Amy Butler Greenfield

April showers, May flowers

Tue, 01 May 2012 09:30:59 GMT

It's been one of the wettest Aprils in English history - the soggiest in over a century. But at least I can attest to the truth of that old saying: April showers really do bring May flowers.

Our family missed some of the sogginess because we spent much of April traveling in America, where it was so hot I had to go shopping for sundresses. As always, it was wonderful to see friends and family. I even zipped down to New York to meet my editor and agent face-to-face for the first time, which was great fun. But the super-busy busy schedule had our whole family pretty tired by the end... and then I got food poisoning. So lesson learned: The next trip will be shorter and slower-paced. (Dear friends, if I don't get to see you next time, it isn't because I don't miss you! Write a letter, give me a call - we'll find other ways to bridge the distance.)

My suitcases are unpacked now, and it's a joy to be home. And those May flowers are one reason why:

My Snake's Head Fritillaries, aka Checkered Daffodils, Chess Flowers, Frog-cups, Guinea-hen Flowers, Leper Lilies, Lazarus Bells, and Checkered Lilies. They love all the rain we've been getting

The Angelique tulips were just coming into bloom when I came home

This clematis brightens our kitchen sink window.

Even the greenery is radiant.

Daffodils in the neighborhood

I've been a little mad about daffodils this year, I confess... but truly, how could anyone resist these?

I grew up in the Adirondack Mountains, where it was too chilly on May 1st for most flowers to bloom, so the bounty here is a continual astonishment and delight to me. Of course the weeds grow, too - I started hoeing them down yesterday - but I'll happily pay that price for flowers like these.

Happy May, everyone!

Thankful Thursday: Writing Retreat

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 18:44:53 GMT

My word for this year is GROW, and that means doing some things I thought were beyond me. I did one of them last week: my first writing retreat.

I've always wanted to go on a writing retreat, but until now it never worked out. Sometimes money was the problem, sometimes health, sometimes family circumstances... sometimes all three.

Mostly I've been resigned to this; I have bad retreat karma, and that's that. But when I heard that Kindling Words was holding a retreat here in the UK in March 2012, I desperately wanted to go, especially since some very dear friends were going to be there, friends I rarely get to see.

I just didn't see how I could make it work.

Last fall, when we were supposed to sign up, I was going through a lupus flare. These happen sometimes, and I just grit my teeth and get through them, but this one was bad enough that my doctors decided it was time to try a new treatment... and the treatment just wasn't working.

But then, in mid-February, I finally started to see some results. It's not a cure (those are really, really rare with lupus), but the pain finally started to recede.

Unfortunately, the improvement had come too late for the retreat. Or so I thought. But then out of the blue, lovely Alison James of Kindling Words wrote again, just before the retreat began, urging me to come just for the weekend if I could; she said they would find space for me. I pieced together the travel arrangements and snagged the very last room in the hotel. My generous husband offered to cover for me at home and helped me pack. And suddenly I was on a train to the Lake District, headed for the misty hills of Derwentwater:

As you can see, the weather was blustery - perfect for curling up with a manuscript, or for a writerly chat over tea and scones. But we had sunny hours, too:

The lovely jeannineatkins, taking a post-breakfast perambulation with me

The view from the hotel window

My three days there were filled with laughter, hugs, and book talk. I wrote. I meditated. I spooned up sticky toffee pudding. I got soaked to the skin on a soppy lake cruise. I stayed up for late night heart-to-hearts.

The food was incredible, the company even better. An enchanted weekend, right down to the fairy butter sculpture:

Really, truly, she's made of butter.

Look at those wings!

To be honest, the trip was at the limit of what's possible for me at the moment, and I'm still in recovery mode back here at home. But as I told a friend the other day, I know the exhaustion will fade - and the memories of that weekend will be with me forever.

Thankful Thursday: Mr. Lynch's Wonderful Readers

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 11:05:24 GMT

Recently I had one of the best surprises of my writing life, and it concerned a book that came out nine years ago.

Lots of people judge whether a book is a success by what happens in that first year, or even in the first few months. By that standard, my first book, Virginia Bound -- a story about a boy who is kidnapped from London and shipped to Virginia as an indentured servant in the 1620s -- barely held its own. There was a recession that year, and I wasn't able to do a lot of publicity for it, and for a while I feared it would never find its audience.

Turns out, though, that the book was just a late bloomer. The year after it was published, it started showing up on state lists. Sales went up, not down. A few years after that it won a children's choice award. And now, nine years down the line, I still get some lovely reader mail for it.

Still, I've never had a letter quite like the one I received last month from Mr. Andrew Lynch, a fourth-grade teacher at Creighton's Corner Elementary School in Virginia. He emailed me to let me know that he'd read Virginia Bound to his class, and they'd kept a blog of the experience.

And oh, what a wonderful blog it is! At the end of key chapters, Mr. Lynch would ask them how they felt about what had happened, whether they would have made the same choices, and could they guess what would happen next. Even at the start, their answers are terrific. And as they get farther into the story, you can see how deeply engaged they become with the book and the characters -- and loveliest of all, with each other, because there's plenty of respectful but forthright debate in their blog. I tackle some really tough issues in Virginia Bound, and they were with me all the way.

In reading their blog, I got as close as a writer can to experiencing my book as readers do.

As Madeleine L'Engle once said, "With each book I write, I become more and more convinced that the books have a life of their own, quite apart from me.

It is wonderful to have a glimpse of the life my book is leading in Creighton's Corner Elementary School. Thank you, Mr. Lynch's fourth graders! You are wonderful readers, and you are moving and powerful writers, too.

Revisions and courage

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 12:37:51 GMT

After a month of hard labor, I'm coming into the home stretch with these revisions... hooray!

Revising under deadline is always a fraught process, I find. I'm lucky because my editor wrote me a wonderful letter and lots of notes, which built on what I'd already done and opened up new possibilities. Yet it's easy for me to doubt myself at every stage of writing, and revision is no exception.

Revising under deadline only ratchets up the anxiety. Do I change this character's name? Do I put the new scene here or here? Do I jettison a good scene in hope of a great one?

The annotated manuscript

When doubt freezes me up, I remember a story I heard from Frank Cottrell Boyce at the SCBWI-UK conference last November. Apparently, if you look at Mary Norton's drafts for The Borrowers you'll see that she made some brilliant late-stage changes, including elements that now strike us as essential, such as the title and the character's "borrowed" names. The Borrowers only became a classic, in short, because Norton was fearless in revising to the last.

"Fearless" is not exactly my middle name. Yet I'm finding that courage is a good companion as I revise. I've pushed myself to dive deep; I've had to trust my instincts. But I think Chantress will be a better book because of it.

Wordless Wednesday: Fuel for the last lap of revisions...

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 15:27:38 GMT

... a lemon meringue tart

Wordless Wednesday: First primroses of 2012

Wed, 11 Jan 2012 17:20:28 GMT

Resolutions, growing, and gardens

Fri, 06 Jan 2012 11:37:46 GMT

I'm a bit late to the resolution game this year, and that's only partly because I'm in the middle of revisions. Truth is, 2012 is shaping up to be a challenging year. When I finally sat down to take a look at what I'm juggling, the single-spaced list went on for over a page. And some of those juggling balls are mighty big: WRITE BOOK TWO, for instance.

So challenging is putting it nicely. How about terrifying?

After making that list I felt like cowering under the covers till 2013. Only I'm not sure it's going to get any easier then. And cowering under the covers isn't any fun.

Yesterday I decided it was time to reframe things. It's the beginning of January, and when I look at that list, some of the items on it look darn near impossible. I have no idea how to pull them off. But you know what? I don't need to know right now. I don't need to have the perfect game plan. I just need to get in there and try. Because in the very act of doing these things, I'm going to grow. And it's the growing that will help me find a way through them.

So that's my word for this year: GROW.

I have to admit, the word was inspired partly by a New Year's visit to the Oxford Botanic Garden, where I saw these beauties:

Geraniums -- aren't they bright?!

Oranges! In midwinter! Admittedly in an orangery.

Cyclamen blooms, which look so fragile but are surprisingly sturdy

Snowdrops -- the earliest I've ever seen.

Who knows? Maybe by the end of the year, my word for 2012 will turn out to be BLOOM.

Lucia Day magic

Tue, 13 Dec 2011 17:08:26 GMT

For me, Christmas always really began with Lucia Day. From way back, I remember waking in darkness and dressing, then sneaking down to the dim warmth of the kitchen, where I would tie the smooth red ribbons of the Lucia crown under my chin. The crown was heavy, and the evergreens made it scratchy -- but what a wonder it was when the candles were lit, and the light moved with me.

Wonderful as Christmas itself was, for me it was Lucia Day that was truly magic. The flaming crown, in all honesty, would have been enough to guarantee that. Yet there were other, subtler enchantments as well: the smell of cardamom, oranges, and chocolate; the glow of red candleholders against green boughs; our wistful recording of the "Santa Lucia" melody and the exuberant folk songs that followed it.

This year, for the first time, my daughter had her own crown of candles -- electric ones, for safety's sake, but still so beautiful. We lit our Swedish candles in the morning darkness; we listened to the same crackly Swedish recording that I used to listen to as a child; we feasted on Lussekatter, julekage, hot chocolate, and oranges.

And it was magic all over again.

Lussekatter (Lucia buns made with saffron and pools of butter) and Swedish candlesticks

Our Lucia Queen in front of the fire

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Climbing the story mountain

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 10:12:35 GMT

Tuesday morning, and it feels like I'm climbing a mountain. I'm a quarter of the way up, and I can't even see the top of the mountain for the mists. I'm going to get lost here, I can just tell. I might even barrel my way clear off the mountain face. And in the meantime, every muddy step feels like a slog.

But it’s time to lace my boots up, and get going. Because I know that once I start moving, I’ll remember why I do this: For the moments of grace when I find the right words. For the sheer rush of joy when I hear my characters speaking to me. And for the richness of getting to know this story’s wild heart.

Wishing luck to everyone who's out in those story mountains with me!

Highlights from the SCBWI Winchester Conference

Mon, 21 Nov 2011 19:39:22 GMT

I'm writing in the wake of an exhausting but oh-so-wonderful weekend at the British SCBWI annual conference in Winchester. So much to think about, so many people to thank, so much unpacking to do! But I did want to write down a few highlights right now, while they're fresh in my mind.

Frank Cottrell Boyce (author of Millions, Framed, and Cosmic) spoke for two sessions, and he made us laugh and made us think in both of them. Here are a couple of the things he said that won my heart:

"Children's books are about taking something you love and passing it on."

"If you're disciplined you'll get what you planned for... but there is a grace in chaos."

David McDougall, the Art Director at Walker Books echoed many in saying he was excited about digital possibilities, but he added:

"In a digital age, it is important to make books you want to keep" (He cited the truly astounding A Monster Calls as an example.)

Finally, one of the most amazing speakers at an amazing conference was Candy Gourlay, winner of the European Crystal Kite Award for her debut Tall Story. Candy is a legend within British SCWBI, and her speech is worth reading in full, but here's a taste of it:

"...I got that this long journey was not just about getting published, it was about LIVING A CREATIVE LIFE and all the striving, the struggling, the honing your craft, the finding the time, the rejections? That was part of the package. I had to stop yearning for the Creative Life because the Creative Life was NOW."

A sale and a leap of faith

Fri, 14 Oct 2011 09:40:01 GMT

As writers, we have to make a lot of leaps of faith: Believing we can create something out of nothing. Believing we have a story to tell. Believing someone will want to hear it. Believing our work is worth doing.

In my writing life, there have been a lot of those crazy leaps, but maybe none so big as the one I made five years ago, during a very bleak time in my life. I was between books then - never a happy place for me to be - and I couldn't settle on what to write next. My mind was a muddle of other people's voices - editors, agents, critics, reviewers, well-meaning family and friends. I could no longer hear myself. It didn't help that it had been a devastating year for me personally, and that the blows showed no sign of stopping.

One day, reeling from news that I thought would break me apart, I sat down in a coffeeshop and just let myself write about how I felt. And there on the page, I asked myself a question:

If you were only allowed one more book, what would it be?

Sometimes when you ask the right question, you get an answer. Right there in the coffeeshop, a story started to come to me. And kept coming over the next days and weeks and months. A story about - of all things - a Spymaster, a ruby, and a girl who heard music that no one else could hear. A girl who needed to find her own voice to survive.

It wasn't like anything I'd ever written before. It wasn't anything like my agent or editors were expecting from me. But oh, how I wanted to write it!

And so I did.

It took me much longer that I expected, partly because I had a baby not long after I started, and also because we later made an international move. I had to set the work aside for long periods of time - at one point for more than a year - and even when I was working on it I usually only had tiny pockets of time. The story, too, was a challenge, requiring many more drafts than usual.

But this leap of faith has a happy ending. When the book finally went out last month, it had the good luck to fall into the hands of Julie Just at Janklow & Nesbit. She loved the story so much that it made me cry. And when the book went out to editors, well, my friends... that was one amazing week. And now the book has found a home.

Here's the official announcement: ,

From this week's PW Children's Bookshelf:

"In a pre-empt just before Frankfurt, Karen Wojtyla of Margaret K. McElderry Books bought a YA series by Amy Butler Greenfield called Chantress. The series, set in London in the 1660s, centers on a girl who can sing magic in a world that forbids it; her talent quickly gets her into trouble with an evil Lord Protector and his mind-stealing ravens. The first book in the trilogy is set for summer 2013. Greenfield is the author of the middle-grade novel Virginia Bound and the nonfiction book A Perfect Red. Julie Just of Janklow & Nesbit Associates negotiated the deal for North American rights."

So here's to leaps of faith! And here's to the friends - including you wonderful people who read this blog - who helped sustain me through mine.

Ghosts of ourselves

Mon, 12 Sep 2011 15:46:39 GMT

Can a ghost be in two places at once?

Last month I saw two houses where the same woman seemed to walk. As luck would have it, she was a writer: the extraordinary Vita Sackville-West.

At the turn of the last century, she grew up at Knole, one of the greatest of England's great houses. This palace of a place is said to be a "calendar house," meaning it has 365 rooms, 52 staircases, 12 entrances and 7 courtyards -- not to mention its own deer park.

As you can see, Knole is enormous.

Even a close-up can't help but be substantial.

The clock tower

And here are the deer.

Amazing as the outside is, the inside is even more extraordinary. The darkened rooms are filled with priceless paintings and shimmering silver and exquisite tapestries. Passages lead every which way, and steps appear where you least expect them. At the top of the ballroom walls, mermaids dance. If houses can have souls, this one does.

By the time Vita came along, Knole had belonged to the Sackvilles for nearly three centuries. She was an only child, and her parents were cousins. Had she been a boy, she would have inherited without question. Instead she lost the house, and she never quite got over the blow. When you walk through the house, it's hard not to hear the footsteps of her ghost.

She did, however, go on to create another extraordinary place with her husband Harold Nicholson. I've wanted to see their gardens at Sissinghurst for a long time.

The tower at Sissinghurst

A quiet corner of the White Garden

The blooms are exquisite.

And so are the color combinations.

A purple border, with the tower just visible in the upper right

You can feel Vita Sackville-West's ghost in this place, too -- especially in her writing room in the tower, which is kept just as she left it. There are fresh flowers on the tables, as there were in her day.

Seeing these places made me wonder if we all leave pieces of ourselves behind in the places we love most deeply. If so, there are ghosts of me out there... by a waterfall, in a barn, in a yellow bungalow surrounded by lilac, lavender, and roses.

Are there any ghosts of you?

Traveling back in time

Thu, 18 Aug 2011 10:55:25 GMT

What do I love best about England? It might be all the time travel. The other week we managed to work our way back to Regency England, and then medieval England, and then finally the Stone Age, all in the space of a day.

We started in Lacock, an English village used as the location for the 1995 BBC Pride and Prejudice and for a host of other films and series, including Cranford. Jane Austen fans, hold onto your hats!

We arrived so early that only the locals were about.

It was easy to imagine how Lacock looked in Lizzie Bennet's time.

From Lacock village, we walked through gardens to reach Lacock Abbey, a grand manor built around a former abbey dissolved by Henry VIII. It has a real Northanger Abbey feel to it, with bits and pieces added to it over the centuries. Until 1946, it had its very own copy of Magna Carta on the premises. (The founding abbess was a widow on one of its signers.) Lately its biggest claim to fame is that it was used as a location in the Harry Potter films.

The cloisters were my favorite part.

But lots of other parts were spectacular, too.

After a spectacular meal of toasted local brie and tomato sandwiches, we then headed up the road to a very ancient site indeed: Avebury, a stone circle thought to have been built over 4500 years ago. We reached just as a thunderstorm was sweeping up, but it would have been a dramatic place at any time. The sheer scale alone is awe-inspiring.

How on earth did they drag these stones here? No one knows.

But there are a lot of them.

And you can see how time has carved them all.

It was a lot to cram into one day, I suppose, but it gave me the feeling of being in a time machine, and traveling further and further back into English history with each stop. And now I'm home again, with my mind full of sights and sounds and smells that I can use for my usual kind of time-travel... the kind that happens at my writing desk.

An afternoon in Bath

Mon, 08 Aug 2011 20:29:08 GMT

Isn't it wonderful when you get to meet an online friend for the first time? I was thrilled to meet Stephanie Burgis this past Saturday in the beautiful city of Bath, where she was signing her new book, A Tangle of Magicks. I've known Steph for a couple of years through LJ, and I loved her first book, A Most Improper Magick. But it's only this weekend that we finally met face-to-face. What joy!

Note the gorgeous, sparkly chandelier -- and the gorgeous and sparkly book cover!

Bath is a beautiful city, the last word in Regency elegance. Although I've been there several times before, I think this may have been the most fun trip of all. David and Sweetpea came with me, and we all had a grand time celebrating with Stephanie and friends in the Pump Room.

You can see lots more photos of the day on Stephanie's blog. And you can read all about A Tangle of Magicks here. It promises to be just as wonderful a blend of Jane Austen, Georgette Heyer, and magic as the first book!

Alice's Day

Thu, 14 Jul 2011 13:51:45 GMT

I fell in love with Oxford on the page long before I ever met it in the flesh. And I know I'm not alone. Oxford glories in its literary connections, and it inspires a lot of fiction: Colin Dexter's Inspector Morse novels, Max Beerbohm's Zuleika Dobson, Dorothy L Sayers's Gaudy Night, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials, Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited, and Connie Willis's To Say Nothing of the Dog - and that's just scratching the surface.

But if there's any Oxford novel that can be said to be the granddaddy of them all, it's Alice in Wonderland. On July 4, 1862, during a boating expedition in Oxford, young Alice Liddell begged mathematics professor Charles Dodgson for a story, and Dodgson obliged with the beginnings of Wonderland. Later he published a written version under his pen name, Lewis Carroll. Thanks to the Story Museum, this first telling of Alice in Wonderland is now celebrated in Oxford with much fanfare as Alice's Day.

At four, Sweetpea is an enthusiastic Alice fan, so we brought her - all dressed up in her Alice clothes - to the party. White Rabbits and Caterpillars regaled us on the streets, there were storytellers and musicians galore, and we even dropped in on a Mad Hatter's tea party. Everything was free, and Sweetpea had a ball. (I lost track of how many tourists asked if she was "the real Alice.")

Some pictures from the day:

The Story Museum dressed up for the occasion

One of many Mad Hatters

Playing cards were everywhere

A dodo at the Natural History Museum

A quiet moment in the Covered Market with "Alice"

Happy birthday, America!

Mon, 04 Jul 2011 18:26:03 GMT

I remember, years ago, a friend's British cousin telling me that in the UK, the Fourth of July was "just another day." My ten-year-old mind boggled. (I think I'd pictured them all in mourning.)

But that's pretty much how it is. Though I did spot this poster for "Independents' Day" in an Oxford shop window today, boosting the "buy local" campaign:

At our house, though, we're going for broke. It's been a gorgeous, sunny, American-summer kind of day, and Sweetpea took an American flag to school for show-and-tell (a big hit, we were told). We paraded to Sousa and sang "Yankee Doodle." And following in last year's footsteps, we had a birthday cake for America, a (mostly) strawberry shortcake:

Note the 13 blueberries...

Wishing happy celebrations to all my American friends -- wherever you happen to be.

Revision: Two views

Thu, 16 Jun 2011 12:35:41 GMT

How much should you revise?

I'm always curious how other authors answer this question. And this spring, at a Bodleian Library's exhibition on the Shelleys, I had a chance to study how two authors revised in the days before typewriters (to say nothing of computers).*** Mary and Percy Bysshe Shelley were a star-crossed pair if there ever was one, and it turns out they had entirely different approaches to revision.

Here is a page from Mary Shelley's draft of Frankenstein:

Look at those neat lines flowing across the page! And note the minimal changes to the manuscript. A word here, a sentence there -- and this was one of the messier pages I saw.

What's most interesting is that the edits were generally written in her husband's hand.

But if Percy Bysshe Shelley was tough on Mary's work, he was far harder on his own. He won my heart with this heavily lined and be-scribbled draft of his sonnet Ozymandias:

Wholesale "re-visioning" here! And some great doodling, too. (If you don't know the sonnet, it's wonderful, and well worth the short time it takes to read. You can find it here.)

Here's another one of his drafts:

Doodling seems to have been part of his method. I'm thinking I might try giving it a try, too.

I rarely write anything as clean as Mary Shelley's first draft of Frankenstein. So it's reassuring to see that Percy Bysshe was willing to cut his first drafts to shreds, too.

***I caught the Bodleian exhibit on one of its last days, but a version of it will travel to the New York Public Library in February 2012. And you can visit the online version of the show here, complete with Percy's raisin plate and Mary's hair. How can you resist?!

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Coming home

Thu, 26 May 2011 13:56:51 GMT

Sorry I haven't been around much! I've been away from my desk lately, partly because we spent a lot of last month in the air and on the road, visiting friends and family in America.

It was quite a trip, not least because it began exactly one year (to the day) since we'd moved to the UK.

Logan Airport isn't exactly glamorous, but when we touched ground and saw the triple-deckers and sea grass across the tarmac, I got all weepy. A year is a long time, I guess. At least it is when you're missing the people you love best.

We didn't get to see everyone we'd hoped to -- not by a long shot -- but we packed in as many as we could. It was heaven to be with them, to see how we've all grown (especially the kids), to let the conversation zing between past and present, quotidian and sublime, in the way it does with good friends.

After all that, I wasn't sure how I'd feel coming back to the UK.

But funnily enough, when I came in the door what I felt was: We're home. The light, the air, the sounds, the smells... they all felt familiar and welcoming and right. And I was surprised, over the next days, by how many of our new friends had missed us, and how warmly we were greeted, and how good it was to catch up with all the doings here.

I know I'll still have times when I feel torn between two countries, still have minutes and hours and days when homesickness swamps me. But I'm starting to believe I might be able to bloom where I'm planted.

The Angelique tulips were in bloom on the day we came home...

...and the footpaths were awash with cow parsley

How to be burned at the stake

Thu, 24 Mar 2011 14:49:26 GMT

A beloved early mentor of mine, the late Dona Vaughn, told me that her first critique group was brutal. How brutal? Well, let's just say the first part of their critiquing handbook was called "How to Be Burned at the Stake." The second, "How to Light the Match." *

I've never been in a group as ferocious as that. But even so, my heart pounds with anxiety every time I submit a piece for critique, especially if it's going out to someone new. It's a tricky thing, this sharing of early work, and I find it hard to do even with people I trust.

I've come to see it's worth doing, though, because that's how you connect with good critiquers -- and good critiquers are one of life's great blessings. They ask the right questions; they point out the bits that don't connect; they help you dream and plot and plan. I'm grateful for every one I've ever had, Dona included.

This month I'm feeling especially thankful for the critiquers of my current novel-in-progress -- starting with some amazing writers from home who read the whole book, and continuing on to the great critique groups I've found here in England.

In truth, I may have had almost too many critiquers this time around. The early chapters have had more than fifteen readers, way more than I've had on previous manuscripts. So I'm pulling back now, mulling over what everyone's said and listening for what chimes and echoes inside me.

Still, there's nothing like a bunch of thoughtful and enthusiastic readers to make you want to get working again. It's even better when your readers think you're almost there. I'm digging into my manuscript with new heart and fresh insights, and I'm excited about where this story is going to go next.

* (If you're looking for a kinder orientation to the gentle art of critiquing, I recommend Becky Levine's The Writing & Critique Group Survival Guide. And Cheryl Klein's lectures, now available in her book Second Sight, are a fabulous guide to editing a whole manuscript.)

Hang spring-cleaning!

Thu, 17 Mar 2011 11:55:10 GMT

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.... till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O blow!' and also 'Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat.--The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame

Oh, Mole! I'm tempted to bolt along with you.

All winter long, I've been tied to a grueling to-do list. "Taxes" is actually one of the more agreeable items on it, which speaks volumes. Meanwhile our whole family's been reeling from one preschool virus to another, and we've had some more serious worries, too. Considering the devastation so many people are suffering right now, I know I shouldn't complain. But this winter's been enough to turn me a pale shade of blue.

A fine spring day is a help, though, and we're getting more and more of those this month. Our town is awash in crocuses and daffodils, and even a few tulips are showing their colors. When I clear away the breakfast table, the blackbirds in the garden make me laugh with their worm-pulling antics.

I wish, like Mole, I could just say "Hang spring-cleaning!" and forget about the chores that are waiting for me. But since I can't, I'm at least trying to make time to really look at those daffodils and blackbirds, and to savor whatever good moments come. And I'm writing in the cracks and the corners, wherever and whenever I find space.

I'm glad now that I planted all those bulbs last fall...

Winter into spring

Thu, 10 Feb 2011 15:42:04 GMT

Usually I'm the first to sing winter's praises. I love the stillness of the season, the beauty of bare branches, the way the cold reduces things to their essence. And as a writer, winter holds other charms for me as well. I call it my "hunkering down" time, when everything goes quiet, and all things seem possible, and I can dive deep into a story.

But this winter I've been ambushed by a whole host of life challenges, and new writing -- even old writing -- just isn't possible most days. I know things won't always be this way, but too often I'm just trudging through this winter, longing for signs of spring.

So you can imagine how happy I was to see these in my garden:

The first snowdrops

Some stalwart pulmonaria (aka lungwort, Jerusalem cowslip, and spotted dog)

They're living reminders that no winter lasts forever.

Build your own castle

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 19:17:12 GMT

Ever wished you could live in a castle? Ever wanted to bring a ruin back to life?

Me, too. Which is why I loved a show I saw this week on Channel 4's Grand Designs. In it, a middle-aged architect and his wife sell their ordinary house, buy a 14th-century castle ruin in Yorkshire, and then try to make it into their home.

We are blessed here in Britain with good TV. Lately there's been Downton Abbey to keep us happy, and three all-new episodes of Upstairs, Downstairs. But my very favorite show of all is this one, and here's why:

The romance of the ruin is indisputable, and oh, the views! But "ruin" isn't a euphemism: The place has no roof, the walls are crumbling; trees are growing up inside it. And when one of the largest walls comes crashing down, I thought it was all over.

But I was wrong. The crash is a turning point, and it moves them forward. Step by step they bring the castle back to life.

From this...

...to this! For more stunning photos, click here.

While I watched it, I thought about ruins and wrecks and rebuilding. And about art and beauty and persistence. And the way love carries us through.

It was good inspiration for writing.

What's inspired you as a writer lately? I'd love to hear about it!

***[19 Jan 2011: ETA a new and even more ruinous original picture of the castle]***

Snowbound

Thu, 13 Jan 2011 18:44:50 GMT

Snow started falling here in southern England the day before we were due to fly back home for Christmas. By morning the whole country was snowbound, and we had no hope of getting out. We had to make other plans for Christmas and put off our visit home till spring.

It was a real shock to miss that flight. To get over it, I had to throw my whole heart into celebrating the holidays here. But celebrate we did, with spirit, despite icy roads and food shortages and a niggling sense that we stood half in one world and half in another.

Several weeks on, this continues to be a season of dark and light for me, wonderful and terrible by turns.

So no grand resolutions for me this year. I'm just trying to stay ready for whatever comes. But outside my window, on New Year's Day, I saw two crows silhouetted against the gray morning light.

One for sorrow, two for joy...

Not a promise, exactly. But maybe a reminder -- to take joy, wherever and whenever it appears.

Jack Frost

Tue, 07 Dec 2010 15:07:12 GMT

It's dark here in England, as dark as I've ever known. Even at seven in the morning, it's night. The sun doesn't rise till just past eight, and it goes down before four. And if it's cloudy, light is even scarcer.

But there are compensations.

One came last night, when I found myself sitting in the warm glow of an Oxford pub with other children's writers, talking about how we write and why we write and why it's worth the struggle. It doesn't hurt that the pub is one where Tolkien and Lewis and the Inklings sometimes met, and where Thomas Hardy is thought to have written Jude the Obscure. But really, it was the writers who were there last night, gathered around the battered table, who made my evening bright.

And although it's bitterly cold here, there are compensations for that, too. When I was growing up, I often woke to winter windows etched white with whorls and ferns of ice, but here in England Jack Frost works on a larger scale, gilding every twig and leaf and blade of grass. The other night he outdid himself, and we woke up in faerieland:

Wishing you all brightness and light in these dark days!

The deadline approaches...

Tue, 30 Nov 2010 15:32:03 GMT

The end of November already?!

Arrggh. I lost the last two weeks to a raging case of bronchitis, complete with super-high fevers, vertigo, and asthma attacks. I'm still not quite back on my feet, but I'm checking in to say I'm still in the land of the living. And also to give a huge cheer for everyone who's racing for a deadline today, whether it's for NaNoWriMo, JoNoWriMo, or something else altogether.

Go, friends, go! I'm sending you virtual pie. And fresh macarons.