Son of Tam

The Sweetest Dream Will Never Do

I've been thinking a lot about covers lately.  When I was a kid I used to listen to music a lot with my mom, who was partial to female vocalists and musicians.  It was important for me to know whether the person performing had written the song or not.  I saw the artist as somehow diminished if she did not write the song she was singing.  It seemed to me as a child in the seventies that if I could sing someone else's song with some amount of conviction, that I should expect a bit more from the ladies I was listening to. 

 

However, I've recently developed a new appreciation for interpretation of another's song.  I usually want to learn a song because I fall in love with it.  I am so in love with it, and with the version I'm familiar with, that I cannot imagine a new way to do it.  I just want to replicate what I've heard. And this is always a disappointing exercise. Add to this that it's virtually impossible for me to let go of my preconceived notions of particular kinds of songs and genres of music enough to understand when a song might benefit from another view. I am thinking of  "Don't want to miss a thing," which most of us know by Aerosmith. Now, I don't want to be mean to Aerosmith. I've enjoyed them, but never with any amount of seriousness--just as a kind of lark, I guess.  It's good fun to try to open one's mouth as wide as Steve Tyler's. And who, from my generation, doesn't have fond memories of school dances and Run DMC's version of "Walk this way"?  But I never thought that they had songs that were actually "good."  I always just listened to them with the kind of irony someone with my aesthetic brings to heavy metal or a seventh grade boyfriend--it was fun we've had a lot of laughs, you make me feel nostalgic, but I've got bigger, more earnest fish to fry. 

 

Then came Pomplemoose's completely fetching version of "Don't want to miss a thing,"  which--now bear with me here--reveals this song as having the same kind of charm as an old standard.  Without the full hard-rock intensity, it's a simple, honest statement of feeling--especially the chorus. And it's stripped of that silly harmony. Nataly Dawn's voice is so plaintive and sweet, and her mouth is so much smaller than Steven Tyler's that you won't be as distracted by her teeth. I'm not fully on board with all the effects they use--some seem like overkill, but I do dig the bridge. And I have such a new appreciation for this little ditty. It's been stuck in my head for weeks.  And just try to resist getting lost in Nataly Dawn's eyes. 

Your Inner Child Needs Help

It always baffles me that people who seem so tuned into books, movies, art and literature, and have strong opinions about each that they can articulate, claim to be so adrift in the world of children's picture books--and so demonstrably so.  I have received some really wrong-headed gifts for my son from really smart people--people who like children and can relate to them, people who have nicely decorated homes and beautiful art collections. For example, a person who knows me very well, and knows what I do for a living, bought my son a Corduroy book. Oh, I like the original Corduroy just fine. But I'm not talking about Don Freeman's books:

 

I'm talking about one of these babies:

This actually isn't the worst example. I'm not blaming the creators for this--it's just soulless. The book above is the kind of book that's a result of "group edit." I'm sure everyone had a say in the content, cover and art choices in the book--sales,marketing, design and editorial. Sometimes collaboration can work, but often in these kinds of scenarios what we're looking at is a lot of people with limited time on their hands making quick decisions and often undoing decisions that took a lot of thought and care. And what's more, these books that are created based on successful characters from years ago are being done as "work for hire." There are a lot of good writers and artists who do this kind of work and I'm sure there are even some books based on commercial properties that are successful in some ways. But again, the initial vision suffers from the insight of "too many cooks" and the character itself often loses the essential kernel of what brought him charm in the first place, because he's been completely divorced from his creator.

So this post is my plea to you aesthetically astute ones out there who are choosing a book--because books are good!--for a young relative or friend. Read the book. Look at the book. Love the book before you buy it. There are a ton of 'em out there and some real gems among them. And picture books are short! It shouldn't take you long to read a few. If you care about the art on your walls and the color scheme of your comforter, then you should care about the piece of art that you are putting into a kid's hands (unless you have some evil scheme to make your least favorite cousin's kid grow up with abysmal taste, then carry on). It's not that hard. The art should be pretty and have a good sense of color--even if it's limited color, black and white can be okay, too!--and tell a good story. And the text should have imaginative rhymes (if it rhymes) and a good, solid rhythm or should get its point across succinctly and effectively. I think the best picture book texts (rhyming or not) often have lines or images that stay in my head long after I've finished them--hey!  Just like your favorite poems and novels! Kids deserve good art, too. And it really is okay to enjoy a book marketed for people 2-5 even if your 25-40.

Quitting

"We never give up a pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another."

--Iris Murdoch

 

 

Last Thursday I gave up caffeine. This morning I had a shot of espresso and an ice coffee. I feel good about this lapse. Over the past year I have given up, for various  durations of time: sugar, bread, pasta, ice cream, cheese, milk, alcohol, beans and soy. And maybe some other stuff. What was I hoping for in return? Wellness? Slenderness? Energy? A medal? 

Now this most recent vow of abstinence was ill-fated, but not without its valid reasons. People have told me that they sleep much better since giving up caffeine. I fall asleep pretty easily--at the drop of a hat--but I don't stay asleep. I wake up at 3 am like clockwork every single night. Mostly I get back to sleep pretty quickly, but it's often a restless sleep. So I figured what the hey.

This is the second time I've tried to give up caffeine. The first time I moped around like a sad sack and still woke up at 3 am every single night. This time the headaches came on like gangbusters.  And sure, the headaches go away after a while, but then what? No more espresso? Ever? No more ice coffee? Luckily I came to my senses.

These lifestyle changes--they're a rabbit hole. First there's exercise and then there's the diet to support the exercise.  So you give up bread and dairy and sugar and coffee and you sleep on your back for eight hours a night and you stretch for a half hour a day and you eat your vegetables and before you know it you're giving up caffeine. And then you don't have any friends anymore because you're absolutely no fun.

I think this is where I draw the line. Coffee makes me happy. It tastes good, it feels good in my hands, and it diverts my attention from the pains of existence. And anyway, this way I'll have something left to give up, should the need arise, and perhaps a place to fit the next medal.

Cheer up, Little Buckaroos

Right now there's a lot of hand-wringing going on in the world of publishing. Lots of keening and tearing out hair and all those other things that real people don't actually do, but that we use to indicate anxiety. Folks are worried. And because everyone's worried, well, picture book creators feel that they might as well be, too.

Well, take heart, picture book author/illustrator! It already hit the fan quite a few years ago! I could be wrong, of course, but I'd be willing to bet that it won't get much worse. Not many  authors and illustrators were ever going to retire on their earnings anyway. Let's face it, you don't go into this business for the big bucks.

If anything—heavy, heavy caveats here—this is a moment of opportunity for the medium. I know everyone and his brother is extolling the delights of the ipad, but in truth it's really opened things up for this format—the traditional costs of which can make producing one prohibitively expensive. Page counts are currently dictated by the standard sizes of signatures and the costs of printing the art work, among other things. We now may be looking at a market that can welcome a whole range of sizes in books. Don't get me wrong, I love these books as objects, too. I will always have a fondness for the nice, succinct 32-pager. And I love to imagine the paper weight and the kinds of inks and lamination that I will use on my books. But I think the new digital opportunities are very exciting, and I like to think that it may make some projects possible that might not have had a shot in the traditional format.

But even if this conjecture is wrong, time marches on, things change. Gnashing your teeth and cracking your knuckles is not going to help (as good as it may feel). Just do what feels right. Make what you are inclined to make. There's nothing so stifling as thinking about cash/wrap when you're trying to create your masterpiece.

I can't fight these lyrics anymore

My parents were folkees and played loads of music when I was growing up. So I seem to have either a gift or a curse for memorizing lyrics. Sometimes this is lovely. I am a fairly capable singer and love to sing along with my favorites and even my not-so-favorites. I am a closet performer. A shower singer.

Sometimes, though, it's downright alarming. The other day a particularly bad song came on the radio as my husband and I were out driving in Costa Rica. It was REO Speedwagon. It was actually REO Speedwagon past prime. I remember hating it when it was on the radio, but taking particular glee in mocking the lyrics. The problem with remembering the lyrics to bad songs is that they ramble around in your head long after the song has ended. In fact, sometimes one needn't hear the song at all, just a bar or so or a couple of words that sound like the song. But I want to really make sure you really understand this particular kind of misery. So, my dear readers, I leave you with this gift. Pass it on, if you like....

Pick your poison

What you mostly hear from children's book editors (and agents, and probably from adult editors and agents) are dismal submission pile horror stories...or brilliant success stories. Based on the tales from the editorial trenches, we slog our way through the drek and every once a millennium, under the layers of hummus, some little gem gleams up at us and we yank it out, perhaps shine it up, and send it to the market where it goes on to sell ONE MILLION COPIES. Well, this would suggest that our world and work is easily broken down into a simple dichotomy. Not the case. So I'd like to introduce to you a couple more categories of rejection. Because while it may seem like the upshot of these is the same, there's a very crucial difference in approach.

Pertinent, but unremarkable

This is the easiest trap to fall into as an aspiring children's book writer and it sometimes, though not always, suggests that you are aspiring to this craft for the wrong reasons, or that you are simply being wrongheaded in your approach. This submission attempts to answer a need: either a hole in the marketplace that the author feels it is his purpose to fill, or something that falls within a certain trend that has recently been noticed or remarked upon by many in the field. See: teen angels, paranormal romances, illustrated fictional diaries of dorky middle-graders, comic book/picture book hybrids of snarky, unpopular animals or sparkly pink princess picture books. This notion fails for this reason: While the author has discerned what he feels is a certain need in the marketplace, there is not such internal need or desire on the author's part to write about the chosen subject. Therefore, the attempt ends up sounding rather hollow and there is no connection made with a potential editor. I am not saying that nobody ever buys these manuscripts---editors will sometimes buy them for the same reason the author has created them. There seems to be an audience for such a thing, and the manuscript in question is competently—if not brilliantly—written, so what the heck?

More often than not, though, editors are like writers—they do not have huge salaries, they are not independently wealthy. They work long hours and have a lot of stuff to read and they have to spend a lot of time with a manuscript after they've acquired it. They're not going to pick something that they're feeling luke warm about only to end up hating themselves by the end. Hence—rejection.

Brilliant, but unmarketable

This is by far the more acceptable failure to have. I see far fewer of these lately—since agents have become the sieve for our material. Usually the unmarketable is shepherded away before I even see it. There are many, many books that might fall into this category, and I can't cover them all in a blog post. But to try to summarize: this is the book an author has created because he has some vivid picture in his head that he wants to share, some character's voice that keeps him awake at night, or some unrelenting interest in a given topic that he wants to share with a young audience.

Usually when I receive something like this, that really stays with me, I'll pick it up and put it down several times before rejecting. Or I may even have the author attempt another draft or two. Occasionally we can make it work, but if nothing else, the project leaves an impression, and I will not be able to forget the author or his first attempt. Very often, I'll find something else that we can work on together. For example, I received a novel a few years ago that I still think about. I remember all the characters and many of the lines, little jokes, etc. It had a wonderful, fresh voice, but, unfortunately, the plot was just a bit too unwieldy. Once upon a time this could have been published, but the market is far crueler these days. I went through two or three drafts with the author and eventually had to let it go, because I knew I would never be able to acquire it. Still, I'm thinking about it even now, and I talk to the agent occasionally about the author. She's working on something new. And I can't wait to read it.

“And the hangovers hurt more than they used to....”

  Those of you who know me know that I'm well, a bit of an Elliott Smith fan (ahem) to say the least. He's my favorite songwriter. If I think about that too much I'll start second guessing myself, but there's no one else whose music I've listened to as intensely as his. He had a fantastic sense of language (billions of little quotable lines) and a superlative sense of melody and he wasn't lazy about neither of 'em. That's clear enough from the number of different versions there are floating around of songs like Miss Misery. He worked hard. He did a lot of drugs, yes, but he worked hard and he listened very carefully to a lot of different things.

Heatmiser was his first semi-famous band—kind of post punk rock and roll. That's what was popular in those days, but apparently Elliott wasn't feeling it, which is why he started his own side projects. These were categorized as "folk punk" and later "alternative."  But when you listen his stuff and when you read about his background, you realize that there's a whole lot more to the music than that. There's the Beatles component, yes (yawn, we always hear about that), but there's also a little barber shop quartet by way of his grandmother, some flamenco and a little country among many other things I'm sure. The guy was a musical sponge.

My own musical tastes are pretty eclectic. More eclectic than I'd like to admit, perhaps. I don't think I'm alone in this by any means.  It's easy to cop to your high school affinity for bands like The Alarm, not so easy, perhaps, to admit that you love the music from Godspell, because you used to dance around to it in the living room wielding a dish towel like a feather boa. But perhaps that's a story for another time. So, after all the aesthetic debates are over, after we find our appropriate and useful marketing categories, after we've dismissed some of these as not suitable for consumption, we still (hopefully) like what we like, in spite of ourselves. Kind of like we like Pringles, even though they're over-processsed and bad for our hearts. But it's far less harmful to our systems to listen to the stuff that we like that may not have received the critical stamp of approval. In fact, it may even be good for you. Barriers are nothing but bad for creativity. After all, without such diversions, we wouldn't have this little gem....