One winter weekend...

On a lovely Oklahoma winter weekend, we took advantage of the 70 degree sunshine to visit a nearby State Park. We had to prove to ourselves that there was more to Oklahoma than soccer fields, school, church and shopping. We chose Red Rock Canyon State Park because it wasn't far and it sounded promising, though small.

We drove through flat, scrub-like countryside surrounded by red dirt, then followed a road down into a canyon. The red sandstone walls glowed warmly in the sunlight. Where weather had worn the stone, outcroppings stood out from the canyon walls like natural sculptures. They were just asking to be climbed. All four of us swarmed up the rocks, finding grooves scrapped in the rock from the hundreds of hands and feet that climbed before us. I really wanted to climb on top of the main outcrop. I wormed my way to within feet of the top. Then I looked down at my children and thought, “I could fall and then they would be motherless.” Sigh. I never used to worry about such things.

There was a small fishing lake on the opposite side of the road. Sunlight glinted on the green water, though not on the red canyon wall behind it. There was a well-placed tree in front, so up the children climbed for a photo shoot (they know what is required of them, having two camera-loving parents, though they don’t always smile as we’d like).

The first trail led us on grass-lined, leaf-muffled paths by a spring-fed creek. We saw a couple of small, walled-in ponds and then climbed up onto the top of the ridge. We wished we had our picnic. It reminded me of Son’gani Point on Zomba, without the breathtaking drop-off. There were flows and wrinkles of lichen- and algae-covered rock spreading out in all directions. Most children would have a ball exploring and leaping around.

Our children were hungry and our picnic was in the car. So, with much theatrics and complaining, we returned to the car and drove down to one of the picnic sites. It was pleasant enough, given the temperature. However, I’m sure it is much prettier in spring, when there are leaves on the trees. As it was, we stared at the dead-looking brush and trees and wished for a little of the lush Antiguan green.

Before we left, we explored one of the other trails. It wasn’t as pretty as the first, but it was longer and there were more trails that we (the parents) are eager to explore further. Again, I think this area will improve in March or April when the leaves return.

In summer, the pool opens, so we might return to camp, hike and swim. We just don’t know how hot it will be – if the trees and canyon walls protect it a little from the normal Oklahoma 100+ degree temperatures, or if we’ll just roast and wish we were back in the air conditioning.

Write a picture book? No problem!

People ask me what I do. Besides raising my children and keeping our house, I write.

"What do you write?"
"Right now I am trying to write picture books for small children."
"Oh."
I can see the cogs moving in their minds - "That can't be too hard!"

You know - I had the same thought when I started over a year ago.

Reading hundreds of picture books to my children, some of them over and over, and some of them hair-pullingly tedious, I thought, "I could write one of these! How hard could it be?" That's how it all started.

One day, I followed my daughter around as she played. It was fascinating - her one-sided dialogue, her imaginary friends, her make-believe world. I decided this would form the basis for my first book. I excitedly announced this to my friends and started madly typing.

After a few weeks working on that book, friends asked, "So, have you finished the book? When can we buy it?"
"Ah, well...no. I'm not finished yet. I finished another draft, but I have a few more parts to re-work before I can submit it."
"Oh."
After several more months, they grew tired of the same response.

So just what is the hang-up? Why does it take so long to write a picture book? Come on - "Jane has a ball. Jane throws the ball." We all remember reading those stories. Any simpleton could write those.

Unfortunately, Jane's old hat and no one cares if she throws a ball anymore. You have to write something new, different.

Still, that isn't so hard. We're talking 100-500 words. Plop them down on paper and be done with it!

Those of you who know me may already see the problem. 500 words? 1000 words? Even 5000 words? No problem. But you ask me to limit myself to 100-500 words? I'm just finishing the introduction at 500 words.

Picture books are the art of writing distilled: each word a precious drip on the page. Each has to carry the weight of 10 normal words. Every one placed to make the biggest impact. And they all have to be simple.

Just shoot me now. It would be easier in the long run.

Since you asked, that first book is finished - in three different ways. One is a poem, one is a chapter book for early readers, and the third well, actually that one isn't complete yet - sort of a fairy tale-ish version of the story. The middle version I sent to be critiqued by a literary agent or editor at an upcoming writer's conference. Lord willing, I'll have some feedback on that one and maybe it will even go somewhere (hopefully to a publisher rather than the trash heap) one day.

You get the idea though. I write, then I re-write. After that, I write it differently. I send it to a fellow writer for feedback. I re-work the words, the characters, the story. I ask for more feedback. Finally, I send it to a publisher who may or may not respond.

And that is what I do (I'd say in a nut shell, but obviously, I've never written anything in a nut shell or it might be published already).

Amazonia - Day 8

(Continued from May 2010 Post)
The next morning, we left the lodge at 6am - the last group. I heard our neighbours leave at 4:30. Maybe the management didn't feel there was much point taking children out on the lake at 4:30, or maybe the other groups wished to see animals before the loud children scared them all away.
Abel steered the canoe from the back, Mili and Scooter paddled in the middle, Mili pointing to various sights. Boo alternated sitting in the prow, sitting by Mili, sitting by Daddy, sitting by Mama. In other words, she moved constantly. Amazingly, we did spot black cayman imitating logs in the water, and a few red howler monkeys. E.J. sighted them on a palm branch high above the lake - they looked like so many red bumps on a log. Mili also pointed out endless species of birds. We had a great view of the beautiful, russet-coloured stinky turkeys (Hoatzin) I heard the night before. They have two stomachs and regurgitate what they eat so they can chew it again. I guess they are like feathered cows sitting in the trees. Because they chew these half-fermented foods, they reek - both as living birds and as dead meat. As interesting as all this was to E.J., Scooter and me, it was no great shakes for a 3-year old. After an hour, none of us could justify keeping Boo enclosed any more.

We returned to the lodge to eat breakfast and then relax (or run around singing and releasing pent up energy) until 10. Mili led us on a walk through the jungle. She had a knack for finding plants Boo could touch, and trees with stories interesting to Scooter. There was dense undergrowth and only the occasional tall tree. One was the cork tree, used to make corks for wine bottles. Another was the garlic tree - not like any garlic I've ever chopped for dinner. Mili cut a small piece off the trunk and there was an overpowering stench of garlic. She put a little in her boot to deter snakes (snakes must be like vampires). A third tree, called Kapok, was huge. Local tribesmen call it El Madre de la Selba (Mother of Nature), and come for miles to worship under its branches, according to Mili. They believe the tree is so tall that their requests and souls (when thy die) will be taken up to heaven by the tree.
Mili admitted that the first time she guided a group by herself she was hopelessly lost for five hours on these same trails. The tour group kept asking what they were looking for and Mili kept putting them off with bits of information as she searched desperately for a familiar trail mark. She assured us that was six years ago. We returned to the lodge after only an hour. We almost saw another species of monkey, but we were too loud and the monkey too shy. Thank goodness plants can't run away or we wouldn't have seen anything. Having said that, we did see creeping palms, but they only move a few inches each year, so they couldn't escape fast enough.
All the other groups walked for hours, reporting numerous sightings of monkeys, birds, even cats. We mostly stayed at the lodge. E.J. didn't mind the time to relax in the hammocks. Scooter discovered the pile of Brazil nut pods in front of the lodge. He tried every way he could to open one while Boo used them to help ants build their nests. I am not sure the ants appreciated her efforts.
At 4:30pm, we took a dusk canoe ride. We really wanted to see the giant river otter, but Mili said it was unlikely. The mother had two cubs and they were being especially retiring. Sure enough, we didn't see much. Just as dark fell, we saw a troop of squirrel monkeys in some branches overhanging the lake. We enjoyed watching them as they leaped from tree to tree and chattered at one another. Mili told us that the monkeys know how to swim but don't like the water. When they fall in, they cry like babies as they swim to the nearest tree root. Scooter wished that one would fall either into his canoe or into the water nearby so he could hear it cry.
As we rowed across the lake to the lodge, I heard a loud motor boat or chain saw in the distance. I thought it strange that the Park staff allowed such an intrusion in a protected area. However, Mili identified the sound as a red howler male calling his troop in for the night. The sound intensified and echoed over the lake. I didn't know an animal could make such a racket.
As we disembarked at the lodge, we checked on the large colony of leaf-cutting ants slowly building their nest over the wooden stairs. The cutters still cut busily overhead - regardless of the dark. Long lines of leaf carriers still brought pieces 5-10 times bigger than themselves down the tree to the leaf chewers. These chewed the leaves and mixed the paste with dirt to make their homes. Mili told us the queen lays the eggs and the hatched larvae eat the chewed leaf mixture.