Author: Peg Kehret

I love to read. When asked what I do in my spare time, my answer always begins with, “I read a lot.”

For many years, I’ve kept a book journal. It’s a simple spiral notebook where I list the title and author of every book I read. I began the journal in June, 1990, because my friend, Mary, and I, who see each other only once a year, are both avid readers. We like to discuss what we’ve read, but we can’t always remember every title. We decided to start book lists and bring them to our yearly reunion. We’ve both done this ever since. I also note the months as well as the year when I read each book. I wish I had started my book journal earlier. It would be fun to look back and see what I was reading at various times in my life.

Once I began listing the books, I developed an urge to note those I especially liked, so they get a star next to the title. Doing this reminds me of the piano teacher I had when I was little, who pasted a gold star on my music if I played it without mistakes. I am stingy with my stars and give them only to books that I really loved.

Since those of you who pay attention to this blog are also readers, I thought you might be interested in knowing some of the books I’ve starred. I am listing only books for adults. I read a lot of books for kids, too, but I know many of the authors personally. It’s harder to be objective when reading a book by a friend.

 Here, then, are a few books for adults that I especially liked:

Jim, the Boy  by Tony Earley

Ahab’s Wife by Sena Jeter Naslund

The Good, Good Pig  by Sy Montgomery

Loving Letters from Ogden Nash: A Family Album  by Linell Nash Smith

The Habit of Being  by Flannery O’Connor

I am also a fan of Julia Spencer-Fleming and eagerly await the next book in her series.

I could have titled this entry, “Still More Good News” because, yes, The Ghost’s Grave  has won another state young reader award! This time it’s the South Dakota Prairie Pasque Award. Here’s the list of state winners, so far: New Hampshire, Pennsylvania, Washington, Tennessee, and So. Dakota. It is also nominated in a couple of states that have not yet voted.

This is the third consecutive year that I’ve won the South Dakota award. I’ve won three times in other states, but never consecutively, so this is a different kind of first for me.

Here is how I got the idea for The Ghost’s Grave:  About a mile from my house there is an old cemetery, and the whole last row of gravestones has the same date of death. The people buried there were all coal miners who were killed in a mine explosion. The first time I visited this cemetery, I got curious about mining accidents, so I began to do research on coal mining in my area.

I also did some research on the cemetery itself, and I discovered that one miner lost a leg in an explosion. His leg is buried in this cemetery but he lived out his life elsewhere, and when he died, he was buried in a different location.

I had been wanting to write a ghost story, and once I read about the leg, I knew how I wanted to create my ghost. Willie is an old coal miner who tries to convince Josh, my character, to dig up Willie’s leg and rebury it with the rest of him.

Like most of my books, The Ghost’s Grave  used many incidents from my own life. The tree house that I describe in the book is an actual tree house that’s in my woods. My husband built it for our grandchildren.

The stray cat in the book is also based on my own experience of finding a mother cat and her kittens in the woods, and taming them. 

I even had a neighbor once who actually shot a bat in his kitchen!

The Ghost’s Grave has won the 2008 Sasquatch Award, given by the Washington Library Media Association. It is exciting to win a children’s choice honor anywhere, but especially so in my home state.

 I also like the fact that I won’t have to board an airplane in order to attend the conference and accept this award in person.

I am thrilled. Lucy’s tail is wagging. Pete, Molly and Mr. Stray are purring.  Hooray!

About a year ago, I put the announcement on my Web page: “Peg has retired from doing school visits.” My hope was to have fewer requests so that I didn’t have to say no so often. It’s difficult to decline invitations that I would enjoy accepting.

I do get fewer requests now, but I also get a lot of inquiries that begin, “I know you don’t do school visits any longer, but….” followed by the reason why that particular school should be the exception to the rule. Kids often point out that I would not have to talk to the whole school – I could come only to their classroom.

I quit doing school talks because of my problems with post-polio syndrome. When I get too tired, it strains my already weak muscles and causes further damage. Muscles weakened by polio are not like normal muscles. For most people, the way to increase muscle strength is to exercise, to use those muscles more. It’s the opposite for me. The more I tire my muscles, the more strength they lose, permanently. I recently had a thorough evaluation at a post-polio clinic. The main advice the doctors gave me is that I MUST cut back on my activities if I hope to continue to walk.

I will continue to accept awards in person, when possible, and to speak at major conferences. My last school visit will be in May, in conjunction with a fund raiser for the Humane Society (Pete the Cat’s alma mater.) It’s a good school to end with because the librarian invited me to my first young author day, many years ago. We have come full circle.

Most people my age, even those with excellent health, have already retired. Physically, I should retire but mentally, emotionally, I am not ready.  Saying no to school visits is not true retirement for me. I never set out to have a career as a public speaker; my job is writing.

Writing is not a typical profession; it is a way of life. I spent many years laboring unheralded, years when I would have been thrilled to be asked to speak anywhere. Now, when my books are popular and my presence in demand, why would I want to quit?

Writing a book is challenging and exhilarating. I enjoy the process as well as the results.  I have retired from doing school visits, but I am not retiring as a writer.  

I did something extremely difficult today. I cancelled my trip to Missouri to receive the Mark Twain Award.  Words are inadequate to express how disappointed I am to miss the conference of the Missouri Association of School Librarians. It would have been my second Mark Twain Award banquet, and I cherish my memories of the first one.

The reason I am not flying to Missouri is that I’ve had a relapse of the pneumonia that I had last month. This time I recognized the symptoms and went to the doctor right away. Recurring pneumonia is a serious medical condition for anyone but my history of bulbar polio makes it even more dangerous for me.

My doctor usually states my options, and then lets me make up my own mind. This time he flat out said, “Cancel the trip.” I know he is right. Flying is difficut for me under the best conditions. Leg braces + a cane + limited stamina do not add up to a person who can rush through airports or tolerate delays easily.

 My acceptance speech is written, my two workshops are planned, my pet-sitter is booked,  I have a plane ticket and a reservation where I park my car. I even lost three pounds so I’d look better in my good black pants – but, alas, I’m not going.

I know the wonderful people in Missouri who have put so much time and effort into preparing for this conference are disappointed, too, and I hate letting them down after I had promised months ago to come. 

Twice before in my many years of speaking, I’ve had to cancel. Once I was scheduled to be the luncheon speaker at a conference in Oklahoma when my mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Surgery was scheduled for the day of the conference. I stayed home, over my mother’s protests. I was with her when she died the next day.

The other time I was on my way to the Plum Creek Children’s Literature Festival in Seward, Nebraska. This is an exciting three-day affair where I was scheduled for numerous school visits, autograph sessions, and other events. Carl and I were already in Nebraska when we got word that our ten-year-old grandson (now 15) had a brain tumor and was being taken to Children’s Hospital in Seattle. We turned the RV around and headed home.

The people in Oklahoma, Nebraska and Missouri  all reacted with compassion and understanding. Nobody whined or said, “How can you do this to us at the last minute?” Instead, they sent me their love and good wishes. Without exception, I was told that I had made the right choice.

I won’t be accepting the bust of Mark Twain in person, but I still have the thrill of winning it. The clever, discerning, literate and wise children of Missouri chose Abduction! as their favorite book this year.  What an honor! How exciting! No matter whether I’m on a podium, wearing those black pants, or at home in my fuzzy green bathrobe, Mark Twain Award day is a special event.  Thank you, Missouri. 

I’ve had my cane, Alice, for more than ten years. She is sturdy and beautiful, with cat faces all over her. I named her Alice because I expected her to lead me into Wonderland, which she has done.

Alice has also had some adventures of her own. Late one rainy afternoon, I stopped at a grocery store on my way home from a book event. I use Alice while I walk into a store, then she rides in the cart while I do my shopping. On that particular day, I happened to park next to the spot where carts get returned. By the time I came out of the store, it was dark. I unloaded my groceries, and shoved the cart into the cart stall. Because my car was right there, I didn’t need Alice in order to walk across the parking lot – and I left her in the shopping cart!

As soon as I got home, I realized what I had done. My heart sank at the thought of possibly losing Alice. I called the store and explained my predicament. As soon as I described Alice, the clerk said, “Oh, yes. We have it. It’s behind the customer service counter.” (I wanted to correct the clerk and point out that Alice is a “her” and a “she,” not an “it” but I decided not to press my luck.)

I was too tired to drive back to town that night but first thing the next morning, I went to retrieve Alice. She was leaning against the wall in a corner, with a handsome dark blue cane that had apparently also been left behind. I was glad Alice had found a friend so that she wasn’t afraid to stay alone overnight in the store.

The first time I flew with Alice, I put her in the overhead bin. When the bin was opened at the end of the flight, Alice jumped out and tried to whack a passenger on the head. I grabbed her in the nick of time.

The next time we flew, I placed Alice on the floor under the seat in front of me. When the plane took off, gravity pulled her backward and she slid under the seats behind me. Nobody noticed. When I realized she was gone, I walked down the aisle, looking on the floor. I finally found her three rows back. The young man whose seat she was under didn’t know she was there, but he laughed when I told him Alice had run away, and he fished her out for me.

Now when I fly, Alice rides on the floor but I squeeze her tightly with both feet during takeoff and landing, to make sure she stays where she belongs.

Occasionally I give Alice a bath, rubbing her with a soapy cloth, then rinsing and drying her. She gets “new shoes” now and then, too, because the rubber tip on the cane bottom wears out.

Because of Alice, I feel more secure when I walk. I’m far less likely to fall when she is by my side. We’ve had many fine adventures together, and I anticipate many more.

Several recent letters asked me if I miss Minnesota. My answer is, no.  I don’t miss California, either, and I lived there longer than I lived in Minnesota. I don’t get asked about California because I have not written much about my experiences while I was there.

I have fond memories of my years in Minnesota and California. I was happy in both states but I don’t miss them because I’m happy now, too, here in Washington. I’ve always liked every place I ever lived because contentment comes from the inside, not from a location.

Another reader wrote that since so much of my personality seems to have been shaped by my polio experience, she wondered if, given a chance to live my life again, I would choose to still have polio. Again my answer is no, only this time it’s a big fat capital NO!

The original polio experience lasted about a year. At the end of that time I was emotionally stronger, more independent, more aware of what’s important, than I was at the beginning. There were many positive results to help balance the terrible fear, pain, and loneliness that I endured.

The negatives, however, keep coming. Post-polio syndrome limits me in myriad ways half a century after I was “over” the disease. It is frustrating to attend a granddaughter’s gymnastics meet and be unable to climb the steps into the bleachers in order to see well. Neck pain limits my computer time. Travel is increasingly difficult. The school visits that used to be such fun are now so fatiguing that I have quit doing them. There are dozens of small difficulties every day, all a result of the late effects of polio.

This is not to suggest that I am unhappy, because I’m not. I have an interesting, fulfilling, and joyful life – but it would be even better without polio.

Another question that’s been asked lately is, “How did you meet your husband?” The complete answer is in my book, Five Pages a Day: A Writer’s Journey.  The synopsis is that we both signed up to work at a church food booth at a county fair, and were assigned the same shift.

Many kids ask about favorites. What’s my favorite animal? I don’t have one. How could I choose? If I said “cats” Lucy’s feelings would be hurt, and if I don’t even want to think what Pete would do if I said that dogs are my favorite.  I like all of the animals. 

I don’t have a favorite color, either. For favorite food, I usually reply that it’s a chocolate milk shake – but on a cold, snowy day, I’d choose hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and nutmeg.

This last question has been popping up now and then for years: How many more books are you going to publish? That is a good question, and I have no idea what the answer is. There’s a new book coming out in November (Stolen Children from Dutton Children’s Books) and I have a proposal under consideration and another book partially written, plus several folders full of ideas that keep resurfacing every few months. How many of them will eventually become books is anybody’s guess. All I know for sure is that I will be writing today, and every day that I am able to do so. Some days I write for many hours, some days for only a few minutes. Some days the writing occurs only in my head and doesn’t get transferred to the keyboard until a later time. It depends on what else is happening in my life.

So I can’t promise any specific number of books, but I can promise that I will continue to work, at whatever pace I can manage. The books will get written, one page at a time.

I’m asked some form of that question many times each week. “Are you writing a new book?” If I say yes, because, of course, the answer is always yes, the next question is, “What is it about?”  Therein lies my problem. Unlike many authors who will gladly discuss their works in progress, I don’t like to talk about mine until they’re done. More than that, I don’t want to discuss a book until it’s sold and in an editor’s hands.

It has always been difficult for me to share my unfinished work.  In the early years, before I was publishing regularly, I joined a critique group – and dropped out after only a few months. I enjoyed hearing what the other members had written, and I felt I was a reasonably good critic, but it was painful for me to share my own writing while I was still working on it.  Since there was no point in sharing it after I was done, I decided to forego the group sessions and spend that morning each week writing.

Most writers do belong to groups, and they benefit mightily from the input of their peers, but I am not comfortable in that situation. It never bothers me to have editorial feedback, and I’m happy to revise when suggestions make sense to me, which is most of the time, but group sessions are not for me.

When I’m asked what I’m working on now, my response is generally to state the title of the book that will be published next.  It’s sure to be new to the reader who asked, since it isn’t out yet, and it saves me from giving information that I am not ready to share.  

If I tell young readers the title of the next book, they invariably ask, “What’s it about?”  One begged me to send her “just a few pages.” 

For those who are curious, my next book will be published in November by Dutton. The title is Stolen Children, and if you want to know what it’s about, you’ll have to wait and read it yourself.

Many readers have e-mailed to ask where I will be on Christmas Day.  I will be at home, and my daughter, son-in-law, and two of my grandkids will be here, as well.  I love to have family here during the holidays.  My son, daughter-in-law, and my other two grandkids are coming on Dec. 30 and will stay for New Year’s.

 I have done way more cooking than writing this week. There are a few special recipes that I make only at Christmas time.  My favorite of all is rolled sugar cookies.  All my old cookie cutters are hanging on the wall and I enjoy taking them down, washing them, and using them. This year I made trees and stars. I’ll do bells for New Year’s.

One year I made a big batch of gingerbread men. I used raisins for the eyes, red cinnamon candies for the mouths, and chocolate chips for the buttons. I left them on the table to cool overnight, and when I got up the next morning, I discovered that my cat had eaten all the raisins! Everything else was intact, but I had a whole tabletop full of blind gingerbread men.

Yesterday my friend, Marilyn, and her daughter, Karrie, came for lunch.  Karrie is my pet-sitter when I travel and it was fun to see how excited and happy Lucy was to see her. 

Another friend, Mark Smithberg, will be here on the 28th. Mark is my “honorary son” who shares my love for player pianos and jigsaw puzzles.

Edgar’s big day is set for the 27th – when his new “mom” and someone from Pasado’s will be coming to finalize his adoption and take him to his permanent home.

Thanks to all of you who sent holiday cards and e-mails. I wish each of you happy reading in the year ahead.

Last night I got out my Santa collection and arranged it on the buffet in my dining room. Many of the Santas are souvenirs of my travels, and at the time I had the good sense to write on the bottom of each of them so I can remember where and when I got them. Here is a small sample of what’s written on some of the Santas:

1. “Author reception, Cleveland County Historical House, Norman OK 2/25/94”  This reception followed a week of school visits in Norman. The historical society sold antiques on the upper floor of the house.

2. “Silver Falls State Park, OR, 2001”  Carl and I were on our way home from a week of school visits in Oregon, and spent the weekend in our motorhome in this beautiful park.

3. “Opreyland Hotel, Nashville, Accelerated Reader Conference, Feb. 2000”  I spoke at the conference; that evening Carl and I explored the hotel’s shops.

4. “Duluth MN 1996 MEMO Conference, Maud Hart Lovelace Award.” I had received the award for Cages. This Santa is riding on the kind of barge that I saw in the Duluth harbor.

5. “Eric’s 10th birthday trip, Alaska, July 2002” When each of our grandchildren turned ten, we took them on a special trip.  Eric’s was a cruise to Alaska. My souvenir is Santa in a canoe, along with some wildlife.

6. “Speaker, post-polio group, Seattle Jan. 1998”  Someone from the group took us to a Swedish pancake breakfast prior to my talk. The church that put on the breakfast was also having a bazaar; I bought a Santa.

7. “School visits, Iowa, 1996”  This was another fun motorhome trip. Our motorhome was programmed to stop at antiques shops, but I rarely bought old Santas because the majority of them are scowling. Really! Most antique Santas look crabby; I prefer happy Santas.

The Santa I’ve had the longest is a small one made of yarn with a cotton beard. My mother made these as package decorations one year when I was a little girl.

 A large bobble-head Santa who comes apart at the waist has lived with me for a long time, too. My grandmother sent him to my children, filled with Mrs. See’s candy, as a Christmas gift in 1963.  I have filled him with candy and displayed him every December since then.  I also have a copy of The Night Before Christmas by Clement C. Moore, illustrated by Gyo Fujikawa, which is inscribed by my grandmother to my son and dated December 25, 1961. Bob would have been two years old. At the time I did not realize how much I would treasure these gifts so many years later.

There is a snapshot of me, age ten, wearing a Santa costume which I donned on Christmas Eve and wore to distribute the gifts from under the tree to my family. I only fit in it for two years but I still remember how much fun it was to “be Santa” – to come ho-ho-hoing down the stairs where my parents, brother, and grandpa showed great excitement at my arrival.

 Each year when I display my Santas, I am flooded with happy memories.