Tag Archive for James Preller

Nice Review

Just passing along a nice review for Six Innings that I found on the web today at a cool site dedicated to children’s books. With nice comments like this, I’m worried that my head might explode.

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My reaction after finishing this short novel for pre-teen and teens, especially who are really into the finer points of baseball playing and the spirit of the game was a tremendous respect for the author. James Preller poured much of his passion for the game into a finely crafted story set in just ONE little league game: 6 innings, character sketches of 12 players of one visiting team, and the framing, soul-searching story of the 13-year-old severely ill ex-ballplayer-turned-announcer…

I am not particularly into baseball: enjoy watching the game once in a while, of course, but do not personally collect memorabilia or statistics as a life-long hobby. This book makes me want to know and learn more about the game, its history and all the psychological aspects of the players and the plays; it also makes me believe that there is a reason for someone, young or old, to be completely lost in the world of sports and get much of their life’s wisdom out of these games.

Preller also has quite a way with words and turn of phrases:

p. 15: “Aaron Foley, short and stocky with a squashed-in face that reminded Sam of an English bulldog, did more than toss his cookies. No Aaron projected his vomit across the room, spewing his insides as if fired from a cannon, a thunderous blast of wet barf splattering onto the tile floor.” p. 16… That’s how Sam and Mike began their friendship, sealed with a simple exchange, a look across a silent (but foul-smelling) distance.

p. 18: (About the five tools of baseball: speed, glove, arm, power, and the ability to hit for average.) Branden Reid, however, posesses a sixth tool, amnesia, the art of forgetting. Baseball is, after all, a game of failure. The only thing that a player can influence is the next play, the next at bat.

p. 22 (this describes the game, but somehow fittingly describes the book as well): “The slow rhythm of the game, a game of accumulation, of patterns, gathering itself toward the finish…” AND what a finish this book has! I felt like I witnessed a historic game after reading the last page of the book (and it isn’t even about the game or the innings or the winners and the losers.)

p. 63: “There’s a squarish, two-story bulding — an overachieving shed, really”

p. 46: On the field, baseball is a game of isolation, nine singular outposts of shared solitude… You are a “team” immediately before and after each play. (This does get repeated on page 132.)

p. 106: Tragedy, the stuff of comedy.

There are a few specific references that will definitely date the book — which is too bad: p. 40: the boys talking about Jessica Simpson and someone listening to the lyrics to a Jay-Z tune.

Arnold Lobel: An Appreciation

“I cannot think of any work that could be more agreeable and fun than making books for children.” — Arnold Lobel

As an author, I’m often asked to list some of my favorite writers. Of course, it’s impossible. There are too many. But one name always comes to my lips, Arnold Lobel. And I think the reason is this: his total commitment to children’s literature. To me, he was the master.

A while back I had the opportunity to write brief profiles of 75 children’s book authors and illustrators for a book titled, in lunk-headed fashion, The Big Book of Picture-Book Authors & Illustrators (out of print, alas). I interviewed many amazing people — James Marshall, Barbara Cooney, Bill Martin, Jr., Barbara Park, Bernard Waber, Trina Schart Hyman, Kevin Henkes, etc. — but, unfortunately, I was too late for Arnold Lobel. He died after a long illness on December 4th, 1987. But I did my research, read most of his books, found his classic acceptance speech for the Caldecott Medal, and came away with great respect. I love the “Frog and Toad” titles, of course, and Fables, and Ming Lo Moves the Mountain, and my personal favorite, Whiskers and Rhymes. But more than any individual book, I most love his bright, shining spirit — his commitment to his craft — his intelligence — his deep feeling — his legacy.

Time rolls forward. These days, at social events, some good fellow will sidle up beside me, possibly curious about this palpable oddity, a real live children’s book writer in his midst. And he’ll ask, not unkindly, “Do you think you’ll ever try to write a real book?” Meaning, of course, an adult book.

I’m not insulted, much. I’ll just smile and say maybe, perhaps, I don’t know, but right now I’m pretty challenged trying to write children’s books.

When I first began to conjure the dream of becoming a writer, children’s books were not on my radar. I wanted to write great, important books and poems for deep-thinking adults. My dream did not include titles like Hiccups for Elephant or Wake Me In Spring. I used to frequently wonder if I was on the right path, and it’s a question that never entirely goes away, though it haunts me less and less. I think of Arnold Lobel and I am reassured by his pride, his deep belief in his work, his love of children’s literature. It comes down to, like he said, single-minded dedication. No half-measures. No apologies. “One of the secrets of writing good books for children,” Lobel once commented, “is that you can’t really write books for children; you must write books for yourself and about yourself.”

I couldn’t agree more.

In my upcoming book, Along Came Spider, there’s a school librarian who plays a minor but critical role in the story. Her name? Miss Lobel. Now you know how I dreamed up the name!

New York Times Book Review!

Yesterday was a big day for me, because Six Innings was reviewed in the Sunday New York Times Book Review by Lisa Von Drasek. By the way, isn’t that a great name? Lisa Von Drasek. I immediately think of vampires and fog-enshrouded castles, the howling of wolves, the whispering of black capes in musty hallways. “Von Drasek? Surely not the daughter of . . . Count Von Drasek?”

The money quote: “It was “Six Innings” that made a baseball lover out of me.”

Thank you, Lisa. I’ll never joke about your name again!

You can read the full review by clicking here. It’s a very well-written piece — featuring two other baseball titles, Keeping Score by Linda Sue Park and The Big Field by Mike Lupica. I’m really happy about it. I’m not a guy who typically visits Cloud Nine, I tend to downplay things, but I’ll admit to treating myself to a bowl of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream last night. Good times, good times.

As my first hardcover novel, Six Innings was destined to get reviewed by the standard industry magazines such as Publishers Weekly, School Library Journal, and Booklist. I was excited by that prospect, and vaguely terrified. I asked my editor, the fabulous Liz Szabla, to not tell me about any of the reviews: I didn’t want to know (but of course I did, but I didn’t, and yet I did! Ack!).

You see, I had spent a large part of the previous eight years writing the “Jigsaw Jones” mystery series (along with a long list of side projects — anything to pay the mortgage). But despite writing thirty-plus chapter books in the series, those books were never reviewed. Not once, not anywhere. Absolutely, positively, critically ignored. As a series, the books were unworthy, the ugly stepsisters of the publishing world. Yes, I got a lot of fan mail. But in the world of children’s literature, and to a large extent within the halls of my own publisher, those books almost didn’t exist beyond the category of “product.”

And yet I put everything I had in them.

So now I’m faced with a strange, new experience. Today I find myself in the New York Times Book Review. Wow. In many respects, that’s the mountaintop. Finally, I wrote something that people are reading closely — people other than, I should say, the boys and girls for whom the books are intended.

Series writers are somehow slotted into a sub-category, like a sub-species, Boo Radley in a darkened room. And yet as everybody knows, series literature (if we may use the L-word) is widely read. That’s what the industry demands, it’s what editors want, it’s what kids read. I’m talking about popular series like “The Secrets of Droon” by Tony Abbott, “The Baby-Sitters Club” by Ann M. Martin, or “Animorphs” by Katherine Applegate (to name just a few). Each of those authors I’ve listed went on to later write, ta-da, Real Books that received critical attention and acclaim. As if, wow, maybe they suddenly learned how to write! But I’d bet that they are just as proud, if not prouder, of the paperback series they wrote than all the great reviews they later earned for their “more important” hardcover books. It’s too bad. I wish our reviewers gave more recognition to series publishing, the good and the bad.

Okay, I’ll step off the soapbox. Besides, I’ve got to run out to make a xerox of that Times review. My mom needs a copy (whether she knows it or not)!

Fan Mail Wednesday #1

In what I hope will become a recurring feature, I’ll take questions from actual fan mail and include my answers here.

* * * * *

Jason asks, “Where do you get your ideas?”

Ideas are everywhere and anywhere, Jason. They come from my past and from my present. They come from things I actually see — and from my imagination. I do research for every book, and I usually stumble across ideas that way. One strange thing about ideas is that they often seem to come when I’m thinking that I’m not thinking! You know? Doing the dishes, taking a shower, times when the mind is (seemingly) not actively working on anything (and in my life, that’s a lot!). I think that’s why it’s essential for artists and writers to give themselves space, to daydream, to blob around, listen to music, not force the action. At least that’s what I tell my wife!

I don’t worry about running out of ideas. As long as I pay attention to the world around me, watch people, listen to what they say, daydream, and read a lot, I’ll always have ideas. How can you avoid them?

The real work is sitting down and writing.

To me, it’s weird when people talk about “having” ideas. As if it were like “having” a baby and that’s that, job over. Because the important thing is, well, raising that baby. Or working with that idea. Growing it, feeding it, letting it go. It’s not enough to “have” ideas. That’s the easy part. No, you’ve got to stick with those ideas through thick and thin. That’s the trick — all that parenting. Waking up at two in the morning, changing diapers . . . yuck.