Woo-hoo, it’s Fan Mail Wednesday! Wait, no. Today is Thursday. It can’t be Fan Mail Wednesday. Can it? That’s impossible. No recurring feature on an author’s blog could possibly be so powerful that it transcends the laws of time and space!

But oh, yes, faithful readers. Witness the power and majesty of Fan Mail Wednesday. It doesn’t care what day it is . . .

Dear Mr. Preller,

My name is Gizela. I like your Jigsaw Jones Mystery books. They are so awesome. I always want to solve the mystery before I read it. But it is so hard for me. Most of the mysteries are so interesting.

I just like it when the mystery is solved. Why do you write these books? What made you write these books? When did you first write your own book?

Why did you make these characters? Where did you get all these ideas? Why did you put a dog in these books? Why did you name the books Jigsaw Jones?

I like your Jigsaw Jones Mystery books because it has a problem and they solve it. I like the dog too. I like your books because they have funny mysteries. I hope to hear from you!

Sincerely,
Gizela

I replied:

Gizela,

Boy, I love your name. It’s a name I want to sing, not say. So much more melodious than, oh, Frank or Bert or even Prunella. Gizela, Gizela . . . GIZELA!

I love books. I love reading. Now maybe as a young kid, that wasn’t so much the case. I read, but I don’t remember totally loving it. I loved physical things like baseball and wrestling and eating cinnamon Pop-Tarts. But I was lucky. I had four older brothers, two older sisters, and most of them read books. It seems like such a minor detail, but I think it’s important: I SAW them reading! It looked like a reasonable activity, something a boy might do and enjoy. In fact, my brothers often pressed books into my hands, telling me I’d love them.

But the next question is . . . how did I cross over from reader to writer? It seems like a wild leap across a great distance. I guess it felt natural. I liked to draw. I filled notebooks with dice games and baseball statistics. That is: I happily spent time alone with a pencil or crayon in my hand. Writing became a natural extension of that physical activity. There’s only so much you can do when you’re alone with a piece of paper and a pencil.

How can I explain this? I love music. It’s a big part of my day, every day. Yet I can’t play an instrument. I never had a lesson. I’m in awe of people who can do it. Growing up, I came to understand — wrongly, of course — that OTHER, MORE TALENTED PEOPLE did that stuff. That was the message I got: Leave the music to the professionals. Step away from the tuba. But for some reason, when it came to books, I thought to myself, I can do that.

That’s an important sentence right there, Gizela, so let’s say it again:

I

CAN

DO

THAT!

And because I believed it, so it was true. If I could wish anything for you — or for my children, or my friends — it’s that they can feel the same way about things they care about. I want you to look at a beautiful painting, or the achievements of an athlete, a dancer, a doctor, whatever, and say to yourself, “I can do that.”

Because I really believe you can.

JP

P.S. Oh, yes, the dog. As a kid, I never had one. No dog. I lived for years in a sorry state of doglessness. As an adult, dogs came into my life and I’ve (mostly) enjoyed sharing my house with them. When I make up stories, I sometimes give characters little gifts. Jigsaw has an awesome tree house — another thing I never had as a kid. How I wanted one! Because I like Jigsaw, I gave him the tree house I never had. I also gave him . . . a dog. It felt right.

This is our family dog, Daisy. She drives!

I’ve always loved the writing process, how a jumbled ball of yarn becomes an actual sweater. Conversely, it’s amazing to me — pulling on that thread and watching how the fabric unravels.

Back in September, 2008, I wrote this on my blog:

I have an idea for a character who gets into trouble at school. The book is about this kid, and, in part, the surprising relationship he builds with the school principal. But how and why does this boy get into trouble? What does he do? What kind of hilarious escapades can I conjure? Then one notion hit me over the weekend: He smuggles a goldfish into school!

I love that idea. I can WORK with that idea. That is: There are possibilities that appeal to my sensibilities. So then begins the series of questions: How does he do it? Why? What goes wrong (because something must go wrong)? I’ve already daydreamed over a host of options — involving a thermos, soup broth, and a swallowed goldfish — but I know I’m not there yet.

Below, please find a brief scene from my upcoming middle-grade book, Justin Fisher Declares War! (Scholastic, August 2010). The scene represents the realization of those bloggy wonderings. Yesterday I read this passage aloud to a group of foruth-graders. We’d been talking about the importance of asking “what if” questions. In this case, what if a boy wanted to smuggle a goldfish into school. How might he do it? The answer to that question is the scene you write.

If writing fiction is anything, it is asking “what if” questions, following the logic and playing with those possibilities — thinking it through. After all, “what if” questions are at the core of what’s now called “Speculative Fiction” and, I hasten to ask, what brand of fiction is not speculative? We’re all daydreamers here.

Here’s the scene:

Justin understood that he’d never get past the front door carrying his sister’s goldfish bowl. She’d freak out and wail like a siren, and his mother would end up yelling. No, Justin needed to come up with a foolproof plan. And after a few minutes of heavy-duty thinking, he did.

The next morning, he asked his mother for tomato soup for lunch.

“You never eat it when I give it to you,” she said.

“This is different,” Justin assured her. “I really need soup today, Mom. It’s like . . . Soup Day in school and . . . all the kids are bringing in different kinds of soups and –“

“Soup Day?” His mother raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a guy thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Okay, okay.” His mother relented. She opened the cupboard, shifted a few cans around, and said, “Sorry, we’re all out of tomato. How about chicken noodle?”

“Perfect,” Justin clucked.

Operation Goldfish was in effect.

At the next opportunity, Justin snuck into the bathroom, dumped out the soup, and rinsed the thermos clean. Then, on tip-toe, he entered the forbidden zone — his sister’s room. The room itself was hideous, a monstrosity of purple and pink, with Disney posters and stuffed animals. Justin couldn’t imagine how his sister managed to sleep in there.

Justin paused by the door, listening. Lily was downstairs, eating Pop-Tarts. Justin poured water from the goldfish bowl into the thermos, spilling only a small puddle on the rug. With a net, he fished out the goldfish and dropped it into the thermos.

What about air? Justin wondered, as he screwed the cap on. I can’t suffocate my sister’s fish.

He thought about trying to find a hammer and nail. Maybe he could drive small holes into the screw top.

“Justin? What are you doing up there?” his mother called. “You better get moving if you want to make it to school on time!”

“Coming!” Justin hollered. He placed the thermos back into his lunch box, stuffed that into his backpack, and hustled down the stairs. He figured he’d open and close the cap every hour or so, just to make sure the goldfish got enough air. He might have been a little mischievous, but he wasn’t a cold-blooded fish murderer.

I’ve called this “my rebound book,” since it comes after the more serious, precise Bystander. This one is loose, light, short, funny. Rereading my early notes from the blog, I realize that I changed Justin’s relationship from the principal to his classroom teacher, Mr. Tripp. That struck me as more immediate, more natural, and allowed me to make his teacher more sympathetic. Originally, I conceived of the teacher as sort of a one-dimensional uptight obstacle, but it got much more interesting when he became a well-rounded person — a first-year teacher, nervous and well-intentioned, who makes some mistakes in handling an attention-seeking student.

Aside: I think the single worst character in the Harry Potter series — the character I consider a major failure — is the one-dimensional Dolores Umbridge, appointed High Inquisitor of Hogwarts in the fifth book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Lacking all shade and substance, she ruined much of the book for me.

I hated her, but not in the way J.K. Rowling wanted me to hate her.

“The novel goes beyond fastballs and first base to the heart of the game—the players—in a way even non-sports fans will love.”— USA Today.

Six Innings went into paperback last week. So now all you tightwads you can pick up a copy at consumer-friendly prices! The book includes a special Q & A with the author (me!), a sample chapter from Bystander, and advertisements!

Here’s two questions from the Q & A as a FREE BONUS SAMPLE for my bloggy friends:

What was your best subject in school?

P.E. and recess.

Where do you find inspiration for your writing?

Since I usually write realistic fiction, I try to begin with an accurate understanding of a child’s world, often by sitting in on various classrooms in my community. I have three children, ages 9, 10, and 16, so that helps me stay connected. I don’t think you can examine something like “childhood” under a microscope, like a lab technician in a cold, white room. For a writer you’ve got to feel it, and for whatever reason, I still remember.

Actually, um, I changed my mind. That wasn’t free. What am I crazy, giving this stuff away? In today’s economy? Think again. You owe me, oh, $2.95, which I’ll accept in cash, check, money order, credit card, PayPal, or shards of pretty glass.

I mean to say . . .

The surprisingly decent folks over at the Mac Kids Blog are featuring the book on something called the interwebs! They did a nice job.

GO THERE NOW TO JOIN THE NONSTOP CELEBRATION!

Sob, it’s times like these when I wish my mother could turn on a computer.

Seriously, we’re done here.

Get moving.

* $6.99, that is, unless you’re in Canada, where it’s $8.50.  Hey, I saw that Olympic hockey game. You didn’t realize payback would come so soon, so hard, did you?

I can still picture seeing this for the first time. Back when you had to stay up late to watch it, because you dared not miss anything. No Tivo, no Youtube, no nothing. We were eating dirt back in those days — and we liked it!

And because he thinks, he does exist, or so I’ve gathered. Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I read.

Oh, nevermind.

Isn’t this picture funny??!!

The point is — and there’s always a point here at jamespreller.com, people, sometimes you just have to look under the cushions — Kurtis expressed something felt by most of us scraggly author-types.

You write the book, you wait, you hope, and sometimes the indifferent world doesn’t even bother to shrug its shoulders. For all the “buzz” and “hype” that some books generate — and often deservedly so — there are many others that slip by seemingly unnoticed, then unceremoniously pulled from the shelves after three creepy months. That’s why I appreciate anyone who takes the time and effort not only to read my book, but to respond in some way. Truly, truly, it’s the greatest gift you can give to a writer. Your attention, your valuable time. Thank you, guys, very much.

On Thursday morning, thanks to the wonders of Google Alerts (if you don’t use it, you should), I found three new reviews for Bystander.

* In a detailed, thoughtful review for the “Book Look” section of the Lincoln Daily News, Louella Moreland writes: “I must give Mr. Preller a gold star for taking on this topic as well as he did. The story is interesting, which may make the lesson a little easier to swallow. It would make a great book for class or family discussions.”

* Here’s a cool new blog, titled Future Librarian, Kids! He’s just up and running, and I remember those early months of trying to figure it out, so hop on over and say hello. He’s posted some well-written reviews and also took the time to remember School House Rocks — and  you’ve got to love that in a blogger. In a review that was obviously written with great care, the unnamed “future librarian” writes: “The theme of keeping silent over speaking up runs deep throughout the book . . . Needless to say, I read Bystander fairly quickly and really enjoyed it. It captures the feeling of middle school quite well and I really felt compassion and understanding for all the characters.”

* I nominate Kiss the Book for having the best logo image. This is an impressive, long-standing site — they first hung out their shingle way back in the waaaay back, circa 2003! Were computers even invented back then? Were they banging out reviews on stone tablets? The reviews are written by, ahem, “school library professionals and vetted student reviewers.” Each review includes ratings for language, sexual content, and violence, like so: “Bystander, 223 pgs. Feiwel and Friends, 2009. Language - PG (7 swears, 0 “f”), Sexual Content - G; Violence - G.” Check it out!

Because yesterday was World Maths Day. Yes, yesterday. But why stop now? Let the mental gymnastics continue! Besides, my two youngest children, Gavin (10) and Maggie (9), are addicted. All they want to do is practice math, though, of course, that’s the sneaky part — they don’t view it as practice.

Ever since their teachers signed them up in anticipation of World Maths Day, they can’t get enough of it. It’s pretty simple. They were registered through the school, a membership that allowed them to play in one-minute math competitions against other children from around the world. Like most good ideas, it’s simple and so easy to use.

For days now, Gavin has been at the computer exclaiming to anyone in earshot, “I’m playing Cameroon! I’m playing Brazil! I’m playing Japan!” The idea thrills him.

Maggie was just signed up yesterday, after days of watching her brother have all the fun. This morning, an excited Maggie cried from the television room, “MOM, I’M PLAYING AUSTRALIA!”

I had to laugh when Lisa yelled back, “BEAT ‘EM!”

You can go here for more information. From what I understand, it’s not too late to enjoy  the fun. More than 2 million students from 37,000 schools in 200 countries are registered. So far, there have been more than 500,000,000 correct answers. Thanks in no small part to the obsessive efforts of Gavin and Maggie!

“Now look, pal! I know a country where March comes in like an emu and goes out like a tapir. And they don’t even know what it means!” — John Belushi

Do you remember listening to comedy albums? I sure do. In the 60’s, I inherited some classic Bill Cosby disks from my folks, plus the great Allan Sherman. I wore the grooves off his debut record (below), which featured tracks such as “The Ballad of Harry Lewis,” “Shake Hands with Your Uncle Max,” “My Zelda,” and “The Streets of Miami.”

According to the usually reliable Wikipedia, Sherman’s 1962 disk, “My Son, the Folksinger,” became the fastest-selling album up to that time. Think about that for a minute. Imagine everyone on the show “Mad Men” running around quoting Allan Sherman. Soon after, I guess, the Beatles showed up and changed everything.

The Cosby album that I loved was “I Started Out as a Child,” and again, I listened to it over and over again. Those routines are burned into my skull: “The Giant,” “Sneakers,” “Oops!,” “The Lone Ranger,” and “Ralph Jameson.”

As I got older, I remember when Pat Sweeney and I discovered his older brother’s album, “Big Bambu” by Cheech & Chong, which came out in 1971 (”Sister Mary Elephant,” “Ralphie and Herbie”). Oh my, oh my. The original album, as I recall, came packaged with rolling papers! We didn’t even know what they were for . . . yet. Comedy was taking on a new edge, an outsider status — and we loved that subversive quality. Just listening to it felt like a small criminal act. For that reason, we loved George Carlin, who raised the stakes considerably. In 1972, he came out with “Class Clown,” featuring “I Used to Be an Irish Catholic” and, most famously, “The Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television.”

Again, it’s hard to describe the naughty thrill we felt as boys huddled around the turntable. We lapped it up and laughed and laughed, and somehow that counter-cultural strain seeped into our consciousness and shaped the way we looked at the world. Looking back now, I realize that I was at the exact right age for that moment in America, a tween when all the hypocrisy was hilariously exposed.

In 1976, when I was fifteen, I got a new album for Christmas (it was on my list, taped to our refrigerator), featuring The Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time Players. We had moved past Watergate and Vietnam, the 60’s were morphing into the Carter era and Disco was beginning to thump from speakers — as the Sex Pistols began gearing up against the bloated rock excesses of bands like Pink Floyd — and somehow this troupe of Saturday Night Live regulars had its collective finger on the pulse of America.

The stars are now legendary: John Belushi, Garrett Morris, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtin, Dan Aykroyd, Loraine Newman, and Chevy Chase — with a memorable guest appearance from Richard Pryor (”Word Association”).

The one skit that inspired me to write this today came from John Belushi, as a high-strung weatherman. Here he plays with the notion of March coming in like a lion and out like a lamb. (See full transcript below.) You can also click here to listen to a 30-second snippet of that routine, plus many other classics (”Emily Litella,” “News for the Hard of Hearing,” “Uvula,” “Dueling Brandos,” “Jimmy Carter,” and more). I loved that album, just as I loved the excitement of staying up late to watch the weekly show.

It may be an overstatement to say that comedy was dangerous, but it was definitely no longer my dad’s old Allan Sherman albums. Times had changed and it was reflected in what made us laugh.

Here’s the skit:

Chevy Chase:
Last week we made the comment that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Now here to reply is our chief meteorologist, John Belushi, with a seasonal report.

John Belushi:
Thank you Chevy. Well, another winter is almost over and March true to form has come in like a lion, and hopefully will go out like a lamb. At least that’s how March works here in the United States.

But did you know that March behaves differently in other countries? In Norway, for example, March comes in like a polar bear and goes out like a walrus. Or, take the case of Honduras where March comes in like a lamb and goes out like a salt marsh harvest mouse.

Let’s compare this to the Maldive Islands where March comes in like a wildebeest and goes out like an ant. A tiny, little ant about this big.

(holds thumb and index fingers a small distance apart)

Unlike the Malay Peninsula where March comes in like a worm-eating fernbird and goes out like a worm-eating fernbird. In fact, their whole year is like a worm-eating fernbird.

Or consider the Republic of South Africa where March comes in like a lion and goes out like a different lion. Like one has a mane, and one doesn’t have a mane. Or in certain parts of South America where March swims in like a sea otter, and then it slithers out like a giant anaconda.

There you can buy land real cheap, you know. And there’s a country where March hops in like a kangaroo, and stays a kangaroo for a while, and then it becomes a slightly smaller kangaroo. Then, then, then for a couple of days it’s sort of a cross between a, a frilled lizard and a common house cat.

(Chevy Chase tries to interrupt him)

Wait wait wait wait. Then it changes back into a smaller kangaroo, and then it goes out like a, like a wild dingo. Now, now, and it’s not Australia! Now, now, you’d think it would be Australia, but it’s not!

(Chevy Chase tries to interrupt him)

Now look, pal! I know a country where March comes in like an emu and goes out like a tapir. And they don’t even know what it means! All right? Now listen, there are nine different countries, where March comes in like a frog, and goes out like a golden retriever. But that- that’s not the weird part! No, no, the weird part is, is the frog. The frog- The weird part is-

(has seizure and falls off chair)

—

As a final comment, and coming full circle, I have to confess to lifting some of those ideas for a brief scene in Jigsaw Jones Super Special #1: The Case of the Buried Treasure (maybe my favorite out of all the Jigsaw books, and amazingly still in print). I don’t think I consciously made that connection to Belushi and SNL, but in hindsight I can see that my roots were showing.

Setup: Jigsaw and Mila are at the bus stop, talking with Joey Pignattano. Note to teachers: the book focuses a bit on similes — it’s a minor theme running through the story — and you may find that instructive/helpful.

“I was wondering,” Joey Pignattano said to me. “What kind of animal do you think January would be?”

“What?!” I replied.

“I mean, if January were an animal, what kind of animal would it be?” Joey pondered.

“Do you understand what he’s talking about, Mila?” I asked. “Because I sure don’t.”

Mila smiled. At least I think she smiled. There was a big, fluffly scarf wrapped around her head like a hungry boa constrictor. “Maybe Joey is trying to think of a simile,” she offered.

Joey nodded gratefully. “You know how they say March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb? Well, I’m thinking that January would be an aardvark.”

I sighed. “Let me get this straight. March comes in like a lion. So you think January comes in like . . . an aardvark?”

“Yes,” Joey answered. “Or do you think maybe it’s more like an American bald eagle?”

“A woolly mammoth,” Mila stated.

I turned to her in surprise. “Nuh-uh,” I retorted. “January is definitely a skunk. This weather stinks.”

The Guardian recently ran a series of two articles titled, “Ten Rules for Writing Fiction.” It was inspired by Elmore Leonard’s famous and fabulous list (which I wrote about back in Oct, 2008). The folks at The Guardian asked a long list of impressive writers for their personal do’s and don’ts. You can check out the original, lengthy articles here . . . and here.

As a public service, here are a few highlights:

Diana Athill: “Cut (perhaps that should be CUT): only by having no inessential words can every essential word be made to count.

Anne Enright: “The first 12 years are the worst.”

Anne Enright: “Only bad writers think that their work is really good.”

Anne Enright: “Try to be accurate about stuff.”

Richard Ford: “Don’t read your reviews.”

Jonathan Franzen: “You see more sitting still than chasing after.”

Neil Gaiman: “The main rule of writing is that if you do it with enough assurance and confidence, you’re allowed to do whatever you like. (That may be a rule for life as well as for writing. But it’s definitely true for writing.) So write your story as it needs to be written. Write it honestly, and tell it as best you can. I’m not sure that there are any other rules. Not ones that matter.”

David Hare: “Style is the art of getting yourself out of the way, not putting yourself in it.”

PD James: “Read widely and with discrimination. Bad writing is contagious.”

PD James: “Nothing that happens to a writer — however happy, however tragic — is ever wasted.”

AL Kennedy: “Remember writing doesn’t love you. It doesn’t care. Nevertheless, it can behave with remarkable generosity. Speak well of it, encourage others, pass it on.”

Michael Morpurgo: “It is the gestation time which counts.”

Andrew Motion: “Work hard.”

Joyce Carol Oates: “Keep a light, hopeful heart. But expect the worst.”

Helen Simpson: “The nearest I have to a rule is a Post-It on the wall in front of my desk saying “Faire et se taire” (Flaubert), which I translate for myself as “Shut up and get on with it.”

Zadie Smith: “Work on a computer that is disconnected from the internet.”

Rose Tremain: “Forget the boring old dictum “write about what you know.” Instead, seek out an unknown yet knowable area of experience that’s going to enhance your understanding of the world and write about that.”

Sarah Waters: “Novels are for readers, and writing them means the crafty, patient, selfless construction of effects.”

Note: I’m taking this chronologically, according to the dates in which the original songs were written (not the dates of the cover versions). In some instances I might be wrong, since the origin of some tunes is open to debate. Also, I’m not saying these are the only great versions of Dylan songs; I decided not to make myself too crazy over this, or to make this list go on forever.

One last thing before I lose you to the scroll: If you are interested in Dylan covers, you need to check out this extraordinary data base of songs featured at Dylancover.com.

“Tomorrow Is a Long Time,“ Elvis Presley Honorable mention: Nick Drake, Nickel Creek.

“Blowin’ in the Wind,” Stevie Wonder

“Girl from the North Country,” The Lions Honorable Mention: Roseanne Cash, The Eels.

“A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall,” Mavis Staples (from Bonus Disk, “No Direction Home” DVD)

“The Times They Are A-Changing,” Keb Mo  Honorable Mention: Mason Jennings

“When the Ship Comes In,” Arlo Guthrie Honorable Mention: Marcus Carl Franklin.

“Percy’s Song,” Fairport Convention

“Spanish Harlem Incident,” James Mercer (The Shins)

“To Ramona,” The Flying Burrito Brothers

“It Ain’t Me Babe,” White Antelope (The Fleet Foxes) Honorable Mention: The Turtles.

“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” Dave’s True Story

“Can’t Leave Her Behind,” Stephen Malkmus & Lee Ranaldo

“Like a Rolling Stone,” Drive-By Truckers Honorable Mention: The Creation.

“Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues,” Nina Simone

“Positively Fourth Street,” Bryan Ferry

“Pledging My Time,“ Luther Johnson

“Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again,” Cat Power

“Absolutely Sweet Marie,” Flamin’ Groovies

“I’ll Keep It with Mine,” Marianne Faithful

“As I Went Out One Morning,” Mira Billote

“All Along the Watchtower,” Jimi Hendrix

“Wicked Messenger,” The Black Keys Honorable Mention: The Faces.

“I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight,” Norah Jones

“To Be Alone with You,” Maria Muldaur

“Lay Lady Lay,” Magnet & Gemma Hayes

“Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You,” Ann Peebles

“If Not for You,” George Harrison

“Sign on the Window,“ Jennifer Warnes

“When I Paint My Masterpiece,” The Band Honorable Mention: Emmylou Harris

“Goin’ to Acapulco,” Jim James

“You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” The Byrds

“I”m Not There,” Sonic Youth

“Billy,” Los Lobos Honorable Mention: Gillian Welch

“Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” Antony and the Johnsons

“On a Night Like This,” Buckwheat Zydeco Honorable Mention: Los Lobos

“Forever Young (A Capella),“ Audra Mae & Forest Rangers Honorable Mention: Pretenders

“You Angel You,” New Riders of the Purple Sage

“Tangled Up in Blue,” Jerry Garcia Band Honorable Mention: Vitamin String Band

“A Simple Twist of Fate,” Mary Lee’s Corvette

“You’re a Big Girl Now,” Lloyd Cole Honorable Mention: The Go-Betweens

“You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go,” Madeleine Peyroux

“Buckets of Rain,” Neko Case

“O Sister,” Andrew Bird

“Changing of the Guards,” Patti Smith

“Senor (Tales of Yankee Power),” Willie Nelson with Calexico

“New Pony,” The Dead Weather

“I Believe In You,” Sinead O’Connor Honorable Mention: Cat Power

“Pressing On,” John Doe

“Every Grain of Sand,” Emmylou Harris

“Dark Eyes,” Iron & Wine with Calexico

“Everything Is Broken,“ R. L. Burnside

“Make You Feel My Love,” Adele

My apologies — bloggy weirdness going on with my typeface below, but I’ve already spent too much time trying to fix it. The truth is, I’m not good at letting these things go (I like my i’s dotted and my t’s crossed). But, enough. Here’s a three-for-the-price-of-one deal!

Letter #78:

Dear Mr. Preller,

I am Miguel. I am in 4th grade. I like the Jigsaw Jones especially the Groaning Ghost because one part they said don’t eat the evidence and the end when they had a party. I have 3 brothers. 1 brother is in 1st grade the other two are four years old. What’s your favorite book you wrote? Do you like to play any sports other then baseball. How many books have you wrote? What new books are you writing in 2010? How many books are you writing in 2010-20ll? I hope you write more books of Jigsaw Jones.

Sincerely,

Miguel

I replied:

Dear Miguel,

Thanks for your letter. I’ve got you beat by one brother. Growing up, I was the youngest of seven children, five boys and two girls. We had the girls outnumbered! But you’ve got LITTLE brothers, whereas I specialized in the BIG ones. Jigsaw Jones is the youngest in his family because I know all about that. In your case, Miguel, you could write about being the oldest, and how the younger ones sometimes drive you crazy (wild guess).

When I was your age, I didn’t play many organized sports, but I constantly played DISORGANIZED ones! That’s the big difference between kids when I grew up (born in 1961, back in the waaay back) and kids today. I played pickup basketball behind the local elementary school, and we played tackle football almost every day until it snowed. Then we played some more. No adults standing around, no fancy equipment, nobody setting up teams, blowing whistles, or settling our disagreements for us. We had to work it all out for ourselves. It’s like a lost skill.

(Sorry if that makes me sound old, but I guess I kind of am.)

I have a new book coming out this summer, called Justin Fisher Declares War! It’s set in a 5th-grade classroom and involves a boy who attracts trouble. It’s pretty funny, I think, but that’s not really for me to decide. Very quick and easy to read.

I’d love to write another Jigsaw Jones book, but right now there are no plans for that. It’s up to my publisher. Fortunately, I wrote 40 of them, so there should be enough to keep you busy for a while!

JP

Letter #79:

you are the best author in the world. I love your books more then ice cream. my name is natessa but people call me Tessa i am in second grade in illinois. maybe you can visit my school. love tessa

I replied:

Tessa,

Thanks for that great email. More than ice cream?! Really? Any flavor?

Wow, that’s something — I never dreamed of beating ice cream. But I have dreamed of eating ice cream!

I love to visit schools and talk to kids. Maybe someday I’ll meet you in Illinois!

In the meantime: read, think, feel, grow!

JP

Letter #80:

James,

My four year old was given the Jigsaw CD (via Wendy’s), The Case of the Mummy Mystery, and that got him hooked on all the books. He has the mummy book memorized, which is hilarious when we read it to him and make any ‘mistakes’ at all, he’ll correct us. I typically read the first couple words and let him finish the paragraph. He LOVES Jigsaw Jones and often calls his 1 year old brother ‘Theodore’ instead of his given name, Eli. He also calls me ‘Mila’ and says that he is ‘Joey’. Not sure why he’s Joey Pignatano and not Jigsaw, but you can’t decode the mind of a four year old, can you?

Just thought I’d send out my big thanks and congrats because these books are a big hit in our house and Ethan’s first ‘big boy’ book that he’ll sit the entire book through without concern for ‘no pictures’.

I particularly love that there are not any rude words in the book, name calling, or other random things that some authors think they need to pull the kids in. There are couple books we read that I have to change the words (idiot, stupid, that’s not fair, shut up, etc. are not cool in our house).

Love your work and excited to be picking up more books. Take care, love to your family.

Trinity

I replied:

Dear Trinity:

Thank you for sharing that story. Your description of Ethan reminds me of when my middle child, Gavin, was in his Beatrice Potter stage. He was three or so and had a complete set of all the books. Used to carry them around everywhere, a challenge that required great effort. It was wonderful — a little nutty and eccentric, yes, but wonderful — and I loved the opportunity he gave me to read those books over and over again. Such lovely stories, true classics. I enjoyed discovering the lesser-known titles (to me, at least), but still remember The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies as my personal favorite.

We frequently played “Peter Rabbit.”

I’d be Mr. McGregor, chasing Gavin all around the house. Lisa would stand in as Peter’s mother. Maggie, Gavin’s younger sister by eighteen months, would want to play, too. Which led to this memorable exchange:

Me: “Okay, who do you want to be Maggie?”

Maggie: “Butter!”

Me: “What?”

Maggie (more insistent): “Butter!”

Me: “Butter?”

This went back and forth for a long while, to the point where we had linguists flown in from Princeton University, all to no avail. The house was in crisis. Maggie, frustrated and angry. Finally, we got it: Not butter — “Potter!”

She wanted to be Potter!

Thanks for reminding me of that story. As for the memorization, Gavin did the same with Peter Rabbit. I distinctly remember him reciting, almost word for word, the first 25-30 pages of that book. Three years old! Craziness. These kids are such sponges. I felt grateful for Beatrice Potter, that his young developing brain was filled with such incredible images and language.

I was happy to read your closing comments about the Jigsaw Jones series. My children were taught that words like stupid and fat were bad words. And truly, bad thoughts to have about other people (and “words” and “thought” are indelibly linked). So I made it a point to keep these words and therefore those thoughts out of the Jigsaw Jones books. And like you, I’ve often been disappointed by some of the (unnecessary) choices made in children’s books and movies in the hopes of bringing in that older, edgier audience. There’s time enough, later in life, for that stuff. I mean to say: I totally hear what you are saying and couldn’t agree more. I’m not trying to sit in judgment. It’s just that as writers we all have to make choices of what we want to put out into the world. And likewise, as parents, what we bring into our homes.

My best,

JP