I can't scream this loud enough: "I'M PROUD OF JACK GANTOS!!!"

O.K. Well. There you go.

A little background, shall we?

I was working afternoon shift in Greensburg, Pennsylvania (noon-8 pm) quite a number of years ago, when I ran across some announcement somewhere that a kid's writer would be giving a free talk at our local college where I happened to be enrolled as a student. He was there to talk to the Masters in Writing Popular Fiction students, but the talk was free and open to the public.

I left work early that evening. Shh. Please don't tell.

The writer was someone I had never heard of (yet), but he came with some accolades, including a Newbery Honor for a book titled Joey Pigza Loses Control. At the time I wasn't a big reader of kid's books, and I was clueless as to who this guy was, let's just be honest.

The writer, of course, was Jack Gantos, and he turned out to be an absolutely amazing story teller. He wore a mic on his shirt throughout our little talk, displayed his writing (and, apparently, doodling) journals on a large screen behind the stage he was romping over and didn't stand still for one tiny minute. Turns out, he was a local boy. Born in Mount Pleasant, PA (me, too), grew up in Norvelt (until he was seven) and his mother still lived in Greensburg and just happened to be sitting right next to me.

***As an aside, I visit my dad every other Sunday, and Mount Pleasant and Norvelt are two small towns that happen to be part of the drive between my house and his.***

Let's just say Jack Gantos left an impression on me that evening that I'll probably never forget.

Fast forward to last Monday.

Every year the American Library Association awards some very prestigious honors for kid's books, with the two highest prizes being The John Newbery Medal and the Randolph Caldecott Medal. The Newbery goes to a writer and the Caldecott goes to an illustrator, and both are considered the highest awards that can be won by a writer or illustrator in the United States. Runners-up get Newbery or Caldecott Honors.

Last Monday the ALA announced the Newbery winners, and this time, Jack Gantos went home with the top prize for a book he wrote titled, Dead End in Norvelt. It's historical fiction about our very own little town of Norvelt. It's terribly fun to read by someone who recognizes the places and history that he mentions in the book: Frick Hospital (where I was born and where the one and only wall mural I've ever painted is located—please don't tell anyone, it's a really embarrassing piece of work), Mount Pleasant, Kecksburg (and the "UFO" landing there), Hecla (which is so small, it's hard to find a link to the right one), and the list goes on.

I got all teary-eyed when I'd heard that he had won, but adding to that that the book he won for was about my little corner of Southwestern Pennsylvania just made my day. And my month. I'm feeling a little pride for one of our own making it—and where he came from—big.

If you ever have the chance to see Jack Gantos speak publicly, don't hesitate for one second. You have to go. Trust me.

Sketchbook Project 2012—Elephant in color #sketchbookproject

Here's the next page in my Sketchbook Project 2012 sketchbook.
It's an elephant. With wrinkles.

Sketchbook Project 2012—Elephant sketch #sketchbookproject

The next page in my Sketchbook Project sketchbook is a little tubby elephant. O.K. Maybe he's a big tubby elephant, but in the sketchbook he's actually quite small as elephants go. He has folds, of course, because "Stitches and Folds" is my theme.

Sketchbook Project 2012—Butler in color #sketchbookproject

Here's the second page (not including the title page) of my Sketchbook Project 2012. He's a butler. With a towel. Click the image to see it biggie-sized.

Sketchbook Project 2012—Harley in color #sketchbookproject

O.K. Admittedly I'm running a bit on the late side with this one. I signed up for the Sketchbook Project 2012 months (and months) ago but, unlike the usual get-it-finished-way-before-it's-due me, I'm getting the color done on these pages way too last minute for my blood pressure (it's due Jan. 31). I would include the link for the project, but right now they're signing people up for the Sketchbook Project Limited Edition, and I can't find a link anymore for the regular Sketchbook Project 2012.

So here you go. The first color page (after the cover and title page, of course) finished and stamped with "done". I posted the sketch for this little guy last August. Apparently, at the time I named him Harley so I guess we'll have to go with that.

Say "hello" to Harley.

Sketchbook Project 2012—Title Page #sketchbookproject

The next page in my Sketchbook Project sketchbook is inside the front cover and the title page (you didn't think I wouldn't have a title page, did you?). And here's the post with the cover image (and an explanation about the Sketchbook Project, if you don't already know what it's about).

Sketchbook Project 2012 #sketchbookproject

Next year (next month!) I'll be participating in the wildly successful Sketchbook Project, put together by the Art House Co-op and the Brooklyn Art Library. I know, I know, I sure waited a long time to jump on the wagon, but at least I'm not falling off of it. I posted my first sketch in an earlier post.

The Sketchbook Project works like this:

1. I order a sketchbook from the Art House Co-op
2. They send a sketchbook specifically for me, with a bar code on the back identifying me and my sketchbook
3. I draw in said sketchbook (this seems to be the part that's taking the longest)
4. I send the sketchbook back to the Art House Co-op
5. They scan all the pages of my sketchbook and include them in their digital library and post them on their site
6. They gather up all the sketchbooks from this collection (this collection being 2012) and take them on tour around the country starting in April
7. After the tour, the sketchbooks are cataloged as a permanent fixture of the Brooklyn Art Library, available for patrons around the world to enjoy (hopefully)
8. Every time someone "checks out" my sketchbook it will be logged through the bar code on the back, and I can check my stats in real time online or through text messages
9. That's it

We had to pick "themes" for the sketchbooks, and the one I picked was Stitches and Folds. I thought I could do something cool with that idea. My first page from the sketchbook is actually the cover, and here it is (ta-da):

Each image will include some sort of stitch or fold (in the drawing of it, not an actual stitch or fold, which I played around with and discovered didn't work so well) opposite a page with a song lyric that I think goes well with the image.

I rebound (rebinded?) my sketchbook (you're allowed as long as you follow their rules) with some toothier paper (theirs was too smooth and too white), so the stitching on the spine is mine (and part of my theme).

Due Jan. 31, 2012.

What was I thinking?

A Little Like Shaun Tan

A few weeks ago I finally made my way to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. I wasn't there to visit the place, although we have plans of returning next year for actual Gettysburg reasons. So much history. I feel so attracted to something there.

But this post isn't supposed to be about Gettysburg.

I hauled my butt across half the state for an SCBWI conference, and yeah, I came home with lots of thoughts to think loudly about. But I'll attempt to narrow those thoughts down to just one: Jordan Brown.

I had a manuscript critique with Jordan, a Senior Editor at Walden Pond Press and Balzer + Bray, imprints of HarperCollins Children's Books. The story I had written was a short story I had finished for a fiction writing class I took about eight years ago (has it been that long?). My professor at the time loved it, and in his comments at the end wrote, "Get it published."

And yet.

The story wasn't long enough. I knew it wouldn't make a complete book. But, being an illustrator—and pictures are easier for me than words—I had the brilliant idea (I thought, at the time) to pad the short story with pictures to make it long enough. Maybe even convert it into a graphic novel (Mr. Punch-style). Yeah. A graphic novel. Then the words would be at a minimum, and I could tell a lot of the story just using images.

Yeah. Images.

But Jordan didn't really agree.

He was thinking more along the lines of, say, a novel.

"You mean those things with all the words?"

"Those things with all the words."

But there was something in the story he had latched onto. Something he didn't want me to lose as I was writing more. Something he likened to...

Shaun Tan.

Shaun Tan? Really? How could he know?

What he liked about what I had written was all the stuff I hadn't written. How you didn't know when or where the story was taking place. Was it in the past? Or the future? Or was it even on this planet?

He totally got it.

He said it seemed like I was working in the sort of space that Shaun Tan occupies (not bad company to be in), but a very difficult one to break into (not what I wanted to hear).

It wasn't until I read this article in the Guardian today (and written by Neil Gaiman, no less) that I realized how right Jordan was. The paring things down. The fictional landscape. The far future, the distant past.

I had decided before I left the conference to take Jordan's advice and write the whole thing as a novel. He even suggested I take a look at A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, not just for the loss of the protagonist's mother, but also (as I figured out when I got the book) for the illustrations. They're beautiful. I thought, yeah, writing all those words is going to take a while, but I can supplement all those words with some really cool pictures.

Pictures. My comfort food.

But as soon as I finished the book that little doubt devil started spewing into my brain again, and I started growing doubt shoots. Doubts about all those words. A Monster Calls was good. It was really, really good. And heavy (in a deep sense, not in a weight one). Can I really write something as relevant as that? Why am I doubting my writing? Why am I dragging my feet with this story?

What am I afraid of?

I won't be able to start writing for a few days anyway, so in the small spurts of time I have until then, I've decided to absorb a little Shaun Tan. The Rabbits. Tales from Outer Suburbia. The Lost Thing. I'm hoping in the time we spend together Shaun will help me find the confidence I'm thinking must be lurking around here somewhere.

And then after that, if I've been good, I can get back to the pictures.

Surviving a weekend

So I managed to survive the SCBWI conference in Gettysburg over the weekend. Gettysburg is such a fantastic place. I'd never been there, and can't wait to go back. The history is heart-wrenching. I went on a ghost tour. I bought a bullet. I found a picture book in the same shop as the bullet only to see that it had been illustrated by someone I've admired for years. And then I met that very illustrator at the conference (more on him in another post). I cried during E.B. Lewis' keynote speech. An agent saw my portfolio and asked to meet me. What a whirlwind. So many new people, so many new friends, so much to think about.

And so much more to do.

As you can probably tell, I survived my manuscript critique with Jordan Brown (see my misgivings here in an earlier post). He was, despite my fears, terribly helpful and encouraging. I only wish I could have had a recording of everything he said because, of course, I didn't take notes. He was excited and hopeful about my book idea, which made me excited and hopeful about my book idea.

Now the uphill climb begins.

Turns out I tend to make friends easier with editors at these conferences than I do art directors and agents. Not sure why that is. The problem with that is that editors want me to write stuff (ugh!). Pictures aren't good enough; they aren't happy until they've pushed me over that ugly, word-laden hill.

So I guess I'm heading toward the next step in my children's book career. Thanks to Jordan Brown, my next move will be at my computer keyboard writing a novel.

Yes, a novel.

Apparently short stories don't have enough words. Now I have even more of those steep, torturous word-hills to climb.

Did I mention "ugh!"?

I can do this. Nobody's ever croaked from writing a novel, have they?

Someone please tell me I can do this.

More Vlad Hot Cocoa

In May I finished an illustration for a drink mix directory that was published by the Pittsburgh Society of Illustrators in August. I called it Dancing in the Moonlight, and I had that old King Harvest song in my head the entire time.

(As an aside, just try and listen to that song and then get it out of your head. Not gonna happen. I had to download it.)

The illustration was part of the exhibit that PSI put together at Gallerie Chiz in Shadyside, and it will be in another exhibit starting in November at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh.

But I had an idea.

Next month I'm attending the Tri-Regional SCBWI conference in Gettysburg. They're going to do something called "First Looks" where illustrators send in three related images to possibly be included as part of a panel discussion. The images will be projected for everyone at the conference to see (no pressure there), and the panel (editors, agents and an art director) will offer their first responses to the images.

I really didn't have anything finished that I thought would be good enough, so I decided to create two new images to go with Dancing in the Moonlight. The images I've posted here are the sketches for those two images.

Due Nov. 1.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have some painting to do.

This should make me a happy camper

I have to admit, I haven't been creating much in the world of illustration lately. I've been focused pretty intently on getting my book out (in a few weeks, my pretties), painting a few Rots (just finished Buster on Wednesday) and getting organized for the fall SCBWI conference coming up next month in Gettysburg.

Yeah. About that conference. This year I decided to jump in the ring and get the text of a graphic novel idea I wrote a while back critiqued by one of the faculty. Our regional advisor is totally pushing me toward an editor named Jordan Brown. She says he would "love" the kind of stuff I do and she thinks we would get along "fabulously".

(By the way, where do periods fall in relation to quotation marks these days? Inside or outside?)

So I'm asking to be placed with Mr. Brown, and my fingers are kind of crossed.

Kind of.

I've been following along with Gris Grimly's blogging about the new three volume book he's been working on for the past few years. He's tackling Frankenstein and, as usual, his work is phenomenal. Beautiful. Inspiring.

Makes me want to crawl in a hole somewhere and start crocheting lap robes for a living.

His latest post isn't helping.

Turns out the editor for his Frankenstein books? Yeah. Jordan Brown. I'm torn between jumping for joy and crawling under a rock to take up residence with the isopods. If Jordan Brown has somebody like Gris Grimly in his back pocket, does somebody like me really have much of a chance?

I'm finding my rock as we speak.

Ouchy.

I finally saw North by Northwest

So I finally had a chance to see the Hitchcock classic North by Northwest a couple of nights ago, and I noticed some things. Not necessarily things that had anything to do with the plot or the directing or the acting.

Things I noticed:

• People were skinnier in 1959. Or, Hitchcock only hired actors who were. I'm thinking a little of both.
• Movies were longer in 1959. Over two hours for this one.
• Martin Landau was very handsome when he was a young man. Martin Landau was once a young man. Martin Landau was skinny when he was a young man.
• James Mason was young once but, apparently, he's always been classy. And skinny.
• Now that we don't do it anymore, smoking in public looks really, really stupid.
• Eva Marie Saint was young once, but at 35 could never pass for 26. Sorry.
• They had bus stops in the middle of nowhere in 1959. How, exactly, was a rider expected to get to and from?
• Cary Grant's character's initials are R.O.T., which I find amusing.
• People were able to fall in love instantly in 1959, in spite of knowing nothing about each other. Or, people watching movies in 1959 were more ready to embrace the concept.
• The kissing scene between Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint would pass for a G rating today, but it still made my dad uncomfortable having to watch it in a room with me.

I have to admit, I wanted to see the movie mostly for the house at the end that looked an awful lot like Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater (where I work), but is not, in fact, Fallingwater (see the article by Sandy McClendon on jetsetmodern.com). We've had rumors going around at work that Hitchcock wanted to use Fallingwater, but wasn't permitted to do so. I haven't found anything on the Internet to confirm or deny those rumors, but I have found where he wasn't allowed to film at the United Nations building so he used hidden cameras and filmed anyway.

Also, Fallingwater doesn't need steel beams to hold up its cantilevers. We use post-tensioning instead.

September 11 has nothing to do with September 11

Ten years ago on September 11, 2001, my step daughter turned 21 years old. She was young. She was 21. She had planned on spending her birthday drinking with friends. But that evening the bars were closed, for reasons beyond any 21-year-old's control.

And suddenly it's ten years later. So much has happened.

And so much has changed.

This morning my husband and I will be heading to the cemetery. New York and D.C. and Shanksville will be crowded with people looking for...something. A little bit of comforting, maybe.

We'll be heading toward a small lake near a gazebo in Delmont, to a single plot of earth, far away from the crowds. And we'll have each other.

Happy birthday, Lauren.

#SketchbookProject: Harley sketch

I signed up to participate in Art House Co-op's 2012 Sketchbook Project and picked the theme, "Stitches and folds." I've been sketching some of the pages while I'm at work, and here's the first sketch I decided to add color to. (I'll post the color version when it's finished.) I wanted to have some character sewing something, and I tried to come up with someone you would expect least. His name is Harley.

Starting From Chicken Scratch

So I've been contemplating lately what my next move will be regarding my illustration career. As I blogged earlier, I don't think the direction I was heading was quite the right direction I should be. It's kind of hard to keep doing what you're doing when what you're doing isn't doing anything. Isn't that the definition of madness? Spinning your wheels and expecting a different result?

My mailing list since 2005 has been directed toward picture book publishers, and there aren't too many No, Davids or Frog Belly Rat Bones out there. And you know what? That's fine. I'm not sure I'm understanding the logic, but I respect the decision, and I'm free to move on.

This morning I bought a Kindle copy of the 2011 Artist's and Graphic Designer's Market book. It's been a while since I had a copy (looks like 2007 was the last), and I wanted to get a version that didn't leave me with a dead tree in a few years. So I'm Kindle-ing this one.

I've decided my mailing list is getting a do-over, and I'm starting with the Market book I bought this morning. When the 2012 Children's Writer's and Illustrator's Market book comes out in September, I'll sift through that one, too. I'm going to look for publishers for older kids this time, and book covers and maybe posters and agents and such.

I still love, love, love picture books, but I've resigned myself into accepting that if I ever get one published it will likely be independent of a major house. And I'm fine with that, too. I'll be doing it because I love creating and pulling ideas out of my butt, and that satisfaction can happen no matter who pays for the final outcome.

Yesterday I went for a bike ride (Rockwood, PA to Garrett, PA on the Great Allegheny Passage). I took a picture while I was riding, so I have an excuse for the blurry. Lots of thoughts in my head, including the one I shared above.

And here's another one:

You need to get out more.

You need to move more.

The more you move more,
the more oxygen gets sucked into your little brain,
and the more thoughts can get thought out of your butt.

Think your own thoughts. Paint your own pictures. Live your own life.

The Death of...@GrisGrimly?

If a major publisher can do this to Gris Grimly, what might a lesser publisher potentially do with someone like me?

http://grisgrimly.blogspot.com/2011/05/death-ofme.html

If you know anything about Mr. Grimly's art (and if you don't, take a look: http://www.madcreator.com/index.cfm), you know his palette is muted, earthtoned and perfectly suited to his work.

I'm not sure of any details other than those relayed through the above blog post, but I'm wondering where the breakdown occurred. If someone had a problem with the color, why wasn't the artist approached and given the opportunity to make compromises and any color adjustments himself? Who did make the changes? Who O.K.'d them? And why would they think it was perfectly fine to do that?

I'm not sure what happens if I purchase this book. Am I supporting Gris Grimly? Or am I supporting the person at Random House who decided to "fix" his work without his input or acknowledgement?

As an artist, how do you handle a situation like this? Do you have any rights? Is this something that needs to be addressed in the contract? And if so, why is something like this even an issue that needs to be debated?

Dancing in the Moonlight: Complete

Here's the color version of the sketch I posted last week. I think he turned out pretty good, but I've been looking at him for so long I'm not sure anymore. He's getting some positive feedback, so I'm thinking he might be O.K.

He'll be heading for a drink mix directory which will go out to art directors later this year. Fingers crossed on this one.

Dancing in the Moonlight

So you remember that Frankenstein hot cocoa idea I was doing for the Pittsburgh Society of Illustrators drink mix directory?

Yeah. It wasn't really working for me, so I canned the idea and started over. I dreaded having to sit down and work on it for some reason. I still might use it somewhere someday, but right now it just isn't happening.

I decided to stick with the hot cocoa idea though. I was thinking a lot of people drink hot chocolate in the evening before bed, and it would look pretty cool to have chocolate dripping off the teeth of a vampire, right? I also thought he should have some friends to enjoy it with.

But evening for a vampire is about the time when the party's just getting started, and I wanted to make sure I showed that. He'll be wearing printed pjs (not sure yet what the print will be) along with his bunny slippers, and everybody's dancing to that old King Harvest song. You know, the one I can't seem to get out of my head now that I've started this thing.

Desperately Seeking Tim Burton

Dear Mr. Burton,

I've found myself in a desperate rut, the likes of which you've managed to retrieve me from in the past, and I'm hoping you will be available again sometime soon.

January a year ago, I made a trek to the Museum of Modern Art, specifically to view your work on display there. I bought a membership just so I wouldn't have to stand in line with all the other saps who had to wait to get in.

The rooms that housed your exhibit were terribly crowded; I'm sure we were well beyond the building's fire code. Sardines, as it were. But I managed to see everything, just to make sure I didn't miss anything that might later turn out to be something I would have liked to have seen.

After I squeezed my way through all the rooms I took a breather. I bought some stuff. I ate some stuff and, in spite of the sardine thing, I decided I needed to get myself back in the middle of that exhibit.

So I did.

This time I knew exactly what I needed to see again, so I jumped out of the line that snaked around the rooms and headed straight for the drawings.

The drawings, as you know, were watercolor outlined in pen, so there was really nothing out of the ordinary there. Using the media in that way was nothing new, and had never been a source of inspiration for me. So that couldn't really have been the attraction.

Why was I still there? Why couldn't I take my eyes off these images? Why were these images so much better than what I conjured in my own sketchbooks?

I think what sucked me back into those rooms and set my sparks flying was that unrestrained childlike imagination. How does an artist allow himself to let everything fly out the window like that? The caricatures were well beyond caricatures. Arms and legs and tails and horns and whatever other body parts that could conceivably be conceived as a body part were attached to shapes that weren't really bodies until simulated body parts had been attached.

But you knew that.

Stripes and checkerboards and spirals and dipping horizons added to my acute sense of instability, and all I could do was stand in front of them and try to soak in as much as my little brain could soak in, in the hopes that some day that freedom would spew out in my own work.

On the train ride home I drew. Over the next few months I drew some more. I was inspired and ready to take on my own sketchbook demons and wrestle them into something I could proudly show the world.

Things seep away over time, however. It's been another year, and I seem to have lost that thing. That permission you had given me to create outrageousnous. Those weird images that had been crisscrossing around in my head. And, ultimately, the hope that somewhere down the line it would all be worth it.

Dear Tim (do you mind if I call you Tim?), please send me a sign. Something. Anything. Something to get me back on track. Something to help me find my monsters. I'm afraid right now they're lost, and I'm also afraid they're scared. And hungry. I know I am. I desperately need to bring them home.

Please help me bring them back home.

Signed,

Nora

P.S. Thank you kindly for allowing my family to give me your art book last Christmas, and I'm eagerly awaiting your and Danny's CD box set, as my Alice in Wonderland soundtrack is quite possibly wearing thin.

Frankenstein Hot Cocoa Steampunk Sketcheroo

I'll be participating in the Pittsburgh Society of Illustrator's mixed drink directory later this year, and I wanted to mash Frankenstein up with a little steampunk. My recipe will be for hot cocoa, and this is the sketch I came up with. Thanks once again to Harpers Ferry, WV, and their great collection of stone buildings and textures that have yet to let me down.