me and my circumstances.

I can learn many good things from Ms. Gleason also. Ralphie and Justin are my favorite brothers. Among the books, The Case of the Bicycle Bandit is my favorite one.

My two kids cannot speak or read English so well, but they love your books much. I majored in English at a college, so I can understand English books. In Korea, most people want to speak English very well to enter a good college or to get a good job. But Korean and English are so different languages that generally it is very hard to learn English for Koreans.

I learn English (with a bc ) in my middle school for the first time. English was a sort of fantasy to me, and I could enjoy the mysterious foreign language with both fun and enthusiasm. But now,  most Korean little girls and boys lost this taste of the foreign lannuage, for them English is just an annoying subject. They hate English because of the stress caused by some advices and real homeworks. But I think all languages are precious  and useful.

I do not force my kids to learn English. But I read them good books. James I really appreciate your great books. The characters are good. My English proficiency is so low that I can’t express my appreciation for your work fully.

I hope that I could meet your books recorded in audio type. And above all I wish you would write good books continuously.

Hoping your health and happiness.
Mi-Young HAN
감사합니다. 한미영 올림

My reply:

Dear Mi-Young HAN (감사합니다. 한미영 올림):

Two days ago on my blog I announced that one of my books, Six Innings, was given an award. I wrote that I felt honored to receive it. But believe me, receiving your kind letter feels like the greater reward. I’m truly fortunate that we are able to connect in this way, through our shared love of books, across this vast geographic and cultural distance. Maybe we are nearer than I thought.

I’m glad that you appreciate the positive values that I try to convey in my Jigsaw Jones series. While I never wish to be moralistic in these stories, it is my intention to show good kids acting with kindness toward one another. Happy families, wise teachers, creative classrooms, good friendships. My readers are young. And if indeed the world can sometimes be a hard, cruel place, it’s a lesson that can surely wait. All writers have to make decisions about what we put out into the world, and with these books, at least, I hope to offer stories that kids will enjoy and parents can appreciate.

As for the difficulties of learning English: I hear you. For much of my education, I thought it was “an annoying subject,” too! You are too humble about your own proficiency, for you expressed yourself very well. I am grateful for that.

You might be interested to know that my baseball novel, for ages 10-up, was recently translated into Korean.

How cool is that?

I searched for some kind of link to share with you, but came up empty. Hopefully you’ll have better luck tracking down the book, if you so wish.

Thanks for that great letter.

JP

One Year of Bloggy Goodness

A year ago today, I made my first post on this blog.

I’ve somehow managed 248 posts over that period, all of them a laugh riot. This site has had 23,272 visits, 57,560 pageviews at 2.47 pageviews per visit, and 16,111 “unique” visitors.

No, I don’t know what that means, either. But I do know I’m grateful to everyone (and anyone!) who has stopped by to check it out. And I’m especially grateful to my Nation of Readers who swing by on a semi-consistent basis. Thank you.

My friend Craig Walker used to joke, half-seriously, that everything you could ever say about love has already been said on the Supremes’ “Live at the Copa” album. That is, there are no new revelations forthcoming. So we fall back on the old cliches because they pretty much say it all. Blogging has opened new doors for me, and most significantly, introduced me to a lot of great people. A community. More than anything, that’s been the best part of this blog — and I’m looking at you, dear frantically clicking reader.

So what did I post a year ago? A little tribute to my pal, Craig Walker, titled “Remembering Craig.” I learned more from Craig about children’s literature, and life, and laughter, than just about anyone in this world. He was that rarest of things: a truly great man. My enduring image is of Craig at his desk at Scholastic, while a line of young editors waits outside the door, hoping to catch a few minutes of his time. And whatever they needed, Craig somehow gave: a decision, advice, support, insight, friendship, or laughter. He left us all enriched. But he did leave us, late summer of ’07, and we’ll never forget that time we had, all of us. Craig’s one amazing gift, I think, was that each one of us — out of hundreds — felt that we shared with him a special, individual, meaningful friendship. (I guess we all felt like “unique visitors,” way before it became a kept statistic.) For that time, he was ours. Craig was wholly present with the person in his company; he made you feel, in that moment, like you mattered most of all.

How’d he do that, I wonder? How do you become such a good man?

—–

This is my original post from a year ago:

I often fill my books with little in-jokes, things that few people (if any) will notice. I guess that’s true of most writers. After I worked for a long time on individual character sketches, it came time to construct the actual game for Six Innings — the play-by-play details. I started by looking at a lot of Little League scorebooks, because I’m a nut when it comes to authenticity. Thanks to the Internet, I was also able to review detailed scorebooks from actual Major League games at baseball-reference.com, one of the coolest baseball sites ever.

I searched for one game in particular: Game Six of the 1986 NLCS, Mets vs. Astros. It was a sixteen-inning ordeal, and maybe the best game I ever saw. But it’s also tied to a specific memory. I worked as a copywriter for a children’s publisher in New York. While at work, I followed the game on the radio. At around quitting time, maybe a little before, I called my great pal, Craig Walker, and said, “Hey, our Mets are losing 3-0. It’s the 8th inning. Let’s go to Acme on Great Jones Street, have a beer, and watch them break our hearts.”

Craig did not need to be asked twice. We sat down at the near-empty bar, ordered a glass of suds, and watched the television. The Mets miraculously tied it up with three runs in the ninth inning. The game was on. We ordered another beer. Then another. Because the game kept on going. Ten innings, twelve innings, fourteen innings. We ordered food. We laughed, we watched the game in wonder and anxiety and joy. We made about a dozen new friends that day, since by then the city had caught on and seemed to stop — something was happening in Houston, a ballgame of amazing drama, and everybody had to Stop & Pay Attention. In the top of the 16th, the visiting Mets scored three runs. We sweated through the bottom of the inning, when the Astros almost came all the way back. It taught me that it was more exciting, more stressful, trying to cling to a lead than to dramatically win a game with the swing of a bat (which is joyous and exhilarating, don’t get me wrong).

I used that game as a model for parts of Six Innings. I cobbled together the top of the 9th and the bottom of the 16th and transferred it to the 6th inning of my fictional game. Today I read the book and the ghost of that afternoon with my beloved friend, the great Craig Walker, still hovers around the edges. Craig is gone now, passed too soon from this world, and he never got to read my book, our book, a tale I dedicated to him.