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.
As part of a continuing (read: sporadic) series of posts, I take a look back at old Jigsaw Jones titles with the intention of providing my Nation of Readers with more “extra juicy” background info.
If you are like me, you might gag at the thought of yet another writer describing his “creative process.” There is something oh-so-wearying about it. The phrase, “Don’t be a gasbag,” leaps to mind. But let’s see if I can pull this off without too much self-aggrandizement. The simple truth is that I am proud of this series and I sometimes (often?) wonder how much longer they’ll be around. I see this blog as document, as archive.
Today’s title is seasonally appropriate, Jigsaw Jones #29: The Case of the Snowboarding Superstar. It begins with Jigsaw chatting with two of his brothers, Daniel and Nick, as they prepare for a family ski vacation.
Some background: My father was a veteran of World War II, who returned home, got married, went to college on the G.I. Bill — a great investment by the Federal Government, by the way — and looked with my mother for a nice place to settle down and raise a family. Suburbia, preferably. He found a newly-built home in Wantagh, Long Island, designed after the Levittown model (for a fascinating history on that, click here). They bought a three-bedroom house for somewhere along the lines of $12,500.
One problem: My parents kept having children. Seven in all. It got crowded. At one point when I was still quite young, my folks slept in the back bedroom, my two sisters (Barbara and Jean) shared a small room, three boys had the front room (John, Al, me), and my father turned the garage into a bedroom for the oldest boys (Neal and Bill). I have strong memories of those early childhood days, sharing that crowded room with two big and somewhat mysterious brothers.
Below, here’s my whole family except for Mom, 1967. We always dressed that way! I shared a bedroom with the two goons on the right — don’t let the ties fool you.
The dynamic in the book’s first chapter, with two older brothers schooling Jigsaw, springs directly from my sense of those times.
They are teaching Jigsaw how to talk cool, in the snowboarder’s hipster jargon:
“Let us quiz you, Jigsaw,” Nick said. “What do you call someone if you don’t know their name?”
I thought for a moment. “Dude,” I answered.
“Excellent!” Nick cheered. “What’s a face-plant?”
“It’s when you fall into the snow face-first.”
“Awesome, Jigsaw,” Daniel said. “Totally gnarly!”
“Gnarly?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“It means very, very cool,” Nick explained. “Do you smell me?”
I sniffed, confused. “What?”
“Do you smell me?” Nick repeated. “It means, do you understand?”
“Not exactly,” I groaned.
In the next chapter, Jigsaw gets to try out his new language skills on Mila Yeh, his partner and best friend:
“I’m jealous,” Mila complained. “I wish I were going on a ski trip.”
“Snowboarding,” I corrected her.
“It sounds hard,” Mila said. “I hear that beginners fall down a lot.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I think it will be sick.”
“Sick?” Mila asked. “Who’s sick?”
“Not who,” I said. “It. Snowboarding will be sick.”
Mila frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s the opposite of wack,” I explained.
“Okaaay,” Mila murmured.
“Do you smell me?” I asked.
Mila sniffed. “Well, now that you mention it, you do smell a little ripe.”
Don’t they have a nice friendship? Anyway, some random things:
* I loved the setup for the book, with Jigsaw away from Mila for the first time. It gave the book a different shape — and put Jigsaw in a tough situation. After all, this was #29 in the series, so I was eager to find new ways to keep it fresh. I know that some successful series, like The Magic Tree House, tend to follow a more rigid formula. And I understand the reasons why that’s appealing and reassuring for young readers. But it just wasn’t me. For better and for worse, I kept trying to mix things up.
* Mila mentions to Jigsaw that she’s practicing for a piano recital. Her song will be “The Maple Leaf Rag.” This comes from my son, Gavin, who also played that song in a recital.
* Grams and Billy are left behind to “mind the fort.” This expression, used by Mr. Jones, was something my father commonly said. I love his old verbal habits, the phrases he often used, and I try to keep them alive as best as I can — more than ever now that he’s gone. It’s a way of keeping that connection alive. I hear those phrases and think of Dad, all the more so when his words come out of my mouth.
* I once edited a book on snowboarding, written by Joe Layden. I learned a lot about the sport in the process, so it was comfortable territory for me to explore in the context of a Jigsaw Jones mystery.
In my story, a star snowboarder named Lance Mashman (love that name!) is at the lodge for an upcoming exhibition. However, someone steals his lucky bandanna — and with it, his confidence. While working on No Limits, I was impressed by many of the top female snowboarders, such as Shannon Dunn and Victoria Jealouse. They had a vitality and strength that inspired me, qualities I love to see in my own daughter. Also, they conveyed a refreshing take on competition, much different than you normally hear in the context of traditional athletics. So I invented the character of Tara Gianopolis, a rival to Lance, and a very cool young woman:
Illustration by Jamie Smith — crudely scanned.
“But you two compete against each other,” I said. “You are enemies . . . .”
Tara shook her head. “Man, you don’t know much about snowboarders, do you? This isn’t like football or basketball. We’re athletes, but we’re just trying to be the best we can be. It’s about nailing a backside rodeo or pulling off a perfect McTwist. It’s not about winning medals or beating people. It’s about freedom and creativity.”
“So you don’t care if you win?” I asked.
“I care, I guess,” Tara said with a shrug. “But as long as I ride well, I’m okay with whatever happens.”
* One of the suspects turns out to be Lance’s manager, Bubba Barbo, named in honor of my former editor, Maria Barbo. Once again, that’s a great aspect of writing mysteries. The genre forces the detective out into the world, this moral compass encountering life, making observations, going places, meeting new people all the time. As a series writer, that holds tremendous appeal — new characters in every book. Here’s a snippet from a conversation between Jigsaw and Bubba:
“It sounds like you think Lance is annoying,” I commented.
Bubba growled. “I don’t think he’s annoying. Lance is annoying. He’s always late. He drives me up a wall and across the ceiling.”
“You don’t like him?” I asked.
Bubba made a face. “Whaddaya, kidding? I love the kid,” he said. “Lance has talent. He’s a genius on a snowboard. A great athlete. And besides that, Lance has heart. He’s good people. You know what I’m saying?”
Yes, I knew what Bubba was saying. “I heard that he fired you this morning,” I said.
Bubba stepped back, surprised. Then he laughed out loud. “Lance fires me every week and twice on Sunday,” Bubba claimed. “It doesn’t mean anything. We’re a team.”
For fun, here’s a clip of Victoria Jealouse (and others) in action:
Click below for other posts in this series. Some day I’ll get around to every book:
It’s snowing in upstate, New York! Time to break out the snow plow, because we’re still looking at a 9:40 dentist appointment for Gavin. Bummer. Let’s reach into the big barrel and see what we come up with today . . .
Dear James Preller,
I have almost read all your books but I am stuck on one book its #2 which is The Case of the Christmas Snowman. I asked my teacher if she can buy that book but she can’t find the book.
Before I go any farther I’ll tell you about myself I am turning ten, my name is Jobert, my grade is 4th and I enjoy your books.
I’ve only read The Case of the Missing Hamster and The Case of the Buried Treasure (Jigsaw Jones Super Special #1). In that book I like it how they find the time capsule and Jigsaw Jones dad put an action figure in the time capsule.
And on book #1 when they tried to find the hamster they thought Wingnut’s brother’s boa constrictor ate the hamster but actually Hermie was in the closet with her babies.
Mr. James Preller my questions for you are:
#1 What inspired you to write Jigsaw Jones?
#2 When you were a kid did you want to be a detective?
#3 When you were a kid did you want to be an author?
#4 What is your favorite book out of the books you wrote? Well that’s all my questions.
Now I’ll tell you more about myself I have black hair, my skin color is brown, I like your books and I am a shoe head.
When you write back can you please tell me about your self? Oh and I go to elementary school. Please write back soon Mr. James Preller.
Sincerely, a big fan,
Jobert
I replied:
Dear Jobert,
Thanks for your letter. I’m glad that you’ve enjoyed so many of my books, especially The Case of the Buried Treasure, which is one of my favorites.
I see you asked some questions and –- hey, wait a minute — did you say you were . . . a shoe-head?
Yup, there it is. You snuck it in toward the end of the letter, as if I wouldn’t notice. I quote: “I have black hair, my skin color is brown, I like your books and I am a shoe head.”
Maybe I’m out of touch, because I don’t know if that’s a Good Thing or a Bad Thing. But, okay, hey, I’m cool with that. Some of my biggest fans — and newest friends — are shoe-heads. According to the Urban Dictionary, it means you’re in love with shoes. As Jigsaw might say, “Go figure.” I’m in love with chocolate and the sound of the electric guitar.
Okay, here comes the part of the letter when I answer your questions. Are you sitting down, all buckled up?
1. Writing a mystery series was almost an accident. I started out just writing scenes about a boy character with a vivid imagination. He pretended to be a cowboy, a scientist, an astronaut, a detective. An editor, Jean Feiwel, encouraged me to focus on the mystery element. We never expected that it would turn into 40 books.
2. I liked to spy on my brothers and sisters (I had six, total), but that was the extent of my detective work. And, oh yes, I loved to sneak around to find Christmas presents hidden in closets or under beds. By the time Christmas came, I knew about 90% of what I was going to get. I don’t think that made me a detective, exactly, more like just a nosy kid who usually found Christmas to be a little anti-climactic. That is: a letdown.
3. As a southpaw from Long Island, I wanted to pitch for the New York Mets. Too bad my fastball couldn’t break a window. I was definitely more of a “get outside” type kid than a “sit inside and read” one. I didn’t become crazy about reading until my teenage years, I guess. The writing came along at that time, too, when I started to buy journals and notebooks, writing to help sort through my teenage feelings. Actually, come to think of it, when I was very young I used to FILL notebooks with imaginary baseball games that I invented using a pair of dice.
I played hundreds of those games alone in my room, thousands maybe, kept statistics, box scores, the whole works. I know that kids today, in this age of Xbox and PlayStation, can’t relate to spending hours throwing dice and scribbling figures in a notebook, but that’s what I did. Not exactly writing, but nevertheless I had a pen and paper and I kept my mind engaged, and myself happy. Maybe those days were the early roots of my life as a writer, just that it became a comfortable place for me, alone with a pen and a piece of paper.
4. Besides the Jigsaw Jones books, I’m most proud of Six Innings. And Bystander, too (click here for a sample chapter). I have a new one coming out late this summer, Justin Fisher Declares War! (Scholastic, August, 2010), and I like it because it’s upbeat and funny — it doesn’t mean anything, just a fun bumpy ride in the amusement park. Sometimes it’s nice to keep things light.
Be well, Jobert, and have a great holiday.
P.S.: By the way, Scholastic offers a number where customers can call to request specific titles that might not be offered on recent book clubs. Your teacher you can contact Scholastic Book Clubs at 1-800-724-6527, or go to this website for more information. I hear they are receptive to customer’s requests, and will try to do everything possible to be helpful. Thanks for reading my books — and good luck with the footwear, Mr. Shoe Head!
As we close in on Thanksgiving, and turkeys grow nervous, I thought I’d take a look at Jigsaw Jones #7: The Case of the Runaway Dog, since it features a Thanksgiving subplot.
The book opens with Ralphie and Jigsaw discussing the relative merits of various holidays.
“How about Thanksgiving?” Ralphie asked.
“I’m not crazy about the food,” I complained.
“You know what bugs me about Thanksgiving?” Ralphie said, shaking his head. “Stuffing! I mean, what IS stuffing, anyway?”
“It’s a mystery to me,” I answered.
My sentiments exactly, especially when I was Jigsaw’s age. Rags disappears while on a dog walk in the park, after Jigsaw lets him off leash to play “Pilgrims and Turkeys.” Rags was the turkey, and they chased him around with pretend axes. I modeled the park in the book after Washington Park, in Albany. There’s the open field on the hill, the lake, the bridge, the boathouse. It was a place I knew well, since it was where I used to run and where I took my old dog, Doolin, many times.
The big challenge in writing a series is trying to keep it fresh — for the readers and for me. Therefore, I always avoided the strict formulas employed by some other series. Another tactic was to introduce new characters along the way, or to put the focus on a hitherto secondary character. It was a transfusion of energy: new blood. In this book, a key witness came in the form of Mr. Signorelli, named after one of Nick’s preschool friends.
He was a retired old man, without family nearby, who enjoyed the park. He tells Jigsaw, “I spend most of my days in the park. I’ve made friends with a few squirrels. I bring ’em peanuts and we keep each other company. I don’t know who looks forward to our visits more — me or them.”
I had a minor conflict with my editor at the time, Helen Perelman, over Mr. Signorelli. He smoked cigarettes. Helen wanted me to change that. But I wasn’t advocating it, just recognizing that some people smoked, and it didn’t necessarily make them Bad People. After all, both of my parents smoked all their lives, and I liked them pretty much. Persuaded, Helen allowed me to keep Mr. Signorelli intact.
In these books, I often try to include a school element. Ms. Gleason introduces an “I Am Thankful For . . .” project. It helped give the story a stronger connection to a typical elementary student’s life, where that kind of project is often done at this time year. It also lent the narrative another through-line to follow. For me, it can’t be plot/clue/mystery all the time. The truth is, when you break it down there’s not much detailed mystery to these stories; what I love, what I’m after as a writer, is all the other fabric wrapped around that basic skeletal structure.
When I grew up, my brother Billy, ten years my elder, was the #1 motorhead in the family. He loved cars and even worked at the Citgo gas station. For me, it was pretty awe-inspiring to have a big brother who pumped gas, who could open a car hood, tool in hand, and say, “Ah, I see the problem.” When he came home, he always had so many coins jingling in his pockets! I remember Billy spending a lot of time washing his hands, trying to remove the grease from underneath his fingernails.
So of course it was Jigsaw’s older brother, Billy, who borrows mom’s car to take Jigsaw on a ride to the Animal Rescue Shelter. To write that scene, I visited a rescue shelter in Menands, taking notes as I walked around. On school visits I sometimes tell kids that research isn’t always about dusty books in quiet libraries. Often it’s about getting out into the world, seeing things, talking to people. That is: it’s kind of interesting.
The dogs were kept in another room. It was like a big garage, with a cement floor and cement walls. The dogs were locked behind high, narrow fences. Some dogs sat and stared as we walked past. A cute Dalmation leaped against the fence, whining sadly. Most dogs barked. You didn’t have to be Doctor Dolittle to understand what they were saying — “Take me, take me. I’ll be good. Take me!“
Other dogs just lay on the ground beside their water bowls. They didn’t seem to care one way or the other. They only lifted their heads and followed us with blank eyes.
It was one of the saddest places I’d ever been.
Jigsaw returns to the park to find Mr. Signorelli. Jigsaw advises him to quit smoking. The old man doesn’t seem very receptive. After some sly detective work, Jigsaw and Mila, along with the help of Ralphie, manage to track down Rags. Case solved, Jigsaw has one more thing to do. He again (conveniently, I’ll admit) finds Mr. Signorelli at the park on Thanksgiving morning. Jigsaw asks, “What are you doing today? For Thanksgiving, I mean.”
I love this next paragraph, because I always like it when straight physical description can convey the inner feelings of a character:
He scratched the end of his nose and looked out across the lake. I followed his gaze. But there was nothing there. Just water and emptiness.
Jigsaw notices that Mr. Signorelli isn’t smoking.
Mr. Signorelli waved his hand, like swatting away a fly. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he said. “I’m not making any promises. Maybe I’ll quit. Maybe I won’t. We’ll see what happens.”
Jigsaw invites the old man to his house for pecan pie. His parents had already approved the gesture, and even Grams said it sounded like a terrific idea.
I like your Jigsaw Jones books. My Mom and I have read them all.
I am in second grade. My teacher is Mrs. Brink. She is really pretty and nice.
I am telling my class about you and your books for a class project.
Here are some questions I have for you.
1. What is your favorite car?
Mine is a 1932 Model A
2. Would you pick baseball over skiing or flying paper airplanes?
Mine is a tie between skiing and paper airplanes
3. Who is your favorite president?
I like Ike, and Ronald Reagan.
4. Who is your favorite Noble Peace Prize winner?
I can not tell you yet, we are learning about them now.
5. Do you have pets?
My cat Sunny likes to hear me read your books to him.
Sincerely,
Jack
Golden, CO
P.S. My Mom helped me write this letter 🙂
I replied:
Dear Jack,
Thanks for your letter. I enjoyed your description of Mrs. Brink, “pretty and nice.” I’m sure Jigsaw feels the same way about his teacher, Ms. Gleason. When I was growing up, I went to a Catholic elementary school. All my teachers were nuns who should have shaved more frequently. They were more scary than nice, or at least I felt so at the time.
Thank you for coming up with such an interesting set of questions. Definitely not the usual stuff.
1. Funny thing about cars: I don’t care about them. They just don’t matter to me. I drive a 2001 Toyota Corolla, happily. That said: a ’68 Ford Mustang convertible would be sweet.
2. Baseball, no question about it. I like cross-country skiing, not a big fan of the downhill kind. I mean, the hills are fine, but I do not like waiting on lines. I’d rather be in the snowy woods alone. My paper airplanes tend to crash to the floor after about three feet. I was never much good at paperwork; that’s why I became a writer.
3. I’m an Abraham Lincoln kind of guy. I remember reading about him when I was your age. I loved that he was a really good wrestler and that he sometimes kept important papers — in his hat!
4. My favorite Nobel Peace Prize winner? That’s a tough one. Honestly, I’m not that intimate with many of the past winners. I do like Barack Obama . . . Jimmy Carter . . . Nelson Mandela . . . Elie Wiesel . . . Mikhail Gorbachev . . . Lech Walesa . . . Martin Luther King, Jr. . . . Albert Schweitzer. And, well, I’m pretty sure most of the other guys were okay, too, though I was never too crazy about Henry Kissinger. The best of them fought for the little guy, equality for all, and that’s an idea I can get behind.
5. I have two black cats and a Golden Doodle named Daisy. Recently, my kids have decided that our dog should change the spelling of her name to Day-Z, after the rapper, Jay-Z, because we’re all loving the song, “Empire State of Mind.” We’re having trouble teaching her how to rhyme, however. She keeps asking, “What rhymes with woof?” I must add: you have a most excellent cat!
This is Daisy Day-Z. I’m trying to teach her how to hold a rake.
So far, she just chews on the handle. Sigh.
Good luck on your class report. I’m always amazed (and a little alarmed) to learn that I’ve become that thing I once disliked so intensely — homework! It’s sort of like waking up, looking in the mirror, and realizing that you’ve turned into a Brussels sprout!
Be sure to thank your mom for typing. I need one of those for my job. Are you willing to loan her out? My own mom is 83 and no longer types very fast. I had to fire her. “Hit the streets,” I kindly said. Hey, she wasn’t getting the job done. So congratulations on having such a swell mother. Good help is hard to find these days.
JP
P.S. Don’t think I’m not an appreciative son. I did find my mom another job. She’s out raking the backyard yard as I type. I think I’ll keep her!
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