On Facebook, I’ve been reading reams of posts from friends who dropped their children off at college this week. They are all such nice parents.
“Tell me how you all handle this! I miss her,” writes one.
“Have I adequately prepared him for what lies ahead?” muses another.
“She’s happy; but this is so hard for me,” says another.
“Wow. That’s the fastest move-in I’ve ever seen,” said Josh. My son’s roommate. After we heaved his belongings into their cell-like double in just under 23 minutes.
“We’re on our way to a wedding,” I explained to him, as my husband and I wrestled his dorm mattress (which had been suspiciously, stickily, adhered to a piece of plywood on the bed frame) into a sheath designed to deter bed bugs. Josh the Roommate, an affable fellow from Brooklyn, New York, had a few packages of cookies opened on his desk. He had arrived earlier and fully expected his roommate’s family from Maine to linger and visit a bit. Help unpack. Have a cookie.
Ha.
“You’re good with the sheets, right?” I asked my son, a.k.a. The Dude, once the bed bug cover was on. My eyes darted over the pile of stuff on the floor. Fridge, computer, duffel filled with clothes, microwave … good to go. A few things required assembly, but I figured even if Josh didn’t have a screwdriver someone in their suite would …
“Sure,” The Dude replied easily. Outside, it was a steamy 88 degrees, but inside the dark, dank room, it was a cave-like 68. Awesome, I thought. No need to stop off at Rite Aid for a fan. His dorm last year was air-conditioned. Not so this 70s-era heap of bricks and mortar, which resembled an air raid shelter.
Ah, last year. Freshman year. Orientation and all the fanfare and nerves and excitement of Move In Day. When dozens of upperclass volunteers wearing big smiles and Cardinal red tee shirts met us at the curb and carried our boxes into his airy, spanking clean dorm room. Where we took pictures of him and his roommate standing awkwardly together, arms folded tightly across their chests. Where I hungered for other freshmen parents to chat with, console with, confide in. Where we left, reluctantly, after hours of goodbyes and programming designed to make it all easier.
What a difference a year makes.
Instead of the silent, achingly nervous teenager we dropped off last year, we were delivering a young man who was glad to be “home.” As we drove him to the office where he’d pick up his room key, he rolled down the car window, hoping to catch a glimpse of people he knew. He had already registered for all his courses, already RSVP’d to three parties for the following weekend, already lined up an on-campus job interview, already knew his practice schedule for Ultimate Frisbee and a play he was in …
He was happy and busy and self-sufficient and we were free. Free to simply stand back and be happy for him, no worries. Free to hit the road and get to the rehearsal dinner on time, because he wouldn’t miss us as he and Josh set up their stuff in the abysmal room they were so thrilled to share.
After the wedding and the long drive back to Maine, I poked my head into The Dude’s now-empty childhood bedroom. The dog was curled up on his bed, which he had made up before we had departed days earlier. I wouldn’t call it neat, exactly, but it was tidy enough, and his books were back on the shelves and his bank statements and other mail were carefully stacked on his desk. He knew that would matter to me, that his room wasn’t left in a mess, and that’s when I felt the clutch in the throat. I called the dog out, and closed the door.
We’ll see The Dude again in about six weeks. But who’s counting?
For other posts re. The Dude, see 6/13/11 and 5/3/10.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
WWHD?
I spent two intense days recently with a particularly troubled teenager.
Unpredictable. Moody. Self-destructive. Given to emotional, violent outbursts as well as tender acts of kindness. Like I said, it was an intense two days. But I was preparing to speak at a writers’ conference, and lead a workshop on narrative voice in young adult fiction. And I was determined to reread The Catcher in the Rye before making any sweeping generalizations about how teens speak.
It had been a long time since Holden Caulfield and I had spent any time together. I think our last visit was back when I was a teen myself, reading his story for a high school English class. Judging from the semi-audible groans I heard from the attendees at my workshop, groans which moved through the room like the crowd wave at a ball game when I pulled out the book and its familiar red and yellow carousel horse cover, Holden was a known quantity to them as well.
“Isn’t that a little dated?” one outspoken fellow said, getting us off to a rip roaring start.
“Well, in some ways, it certainly is dated,” I conceded. “I was surprised to see the book’s original copyright is 1945.” (That drew a few contemptuous snorts.) “And Holden definitely uses some outdated slang. He references movies and film stars and music which a teen today wouldn’t relate to. But in the essential ways which define the so-called young adult voice, Holden is incredibly authentic.”
Prove it, their blank stares challenged. Show us how a 16-year old who has never heard of Twitter, Facebook or even the internet, can teach us anything about a young adult today. This dude has never used a computer. Never texted, sexted, or snapped a picture on a cell phone. He has no cable television, no iPod, no MTV. He puts change into a pay phone which has a rotary dial. He’s never heard of rap; he listens to jazz …
“Holden is first and foremost and above all a teenager,” I told them. “Regardless of all the rest of the discussion about him … Is he the voice of a disaffected generation? Is he having a nervous breakdown? Is he traumatized? Is he an alcoholic? … he sees the world and reacts to the world uniquely as a teen. And if we’re going to write for teens, we need to learn from Holden.”
Here’s what I learned from Holden, and what’s so true about every teen:
1. Holden “hates” everything … but not really. He constantly talks about what he “hates,” but it’s just a catchall word he uses as his emergent adult self begins to see and judge the world in new ways. He’s beginning to recognize hypocrisy and meanness and sadness, and it’s not fun. So he lumps it all into the category of things he “hates.”
2. Holden reacts to everything personally, but hasn’t a clue about himself. He’s hypersensitive, but not self-aware.
3. Holden wants to tell us his story … but wants us to think he’s indifferent to telling.
4. Holden acts first and thinks later. If he thinks at all.
5. Holden swears and drinks and affects what he recognizes as “adult” behavior, but the love of his life is his kid sister Phoebe, and he’s nostalgic about their trips to the carousel ride. Poor Holden isn’t an adult yet … but he’s no longer a child.
It doesn’t matter whether Holden is listening to Kanye West or Frank Sinatra. It doesn’t matter if he’s sending a friend a text message or a postcard. It doesn’t matter if he describes something as “corny” or “weak.” Holden responds to the world and tells his story from the perspective of an emerging adult, in a way that transcends the limiting details of popular culture. That’s why The Catcher in the Rye, despite being 66 years old, has something to teach us today.
So in my ongoing quest to capture the young adult voice in my fiction, I have a new mantra:
What Would Holden Do?
Unpredictable. Moody. Self-destructive. Given to emotional, violent outbursts as well as tender acts of kindness. Like I said, it was an intense two days. But I was preparing to speak at a writers’ conference, and lead a workshop on narrative voice in young adult fiction. And I was determined to reread The Catcher in the Rye before making any sweeping generalizations about how teens speak.
It had been a long time since Holden Caulfield and I had spent any time together. I think our last visit was back when I was a teen myself, reading his story for a high school English class. Judging from the semi-audible groans I heard from the attendees at my workshop, groans which moved through the room like the crowd wave at a ball game when I pulled out the book and its familiar red and yellow carousel horse cover, Holden was a known quantity to them as well.
“Isn’t that a little dated?” one outspoken fellow said, getting us off to a rip roaring start.
“Well, in some ways, it certainly is dated,” I conceded. “I was surprised to see the book’s original copyright is 1945.” (That drew a few contemptuous snorts.) “And Holden definitely uses some outdated slang. He references movies and film stars and music which a teen today wouldn’t relate to. But in the essential ways which define the so-called young adult voice, Holden is incredibly authentic.”
Prove it, their blank stares challenged. Show us how a 16-year old who has never heard of Twitter, Facebook or even the internet, can teach us anything about a young adult today. This dude has never used a computer. Never texted, sexted, or snapped a picture on a cell phone. He has no cable television, no iPod, no MTV. He puts change into a pay phone which has a rotary dial. He’s never heard of rap; he listens to jazz …
“Holden is first and foremost and above all a teenager,” I told them. “Regardless of all the rest of the discussion about him … Is he the voice of a disaffected generation? Is he having a nervous breakdown? Is he traumatized? Is he an alcoholic? … he sees the world and reacts to the world uniquely as a teen. And if we’re going to write for teens, we need to learn from Holden.”
Here’s what I learned from Holden, and what’s so true about every teen:
1. Holden “hates” everything … but not really. He constantly talks about what he “hates,” but it’s just a catchall word he uses as his emergent adult self begins to see and judge the world in new ways. He’s beginning to recognize hypocrisy and meanness and sadness, and it’s not fun. So he lumps it all into the category of things he “hates.”
2. Holden reacts to everything personally, but hasn’t a clue about himself. He’s hypersensitive, but not self-aware.
3. Holden wants to tell us his story … but wants us to think he’s indifferent to telling.
4. Holden acts first and thinks later. If he thinks at all.
5. Holden swears and drinks and affects what he recognizes as “adult” behavior, but the love of his life is his kid sister Phoebe, and he’s nostalgic about their trips to the carousel ride. Poor Holden isn’t an adult yet … but he’s no longer a child.
It doesn’t matter whether Holden is listening to Kanye West or Frank Sinatra. It doesn’t matter if he’s sending a friend a text message or a postcard. It doesn’t matter if he describes something as “corny” or “weak.” Holden responds to the world and tells his story from the perspective of an emerging adult, in a way that transcends the limiting details of popular culture. That’s why The Catcher in the Rye, despite being 66 years old, has something to teach us today.
So in my ongoing quest to capture the young adult voice in my fiction, I have a new mantra:
What Would Holden Do?
Saturday, July 23, 2011
No Tears Here
So in our local paper there has been a fair amount of hand wringing and eulogizing over the closure of the Borders Bookstore this week.
Leading the list of heart-wrenching observations is the loss of more than 25 jobs, which I agree, is a pretty bad thing, especially in this economy where it's no small feat to find another job. There's also been some praise for the franchise owner, who has been active in the community and has made efforts to promote literacy projects. Laudable stuff, that.
But as a local author, I have to confess I'm a bit bewildered by all the mourning. Not only did I have to consistently exert herculean efforts to convince the local Borders to keep my books in stock (and I'm distributed by a major publisher, so it's not like this was difficult) but I was always a bit surprised to see how many outstanding Maine authors were not on their shelves. This was in sharp contrast to our small, independently owned downtown bookstore (Gulf of Maine Books) where the owners are knowledgeable and actively promote Maine writers.
Plus, my neighbors seem to forget what happened when Borders arrived.
It located itself in a strip mall a few short years ago within (literally) a potato-bazooka-blast distance from a Maine-based bookstore/cafe called Bookland. Bookland was a largish store, filled with knowledgeable employees and book-lovers, and was a watering hole for many in our community. It hosted book signings by local authors, amazing Harry Potter parties for kids on "release" nights, sponsored literacy projects in the schools ... it was a fine store and good neighbor. It struggled mightily to remain open when Big Box Borders elbowed its way into town, but we all know the scenario: it was no match for the discounts which the multi-million dollar giant could offer customers, and eventually closed its doors. That retail space remains vacant. Oh, and a lot of people lost their jobs back then, too.
The narrative of the predatory Big Box Store and the demise of the Local Store is an oft-told, well-known tale at this point ... but it's repeated again and again in communities all over our country, and I don't understand why we haven't figured it out yet. We're all so sad when the little mom and pop convenience store, where you could get anything from screws to crochet hooks to school supplies to winter boots, is euthanized by the arrival of a Target or a WalMart, but when those chains open we all scurry to be the first to pick up deals on opening day.
Here's the really scary thing: in some communities, now that Borders has closed, there is no bookstore left. They killed off the competition, and now have disappeared in a puff of smoke themselves.
Amazon must be lovin' this.
As an author, I have gained a deep, deep, deep (we're talkin' Grand Canyon here) appreciation for the small business owners who run independent bookstores in communities throughout our country. They promote literacy and the arts every day they open their doors, and they're not getting rich doing it. May I humbly suggest that the next time you want a book, you browse one of their stores instead of the internet?
As an author, there are all sorts of things one can do to not only sell books but also support local stores. I thought this blog had a couple of great ideas:
http://randomactsofreading.wordpress.com/2011/07/22/creative-ways-indie-bookstores-and-authors-are-working-together/
Meanwhile, here's a shout-out to just a few of my all-time favorite indie bookstores:
Sherman's Books (Maine!) who recently sponsored the Books in Boothbay Summer Book Fair. Thanks, Jeff and Audrey!
Gulf of Maine (Brunswick) and the amazing, one-of-a-kind Gary Lawless.
Children's Book Cellar (Waterville), an anchor of literacy in downtown Waterville.
Longfellow Books (Portland)
The Vermont Book Shop (Middlebury) which was my favorite bookstore when I was a student and was reportedly Robert Frost's favorite, too.
Leading the list of heart-wrenching observations is the loss of more than 25 jobs, which I agree, is a pretty bad thing, especially in this economy where it's no small feat to find another job. There's also been some praise for the franchise owner, who has been active in the community and has made efforts to promote literacy projects. Laudable stuff, that.
But as a local author, I have to confess I'm a bit bewildered by all the mourning. Not only did I have to consistently exert herculean efforts to convince the local Borders to keep my books in stock (and I'm distributed by a major publisher, so it's not like this was difficult) but I was always a bit surprised to see how many outstanding Maine authors were not on their shelves. This was in sharp contrast to our small, independently owned downtown bookstore (Gulf of Maine Books) where the owners are knowledgeable and actively promote Maine writers.
Plus, my neighbors seem to forget what happened when Borders arrived.
It located itself in a strip mall a few short years ago within (literally) a potato-bazooka-blast distance from a Maine-based bookstore/cafe called Bookland. Bookland was a largish store, filled with knowledgeable employees and book-lovers, and was a watering hole for many in our community. It hosted book signings by local authors, amazing Harry Potter parties for kids on "release" nights, sponsored literacy projects in the schools ... it was a fine store and good neighbor. It struggled mightily to remain open when Big Box Borders elbowed its way into town, but we all know the scenario: it was no match for the discounts which the multi-million dollar giant could offer customers, and eventually closed its doors. That retail space remains vacant. Oh, and a lot of people lost their jobs back then, too.
The narrative of the predatory Big Box Store and the demise of the Local Store is an oft-told, well-known tale at this point ... but it's repeated again and again in communities all over our country, and I don't understand why we haven't figured it out yet. We're all so sad when the little mom and pop convenience store, where you could get anything from screws to crochet hooks to school supplies to winter boots, is euthanized by the arrival of a Target or a WalMart, but when those chains open we all scurry to be the first to pick up deals on opening day.
Here's the really scary thing: in some communities, now that Borders has closed, there is no bookstore left. They killed off the competition, and now have disappeared in a puff of smoke themselves.
Amazon must be lovin' this.
As an author, I have gained a deep, deep, deep (we're talkin' Grand Canyon here) appreciation for the small business owners who run independent bookstores in communities throughout our country. They promote literacy and the arts every day they open their doors, and they're not getting rich doing it. May I humbly suggest that the next time you want a book, you browse one of their stores instead of the internet?
As an author, there are all sorts of things one can do to not only sell books but also support local stores. I thought this blog had a couple of great ideas:
http://randomactsofreading.wordpress.com/2011/07/22/creative-ways-indie-bookstores-and-authors-are-working-together/
Meanwhile, here's a shout-out to just a few of my all-time favorite indie bookstores:
Sherman's Books (Maine!) who recently sponsored the Books in Boothbay Summer Book Fair. Thanks, Jeff and Audrey!
Gulf of Maine (Brunswick) and the amazing, one-of-a-kind Gary Lawless.
Children's Book Cellar (Waterville), an anchor of literacy in downtown Waterville.
Longfellow Books (Portland)
The Vermont Book Shop (Middlebury) which was my favorite bookstore when I was a student and was reportedly Robert Frost's favorite, too.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Pursuit of Happiness
So late May/early June is when I hear a lot of graduation speeches.
This can be fairly mind numbing, as clichés seem to have their origins in the Graduation Speech genre. One group of inventive Bowdoin College profs I know (names withheld to protect the guilty) have come up with a sort of “bingo” they play during the graduation ceremony, checking off boxes whenever a speaker utters a particular cliché (references to the ivory tower, going forth into the world, etc.), and jumping out of their seats and shouting the name of the current governor when they have checked off all the boxes on their cards.
It’s disruptive, highly amusing to those in the know, and puzzling to the other graduation attendees.
So I was amazed and delighted to hear a speech, written by a young man who graduated from Middlebury College this past February, which not only made me laugh out loud, but made me think. Rethink, actually. And question my assumptions about a few things I had previously held dear.
Here's the excerpt that grabbed me:
The problem with the American dream, the dream so often spouted on days like today, is not simply that it leaves us chasing material success, thinking that if we just get a bigger car, a bigger house, a bigger TV, then we will be happy. It’s the very idea of the pursuit of happiness. Because happiness is not something you pursue. It’s something you create.
I loved that. The idea that happiness isn't a goal or a pursuit, but a creation. And not necessarily for ourselves.
Then, this week, an article in The Atlantic came to my attention. It was titled "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy," and the basic premise is that parenting with a primary goal of raising happy children might be resulting in a generation of unhappy adults. It also posits that shielding kids from disappointment and rejection and pain doesn't do them any favors.
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2011/07/how-to-land-your-kid-in-therapy/8555/
How many times as parents do we say, regarding our children and their futures, “I just want them to be happy.” As if that's the ultimate bottom line? The most important attribute we could ascribe to their adult selves?
Is there really anything wrong with that?
As a parent, it’s hard to hear one of your kids say “I’m not happy.” I mean, it’s sort of hard to hear it from a three-year old. But it’s sharply painful to hear it from a teenager/young adult. Your instinct, instilled from the moment of his/her birth, is to apply the bandage/erase the hurt/make it better. Because isn’t that our job? To make them well? Guide them along the road to happiness?
This article, and that speech, made me rethink happiness. I wondered, what if we stopped pursuing happiness, or just stopped considering it altogether? What would we insert in its place? What might constitute a better "pursuit?"
And how would my focus as a parent have changed if, instead of "I'm not happy" my son/daughter said, "I'm not ... compassionate."
How about, “I’m not generous.” “I’m not loving.” “I’m not kind.” "I'm not thoughtful."
When I look at it that way ... wow. Being somewhat unfulfilled or a bit bored with life or bummed out because you didn’t get invited to the party or disappointed because you didn’t get into your first choice college is … fine. Manageable. Lacking compassion is devastating.
I’m not sure how to resist being swept up in the cultural tsunami of The Self Actualized, Happy-at-all-Costs Child. It's tough enough to swim against the tide of parents in your own community, let alone a whole nation. Where we seem to think we have a constitutional right to happiness.
Maybe it's simply a matter of reordering priorities. Maybe move "compassion" to the top of the list for things we hope our children attain. Along with a capacity to forgive. The ability to show love. Loyalty. Generosity.
Somehow, I think if we make those sorts of things the goals, happiness will just happen. Something we discover along the way to a productive, unselfish life.
This can be fairly mind numbing, as clichés seem to have their origins in the Graduation Speech genre. One group of inventive Bowdoin College profs I know (names withheld to protect the guilty) have come up with a sort of “bingo” they play during the graduation ceremony, checking off boxes whenever a speaker utters a particular cliché (references to the ivory tower, going forth into the world, etc.), and jumping out of their seats and shouting the name of the current governor when they have checked off all the boxes on their cards.
It’s disruptive, highly amusing to those in the know, and puzzling to the other graduation attendees.
So I was amazed and delighted to hear a speech, written by a young man who graduated from Middlebury College this past February, which not only made me laugh out loud, but made me think. Rethink, actually. And question my assumptions about a few things I had previously held dear.
Here's the excerpt that grabbed me:
The problem with the American dream, the dream so often spouted on days like today, is not simply that it leaves us chasing material success, thinking that if we just get a bigger car, a bigger house, a bigger TV, then we will be happy. It’s the very idea of the pursuit of happiness. Because happiness is not something you pursue. It’s something you create.
I loved that. The idea that happiness isn't a goal or a pursuit, but a creation. And not necessarily for ourselves.
Then, this week, an article in The Atlantic came to my attention. It was titled "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy," and the basic premise is that parenting with a primary goal of raising happy children might be resulting in a generation of unhappy adults. It also posits that shielding kids from disappointment and rejection and pain doesn't do them any favors.
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2011/07/how-to-land-your-kid-in-therapy/8555/
How many times as parents do we say, regarding our children and their futures, “I just want them to be happy.” As if that's the ultimate bottom line? The most important attribute we could ascribe to their adult selves?
Is there really anything wrong with that?
As a parent, it’s hard to hear one of your kids say “I’m not happy.” I mean, it’s sort of hard to hear it from a three-year old. But it’s sharply painful to hear it from a teenager/young adult. Your instinct, instilled from the moment of his/her birth, is to apply the bandage/erase the hurt/make it better. Because isn’t that our job? To make them well? Guide them along the road to happiness?
This article, and that speech, made me rethink happiness. I wondered, what if we stopped pursuing happiness, or just stopped considering it altogether? What would we insert in its place? What might constitute a better "pursuit?"
And how would my focus as a parent have changed if, instead of "I'm not happy" my son/daughter said, "I'm not ... compassionate."
How about, “I’m not generous.” “I’m not loving.” “I’m not kind.” "I'm not thoughtful."
When I look at it that way ... wow. Being somewhat unfulfilled or a bit bored with life or bummed out because you didn’t get invited to the party or disappointed because you didn’t get into your first choice college is … fine. Manageable. Lacking compassion is devastating.
I’m not sure how to resist being swept up in the cultural tsunami of The Self Actualized, Happy-at-all-Costs Child. It's tough enough to swim against the tide of parents in your own community, let alone a whole nation. Where we seem to think we have a constitutional right to happiness.
Maybe it's simply a matter of reordering priorities. Maybe move "compassion" to the top of the list for things we hope our children attain. Along with a capacity to forgive. The ability to show love. Loyalty. Generosity.
Somehow, I think if we make those sorts of things the goals, happiness will just happen. Something we discover along the way to a productive, unselfish life.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Return of The Dude
It always takes me about one full week to adjust to summer.
Huh? you ask. Adjust to what? Sunshine and warmth? Fresh vegetables from the market, flowers in the garden, grilling, school’s out … ah.
Yes. School’s out. That’s it.
All the glories of summer in Maine aside, my head and my schedule have to make a tremendous adjustment each June to Teens at Home. Large bodies, fairly inert except for trips to the refrigerator, filling the house, filling the couch, filling the bed until long after noon … It knocks me off track, I’ll confess, especially since I’ve had ten months of quiet days to write, with only the dog making demands for the occasional walk.
In all fairness, I’m not describing my daughter, who is a veritable dervish most of time, and even when she is “relaxing” is productive in her art room, or trotting off to the library for a new book on tape, or going to her summer job or heading with friends to the beach. She’s actually the kid we entreat to watch more television, maybe play a few rounds of Angry Birds on the iPad.
No, I’m talking about The Dude, who has returned from college. Where, reportedly, he functioned. He got up and went to class and, judging from the grades he received, did the reading and learned something. He did laundry. He went to meals, joined clubs, made friends. In other words: The Dude was alive.
But then, year over, he returned to the nest.
“So what’s with the vegetative state?” little sister asked me, upon his return. The contents of his dorm room were still strewn about his room, which did not smell good. Which was probably due to the fact that the door remained closed well into the early afternoon, as he slept.
“What happened last night?” his father asked me, when, his day beginning at 2:00 in the afternoon, after his beauty rest and shower, The Dude met up with friends and returned loudly home at 1:30 A.M. It sounded like thieves had broken into the house and were ransacking the refrigerator.
I don’t why everyone expects me to have the answers to these questions.
“What happened?” I asked The Dude. “Did you have a lobotomy when no one was looking?”
“Huh?” was the reply. Truly, he was perplexed.
While there may well be no answer to this problematic question of why and how young people, who fully function as adults out of the parental home, manage to completely regress once back in the bosom of their families, there is a solution: The Summer Job.
In The Dude’s case, this is quite a job. Not only will he leave the parental nest once again and relocate to an island in Maine, but he will be responsible for a camp’s worth of boys for six solid weeks. He’ll be a camp counselor/tennis instructor/trip leader, taking boys into the woods or down Maine’s rivers for days at a time.
He will not only get himself up and jump in the lake at 7:30 every morning, but he will get The Little Dudes up. He will not only keep his tent clean and his stuff organized, he will entreat Little Dudes to do likewise. He will nag. He will remind. He will instruct.
He will know how it feels to push molasses up a mountain. And yes, I’m enjoying this.
Best of all, for six weeks, The Dude’s focus will be on someone else. Instead of being taken care of, he’ll do the caretaking. Instead of “self actualizing” he’ll help others come into their own, make friends, learn new skills. He’ll work to keep them safe and help them have a memorable summer.
I really can't think of a better way for him to spend his time right now.
So, tonight’s the farewell dinner and movie with The Dude, then he’s off. Little sister, The Dervish, will still be home, so life’s not quiet … but it’s not sponge life, either.
The New York Times had a great feature about teens finding summer jobs this season, which we all know is no easy thing in this economy. Take a look. I particularly enjoyed the kid in the carrot suit.
http://tinyurl.com/3ktchjq
Huh? you ask. Adjust to what? Sunshine and warmth? Fresh vegetables from the market, flowers in the garden, grilling, school’s out … ah.
Yes. School’s out. That’s it.
All the glories of summer in Maine aside, my head and my schedule have to make a tremendous adjustment each June to Teens at Home. Large bodies, fairly inert except for trips to the refrigerator, filling the house, filling the couch, filling the bed until long after noon … It knocks me off track, I’ll confess, especially since I’ve had ten months of quiet days to write, with only the dog making demands for the occasional walk.
In all fairness, I’m not describing my daughter, who is a veritable dervish most of time, and even when she is “relaxing” is productive in her art room, or trotting off to the library for a new book on tape, or going to her summer job or heading with friends to the beach. She’s actually the kid we entreat to watch more television, maybe play a few rounds of Angry Birds on the iPad.
No, I’m talking about The Dude, who has returned from college. Where, reportedly, he functioned. He got up and went to class and, judging from the grades he received, did the reading and learned something. He did laundry. He went to meals, joined clubs, made friends. In other words: The Dude was alive.
But then, year over, he returned to the nest.
“So what’s with the vegetative state?” little sister asked me, upon his return. The contents of his dorm room were still strewn about his room, which did not smell good. Which was probably due to the fact that the door remained closed well into the early afternoon, as he slept.
“What happened last night?” his father asked me, when, his day beginning at 2:00 in the afternoon, after his beauty rest and shower, The Dude met up with friends and returned loudly home at 1:30 A.M. It sounded like thieves had broken into the house and were ransacking the refrigerator.
I don’t why everyone expects me to have the answers to these questions.
“What happened?” I asked The Dude. “Did you have a lobotomy when no one was looking?”
“Huh?” was the reply. Truly, he was perplexed.
While there may well be no answer to this problematic question of why and how young people, who fully function as adults out of the parental home, manage to completely regress once back in the bosom of their families, there is a solution: The Summer Job.
In The Dude’s case, this is quite a job. Not only will he leave the parental nest once again and relocate to an island in Maine, but he will be responsible for a camp’s worth of boys for six solid weeks. He’ll be a camp counselor/tennis instructor/trip leader, taking boys into the woods or down Maine’s rivers for days at a time.
He will not only get himself up and jump in the lake at 7:30 every morning, but he will get The Little Dudes up. He will not only keep his tent clean and his stuff organized, he will entreat Little Dudes to do likewise. He will nag. He will remind. He will instruct.
He will know how it feels to push molasses up a mountain. And yes, I’m enjoying this.
Best of all, for six weeks, The Dude’s focus will be on someone else. Instead of being taken care of, he’ll do the caretaking. Instead of “self actualizing” he’ll help others come into their own, make friends, learn new skills. He’ll work to keep them safe and help them have a memorable summer.
I really can't think of a better way for him to spend his time right now.
So, tonight’s the farewell dinner and movie with The Dude, then he’s off. Little sister, The Dervish, will still be home, so life’s not quiet … but it’s not sponge life, either.
The New York Times had a great feature about teens finding summer jobs this season, which we all know is no easy thing in this economy. Take a look. I particularly enjoyed the kid in the carrot suit.
http://tinyurl.com/3ktchjq
Monday, April 4, 2011
Buzzing
This blog is taking a break this week because I'm BUZZING! Visit me at the Random House Teen Book Community, Random Buzzers: http://www.randombuzzers.com/ You can ask questions about JERSEY TOMATOES ARE THE BEST and I'll do my best to answer before the week is out. Thanks for dropping by!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Virtual Tour
Until very recently, I didn't know what a "Blog Tour" was. I don't want to confess how recently, because that would reveal my complete ineptness (is that word?) when it comes to Cyberworld Book Promotion, and book promotion in general ...
I had always assumed you promoted a book by going to bookstores and signing copies, or getting invited to nice events where people wanted to hear you talk about yourself or your book, and maybe they'd buy a copy. Pictured to the left is the "standard fare" of book promotion: stacks of Jersey Tomatoes Are the Best, offered for sale by a couple of very nice people, Gary Lawless and Beth Leonard of Gulf of Maine Books, an Indie Extraordinaire. They attended my book launch party, sold a few copies, and I signed.
That's it, right? Authors head out to stores or libraries or conferences, meet people, and sign books. In person.
But then my publicist told me that Tomatoes would be out on a Virtual Tour, a.k.a. a Blog Tour, and in the course of a mere week we can visit thousands of potential readers from all over the world, let alone Main Street in our home towns. If you're like me, and have only just learned about this sort of thing, here's how it works:
For five days, five different young adult bloggers will post reviews and interviews about Jersey Tomatoes Are the Best. Each blogger has asked different questions, so if you follow the tour you won't be subjected to the same material over and over. At the conclusion of each post, they'll "link" to the next day's blogger, as well as reference the previous post. It's a great way to spread the word about the book, as well as connect "followers" from one blog to another.
Most of the bloggers on the tour will be offering contests/book giveaways, so if you're interested you could win a copy of Tomatoes!
Here's the lineup for the Jersey Tomatoes Are the Best Blog Tour. I hope you can drop in for some, if not all, the stops along the way:
Monday, March 28: Steph Su Reads http://stephsureads.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, March 29: The Book Butterfly http://thebookbutterfly.com/
Wednesday, March 30: Random Acts of Reading http://randomactsofreading.wordpress.com/
Thursday, March 31: The Reading Zone http://thereadingzone.wordpress.com/
Friday, April 1st: Cleverly Inked http://cleverlyinked.com/
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