Tag Archive for Six Innings

Fan Mail Wednesday # 32

February 25, 2009 / / No comments

Oh yeah, unh-huh, hands in the air, that’s right — Fan Mail Wednesday, coming at ya!

Dear Mr. Preller:

My name is Henry.  I am a sixth grader in Washington, D.C. and I read your book.  My school librarian tries to have the kids read at least two with Newbery potential.  Six Innings was one of the five I read.  I really like the book because I play Little League and my team got into the championship, but we lost.  Luckily, we didn’t have anyone who had a tumor like Sam.  I thought Six Innings should be a Newbery winner — either the main one or an Honor Book. I’m sorry you didn’t win but I bet you will sometime in the future.

Your friend and reader,

Henry

After contacting a lawyer and spending several hours on the paperwork, I was thrilled to send Henry this reply:

Dear Henry:

I am sending over the adoption papers post haste. Please have your parents sign them and return the papers to me, along with your very self, carefully packaged in a box (remember air holes!). We don’t have an extra bedroom, but you can sleep on the ping pong table in the basement. Because after that kind note, you are like a son to me!

The Irish have an expression, “Flowers for the living.” In other words, you don’t have to wait for someone to die before you say something nice about them. So thank you for that, those generous words.

Be well, Henry, er, son . . . now go clean your room!

JP

P.S. That’s really great that you got to play in a championship game. I’ve watched quite a few at the Little League level, and I always want to grab a bat and take a few cuts. What happened in your game? What was the score? How did you do?

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This Week’s Coolest Thing Ever

February 16, 2009 / / 2 comments

I got this in the mail the other day, the Korean translation of Six Innings.

For the curious, these “foreign rights” things just sort of happen on the publishing side of things; the author has nothing to do with it. So every time it’s like a little gift.

To double your surfing pleasure, here’s the German version of Jigsaw Jones, renamed “Puzzle Paul,” which includes full-color interior artwork.

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Category: Jigsaw Jones, Six Innings, the writing process / Tags: , , , ,

2009 ALA Children’s Notable Books: Holy Wow!

January 29, 2009 / / 4 comments

The American Library Association website has put up a “Final – Uncorrected” list of 2009 Children’s Notable Books. I am honored and thrilled to see Six Innings on that list, amidst such spectacular company. Congratulations, all.

According to the site:

Each year a committee of the Association for Library Service to Children (ALSC) identifies the best of the best in children’s books. According to the Notables Criteria, “notable” is defined as: Worthy of note or notice, important, distinguished, outstanding. As applied to children’s books, notable should be thought to include books of especially commendable quality, books that exhibit venturesome creativity, and books of fiction, information, poetry and pictures for all age levels (birth through age 14) that reflect and encourage children’s interests in exemplary ways.

My special thanks to the members of the 2009 Notable Children’s Books Committee: Caroline Ward, chair, The Ferguson Library, Stamford, Conn; Betty Carter,  Coppell, Texas; Elise DeGuiseppi, Pierce County Library System, Tacoma, Washington; Eliza T. Dresang, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington; Roxanne Hsu Feldman, The Dalton School, New York, N.Y.; Darwin L. Henderson, College of Education, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio; Barbara Immroth, School of Information, University of Texas, Austin, Texas; Kathleen Isaacs, Pasadena, Maryland; Marie Orlando, Suffolk Cooperative Library System, Bellport, New York; Sally Anne Thompson, Paradise Valley, Arizona; Martha M. Walke, Children’s Literature New England, Inc., South Strafford, Vermont.

Really, I don’t know what to say. I am honored and appreciative. If I was Oprah, I’d buy you all brand new Honda Accords!

Failing that, there’s only this: Thank you, thank you, thank you!

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Deleted Scenes 3: Six Innings

January 22, 2009 / / No comments

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.”

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Category: Six Innings, the writing process / Tags: , ,

Fan Mail Wednesday #25

January 14, 2009 / / No comments

Stand back, people. Everybody stand back! It’s Fan Mail Wednesday . . .

Dear Mr. Preller,

I just finished reading your book, Six Innings, and thought it was awesome. I am doing a book report on it. My favorite part was at the end when Sam realizes that Mike wasn’t feeling sorry for him being so sick, but just really wanted his friend to hang out with. I have never had a friend who has been that sick, but I know I would want to be a friend like Mike. I would love to see if you could make Six Innings into another story with Mike and Sam. Maybe Sam could get better and they have another championship game. Maybe have them go to a Met game!

I also have ideas for you for Jigsaw Jones mysteries. The title is The Case of the Missing Shoe. When someone loses their sneaker, Jigsaw Jones solves it by discovering Rags, the dog, had taken it and buried it in the ground.

Sincerely,

Billy
P.S. Lets Go Mets 2009!

Here’s my reply:

Dear Billy,

I’ll admit it. I’m sort of mad at you. Here I am, slaving away like a black dog on a hot day, desperately trying to think of ideas, and you shoot off a chatty email with more good ideas in it than I’ve had in a month!

Tell you what, let’s make a switch: YOU write the books, I’ll send the fan mail (but I’m not doing your homework, those days are gone).

Seriously, thanks. I liked your observation on Six Innings. You know, that was definitely an important moment in the book for me, too. When it all kind of flipped. As you may know, there’s a core of true experience in that book. My oldest son, Nick, age 15, is a two-time cancer survivor, five years of chemo. Hard, hard times. I was moved by the friendship he shared with another boy. Nick’s friend would visit, the boys would hang out together, do quiet things, talk. And somewhere it dawned on me that it was tough on both of them. That it’s hard to be sick, yes; but in some ways, even harder to be the steady, reliable friend. Grandma isn’t sending him presents in the mail, you know what I mean? But he’s still got to carry that weight, uncertainty, fear.

Back to your ideas: Maybe a sequel, but I don’t see it right now. Most times one book is enough. I would like to try another sports story one day. Ice fishing? Cliff diving? I can’t decide.

For Jigsaw, that’s a pretty solid premise for a story. If I were to pursue it, I might begin by asking some of these questions: Who would the other suspects be? Is it an important shoe? Does Jigsaw really need the shoe for something? A race? Or a wedding? It’s always good when the clock is ticking — it’s called the “ticking clock” technique — when the hero of the story has to find the solution by a specific time. You see variations of this technique in stories all the time. In its extreme form, for example, the world blows up at exactly noon if the hero doesn’t find and detonate the bomb. It gives the story urgency. Only five minutes left! Three, two, one . . . .

I tried to use that approach in Jigsaw Jones #20: The Case of the Race Against Time. And given that premise, I like how that story begins: “You’re late,” my mother snapped.

Just to be clear: I am NOT sharing the royalties with you. Your ideas are now officially my original ideas and I’m keeping all the money for myself. Or maybe you could keep the idea. Write it yourself. Remove the character of Jigsaw, make it somebody else. Hey, Billy, write your own story! Why not? Go for it. You might enjoy it.

Thanks for writing. And yes, absolutely, “Let’s Go Mets!”

JP

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