Archive for December 9, 2011

A Jigsaw Christmas

Maybe the worst part of writing a series is the nagging sense that, after ten books or so, nobody really notices if the books are any good or not. Especially not your publisher. Your editor cares, for sure, but everyone else . . . shrug. The sum of your work gets reduced down to a number, the notion of “quality” gets subsumed by “quantity” — and the book is as good as its sales figures. I know, I know: Real World 101. But still.

So as part of my continuing “Stories Behind the Story” series, I’d like to put the focus on Jisgaw Jones Super Special #4: The Case of the Santa Claus Mystery. It’s one of my favorites in the series and it’s probably out of print.

When I wrote the book, I really tried to create a great holiday story — a story with value and content that could stand up to any of the Christmas classics. So I decided to tackle a tricky subject: Jigsaw gets hired to prove if Santa is real or not. Now I knew that I had a range of readers with a varying beliefs, and I felt a keen obligation toward them, so I was determined that my book would not spoil it for anyone. In essence, I wrote myself into a box, locked the lid, and like Houdini had to squirm myself out of it.

Here’s an early scene in Jigsaw’s basement office:

Sally Ann’s mood turned serious. She stared hard into my eyes. Her arms were crossed. “I want to meet Santa,” she demanded.

I cracked open my detective journal. “Santa?” I repeated, scribbling down the name. “Last name?”

“Claus,” Sally Ann said.

“Santa . . . Claus,” I wrote.

“That’s the one,” Sally Ann said.

“Big white beard? Wears black books and a red suit? Last seen driving a sleigh led by, let’s see . . .” I flipped through the pages of my journal and pretended to read, “. . . eight flying reindeer?”

Sally Ann didn’t like being teased. She never cracked a smile. Instead, she rummaged inside her pink plastic pocketbook. She pulled out the head of a Barbie doll — that’s it, just the head. Sally Ann frowned and continued poking around. She pulled out some baseball cards, a tissue (used, I suspect), a handful of rocks, beads, a hammer (!), and other assorted junk.

“Here,” she finally said.

Sally Ann smoothed out a dollar bill on my desk.

Illustration by Jamie Smith.

She was serious.

Sally Ann Simms wanted to meet Santa Claus.

And it didn’t seem like she would take no for an answer.

I asked her why.

“We have business to discuss,” she grumbled.

And so the book begins, fueled by the mystery. Along the way, a number of  entertaining events occur — including a sly tribute to Dick Van Dyke. With the help of Reginald Pinkerton Armitage III, sort of standing in for the character “Q” in the James Bond series, Jigsaw planted a hidden camera on Sally Ann’s mantelpiece.

After Christmas,. the only thing left to do was to retrieve the photographic evidence from inside the camera . . .

By December 27, Eddie Becker had already left three telephone messages at my house. I didn’t return the calls. I already knew what Eddie wanted.

A photograph of Santa Claus.

He wanted to get rich. But I just wanted to get it over with.

Mila had said it from the beginning: “I don’t think we should mess around with Santa.”

I was finally beginning to understand what she meant.

After lunch I clomped through the snow to Sally Ann’s house to pick up the daisy camera. I brought Rags so he could play with Pickles. Sally Ann had built a giant snowman on her front lawn. Actually, it was a snowman and a snowdog. She even used a real leash.

I returned home not long after. I brought the camera into my bedroom and stared at it for a long time. I thought about a lot of things. About Santa Claus, about Christmas, and about what it meant. I thought about my parents, and Equinox, and the smiles on the faces of the people when we delivered their holiday meals.

I picked up the vase and turned a leaf, just as Reginald had showed me. A small camera popped out. I remembered his warning. If I expose the film to light, all the photos will be ruined.

“Whatever you do,” Reginald had said, “don’t pull these petals.”

Down the hall, I heard the phone ringing. Probably Eddie Becker again, I figured, eager for his big payday. I took a deep breath . . . held the camera under my lamp . . . and pulled on the petals.

Poof, no proof.

The film was ruined.

Some mysteries don’t need to be solved. I believed in Santa, and I believed in the spirit of Christmas, and I didn’t need to dust for fingerprints to prove it. My heart told me everything I needed to know.

I wasn’t going to mess with Santa. The big man deserved that much. After all, I figured I owed the guy.

Case closed.

A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

NOTE: This book was dedicated to my editor at Scholastic, Shannon Penney (who remains a loyal blog reader), and also acknowledges the charitable work performed by the staff and volunteers at Equinox, a nonprofit community agency that seres the Capital District area of New York. Jigsaw and his family spend a brief part of this book volunteering at the very same Equinox.

Oh, hey, I might as well include this little scene, because I’m fond of it. Setup: It’s Christmas Eve and Jigsaw is trying to fall asleep. Remember that feeling, in bed on Christmas Eve, just wanting it to come. Jigsaw’s mother enters the room and rubs his back. He’s still just a boy.

“How did you like delivering those meals today?”

I was getting sleepy. “I liked it, I guess.”

“Is that all?”

“It felt like we were doing a good thing,” I said. “I guess that made me feel good, too.”

My mother bent down and kissed me on the cheek. “Funny how that works,” she said. “Good night, Jigsaw. You make me proud. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I was alone again. Now my eyelids were heavy.

I didn’t want it to end. Christmas Eve, the most magical night of the year. I just lay there, enjoying it. And then, drifting off easily, tired and happy, I slept.

Fan Mail Wednesday #131: Upcoming Books

Hello!  My name is Russell. I want to read all of your books. I am enjoying Bystander so much. I was just wondering what other books you have besides Bystander because I am reading it now? Please contact me back when you have free time. Thank you so much.

Sincerely,

Russell

I replied:

Russell,

Thanks, I’m glad you liked Bystander. Though I’ve written for many years, including 40 titles in the Jigsaw Jones mystery series, Bystander was the first time I set a book in a middle school. So I don’t have much that’s exactly right for you as a follow-up . . . yet.

My book, Six Innings, fits in with Bystander, in terms of reading & interest level. It revolves around a Little League championship baseball game (thus, six innings, not nine). It was named an ALA Notable and I’m proud of that.

Next summer, I have a new book coming out, Before You Go, that is probably grades 7/8 – up. There’s a little bit of mild language in it, some alcohol, but not much. I guess it’s up to individuals as to where they draw the line on those issues. The main characters are ages 16, 17. Essentially the setup is this: Opening scene, four unnamed teenagers drive on a dark road. The car spins out of control, hits a tree. One passenger dies. Next page, we rewind six weeks into the past, and gradually meet all the characters. The reader doesn’t know who is going to be in the car, or who will die. The book catches up to the accident about 2/3 of the way through. So the book is in two sections: “Before” and “After.”

I’m also writing a new middle school book, tentatively titled, Zombie Me. But I can’t really talk about that one until I finish it — it’s been an exciting book for me to write, but such a struggle.

Now study up, ace those finals, and enjoy a great holiday season.

My best,

JP

Santa Always Disappoints

A writer friend of mine, a relatively new mother, recently commented: “Every year I’m thrown by what an as*hole Santa is to Rudulph.”

I nodded in agreement. That movie, which I love, probably contains the worst characterization of Santa ever. He’s never seemed more small-minded than in “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” He’s basically a bully, and Comet, a very disappointing dad.

All I can say to Rudolph is, hey, if you’re listening to me, little guy . . . it will get better.

I was pleased when a few years back Jack Johnson recorded an updated version of the song, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindoor.” It’s got the usual laid-back Johnson sound, with a groovy twist to the lyrics:

You need to a flashplayer enabled browser to view this YouTube video

. . . well Rudolph he didn’t go for that
he said, “I see through your silly games.”
How could you look me in the face
when only yesterday you called me names?
Well all of the other reindeers man,
well they sure did feel ashamed,
“Rudolph, you know we’re sorry,
we’re truly gonna try to change.”

As a side note, after I wrote the above I came across this article from the Huffington Post. It’s all a little too much, granted. Why can’t we all just get along?

Note: Did an image search and came across this craziness.

“Bad Decisions Make Good Stories.”

I came across this wall photo on the web. I wasn’t too crazy about it, frankly, didn’t strike me as hysterical, but number 10 got my attention:

Bad decisions make good stories.

(Click on the image if you wish to make it larger. You know that, right?)

I think that five-word sentence serves as an excellent piece of advice to writers. Just as we don’t want to read about perfect people who always do the right thing, and think the correct thoughts, there is nothing duller than a character who never makes a mistake.

It’s the imperfections that make us human. The wrong turns that take us to unexpected places.

I recently received an email from a middle school teacher who complimented me on Bystander. However, she wondered about the scene late in the book when Eric snuck into Griffin’s house. She wasn’t comfortable with it, didn’t feel that Eric was modeling the appropriate behavior, sending the right message. My answer was simple. First, I reminded her, respectfully, that I wrote a story, not a thesis, and that I never intended for Eric to portray “all the correct responses” to bullying. And secondly, that I had no desire to write about a character who never experienced a lapse of judgment. More importantly, as a writer I understood and recognized Eric’s motivation — that part made sense to me, the urge for revenge, why he wanted to take back what was stolen from him — even if it wasn’t the “right” thing to do.

The lapse made him more human.

Again:

Bad decisions make good stories.

Just to be clear: I also dislike it when character do incredibly stupid things for seemingly no reason, or when they act in ways that are inconsistent with their character. The “bad decision” should (or must) fit in with the logic of the character as written.

Or so I tell myself.

The Picture Book Pledge

I discovered this great post from The Arts Room blog, where they are taking their 2nd Annual Picture Book Pledge just in time for the holidays.

Please follow the link above to read about the pledge, find some book recommendations, and see a charming video about the diabolically clever new picture book, Press Here, by Herve Tullet.

Well done, Arts Room! And you too, Monsieur Tullet.

Along those lines, my friend, illustrator Matthew Cordell, has been banging on a similar drum. But Matt’s drum, “A Children’s Book Challenge,” is on Facebook. Because he’s sooo New Media.

You can get to it by clicking like a madman here. Be sure to click the “like” button when you arrive.

By the way, and seriously, Matt is amazing — and so productive that I want to punch him in the face. (But in the nicest, sweetest way possible.) Just look at this list of titles — the guy doesn’t sleep! It’s especially great that Matt is now writing some of his own books. Here’s an upcoming one (January 2012) I’m particularly excited about.

Matt blogged on this topic in a post titled, “Reawaken Your Love for the Picture Book”:

The children’s picture book is not doing so well. People aren’t buying it like they should. I don’t have all the facts and numbers (I’m not that guy), but I know enough to tell you that. Maybe it’s because of tough economic times. Maybe it’s because of e-bookery or general gadget-y (short attention span) distractions. Maybe it’s because parents aren’t reading to their kids enough. Maybe it’s because education is accelerating young readers at a newer, faster pace, and rushing them over the picture book form. Maybe it’s because it’s been forgotten how important, irreplaceable, and (when stars align) how spiritual the picture book experience is to both children and adults.

A couple of paragraphs later, Matt issued this challenge (which is funny to me, because Matt is such not an in-your-face, “issue a challenge” kind of guy):

This is my challenge to you, dear readers. Go into a book store (not a website, but a store with a roof, walls, people, books you can hold and browse over) and spend some time in the children’s book section. Find something incredible (it ain’t hard). Then, when you’re all filled up, buy just one picture book. And in a week’s time, repeat. Buy one picture book a week for your kid(s), some other kid(s) you love, or for yourself or some other grown-up you love. I can identify that it’s hard to get, at first, but adults can also enjoy reading picture books. And if you absolutely can’t swallow that concept, you can’t escape appreciating them for the amazing artwork alone. It’s like buying amazing art that can sit on your coffee table (or wherever you keep your favorite books with your favorite images) for, like, 16 bucks or whatever. Someone you know needs more picture books in her/his/their life/lives. You need to experience, again, what you loved when you read picture books as a kid.

Lastly, in the spirit of sharing, here’s the most recent picture book I purchased. I discovered it on a school visit to my native Long Island and immediately thought — and upon closer inspection, still think — that this is a perfect picture book. Seriously. It’s flawless. And I don’t say that about many picture books.

Wait, whoops . . .

You know, I’ve never much cared for Dr. Seuss’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go, which has become the knee-jerk graduation present for every kid in America. My recommendation: give that graduate The Dot by Peter H. Reynolds, and encourage him to make his mark on the world.