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I try to answer all mail from readers within a week of when I receive it.  (I answer e-mail within two days.) My efforts to be prompt are sometimes hindered because instead of sending a letter to me, someone mails it to one of my publishers. Those letters are often not forwarded to me for many months.

Yesterday I received a letter that had been forwarded by one of my publishers. It was from two students at an intermediate school in Iowa, and the letter was dated Feb. 5, 2007! That is more than twenty-one months ago! I can’t imagine where it has been all of this time.  Unfortunately, the kids were doing an author report and had sent me their questions.

 I am sorry that these students never got an answer from me. There’s no use replying now. It’s far too late to help them with their report and they are probably not even students there any longer. I’ve learned not to answer mail that’s more than about three months old because too much of it is returned.

My mailing address is on my Web site, as is my e-mail address. If you want to contact me, please use one of those, rather than sending mail in care of the publisher. 

I spent most of today reading the copy-edited manuscript of my next book.  While I was writing it and for months after I sent it in, I referred to it as HOW I WONDER.  Then one day my editor emailed me to say that the publisher didn’t think this title was as strong as my other titles. She wondered if I would consider changing it.

Anyone who has read the story would probably agree that HOW I WONDER is a perfect title but I had to admit it was not a title that would be likely to make kids grab the book and want to read it.  The book is now called RUNAWAY TWIN, and I think it’s a better title than my original.

Between when I submitted my original manuscript and when it came back to me, it had been scrutinized by a copy editor, who made pencil corrections directly on the pages and added several Post-it notes with questions,  comments and concerns.

I am always amazed by what the copy editor finds. For example, I started reading this morning and found that the word windbreaker had been capitalized. It was now Windbreaker. This sent me to my Dictionary where I learned that Windbreaker is a trademark and therefore must be capitalized. Like Kleenex, it has been used so much that we have come to accept it as a generic term, but that is not correct.

There were more capitalization problems. I had capitalized the French in French fries; the copy editor put it in lower case. This sent me back to the Dictionary where I learned that we eat French toast, French dressing, French chops and French pastries. But when we serve potatoes they are french fries. No capital F.

I had also mentioned Vitamin A which, it turns out, is not correct. It should be vitamin A.

I was even wrong when it came to dog breeds. There is a marvelous dog in this book who is part basset hound and part black lab. Or so I thought. It turns out that Snickers is really part basset hound and part black Lab. Capital L.  

 Who would have thought I could learn so much in one day by reading a book that I wrote myself? 

I’ve been laughing ever since I picked up my mail today. There was an orange envelope addressed to Lucy Kehret  (Lucy is my dog) with the return address of “Molly.” Molly, of course, is my cat.  The card inside shows a scowling cat wearing a witch’s hat and a black cape. Inside, the copy reads: “I was going to be a dog for Halloween, but it seemed like too much trouble to have my brain removed.”  The card is unsigned.

I have several friends who could be responsible for this silliness. Eventually, one of them will confess. In the meantime, I’m chuckling. And, since I believe authors and publishers should always get credit for their work, I’ll mention that it is an American Greetings card, with credit to Fun Pix.

My oldest grandchild, Brett, was born on Halloween. She is a freshman this year at Whitman College so I won’t be with her on her special day, but we celebrated together last weekend, and I baked her favorite birthday cake for her. I wrote Horror at the Haunted House because I wanted a Halloween book to dedicate to Brett. 

Because my house is set far back in the woods, with a long, winding driveway, children never come for “trick or treat.” I always buy some candy, just in case.

I will spend part of Halloween trying to solve The Mystery of the Disappearing Cat Toys.  Gus, the foster cat, disposes of his toys as fast as I give them to him. My foster cat room has a concrete floor, so toys move nicely when they are batted. There are several cupboards that have just enough room for a small toy to roll under. The problem is that if I get down on the floor to fish out the toys, I have a hard time getting back up. That’s fine with Gus, who takes advantage of my position to rub against my head and purr. At the moment, I need to look for two fur mice, two stuffed catnip mice, one crinkle ball and one pingpong ball, all of which he has hidden in the last two days.

A few months ago, I bought a new printer. Molly has decided it is really a cat perch, the perfect spot from which to look at the back yard bird feeder. I put a towel on top of the printer, in an attempt to keep it free of cat fur, but that only served to make the perch more comfortable.

I completed my absentee ballot yesterday, and put it in the mail. I began voting absentee when I was doing so much RV travel to talk at schools and libraries, and I much prefer voting that way because I can take my time and research any minor issues that I didn’t know would be on the ballot.

Like most people, I’m tired of the political ads and ready for the whole thing to be over but I’m also encouraged by the excitement that this election has generated. When I was a child, my parents impressed on me that it was the duty and privilege of every citizen to vote in every election.  They took me with them to the polling place at our local school just as I took my children with me when they were small.  Since I became old enough to cast a ballot, I have voted in every election, even those where the only issues were minor local ones, and I still feel a sense of electricity in the air on election day. 

  

Last Friday I was in Portland, Oregon, at a conference of the Washington Library Media Association, to receive the Sasquatch Award for The Ghost’s Grave.  What a wonderful afternoon!  I spent two hours signing books, chatting with librarians, and posing for pictures. The best part was being told how much their students like my books.

Next came the award presentation followed by more great conversation with enthusiastic librarians. What a fine partnership we have!  I write the books to the best of my ability, and they put those books in the hands of the kids who read them. 

I met more great librarians last night at a special event at Children’s Bookshop in Puyallup, WA. I also had a chance to visit with other local authors, which is always a pleasure.

One highlight was a high school senior who arrived carrying a well worn copy of Terror at the Zoo. “This was my favorite book in fourth grade,” she told me, “and when I saw in the newspaper that you were going to be here, I decided to come and have you sign it.”

Tomorrow is the official publication day for Stolen Children. My hope is that it, too, will become some young reader’s favorite book.

Many years ago I was a struggling writer, selling a few magazine articles and short stories, and writing plays. I decided I wanted to write a novel, and I had what I thought was a good idea for a mystery. A young woman, a college student, is hired to baby-sit for a wealthy family, and while she is there the baby gets kidnapped. The plot consisted of the woman’s efforts to track down the kidnappers, and the danger that she got into as a result.

It took me nearly a year to write the book. I sent it to an agent, who agreed to try to sell if for me – but she was not able to do that. Eventually she returned the manuscript, with a long list of all the publishers who had turned it down. I wept as I read that list. The agent also sent a letter in which she said, “Your protagonist seems awfully young. Have you thought of writing for children?”

I had not. I tried to rework the novel and make it into a YA but it was not a successful effort, mainly because I didn’t know a thing about children’s literature. I finally put the book aside, and went on to other projects.

The idea, however, stayed in my head. About ten years ago I dragged out that old manuscript to see if I could salvage it but there was a lot wrong with it and I wasn’t enthusiastic about reworking old material. I moved not long after that, and the manuscript got tossed out.

However, I still liked the basic idea and I finally decided to start fresh with a new protagonist, new plot, new everything except the initial premise. In Stolen Children a young teen is hired to baby-sit for a wealthy family, and while she is there two thugs show up to kidnap the baby. They take Amy, too. Hidden away in a remote cabin, she needs to save not only herself but the toddler. 

If I had sold that novel when I first wrote it, I would have been thrilled. Stolen Children is my fiftieth book – and I’m still thrilled to have it published.

Kids often ask me how long it took me to write a particular book. If they want to know how long Stolen Children took, I’ll say, “Thirty-five years!”

Lucy is better. Hooray!  I spent much of yesterday in my recliner with Lucy in my lap, reading. Once again, books helped me escape my problems. 

Most of life’s difficulties must be met head-on, and action taken. Once I’ve done all that I can do to solve a problem, I find that reading allows me to relax and helps me keep my perspective. Yesterday I had done what I could for my dog: I took her to the vet, I gave her medicine, I soothed her. Having done all that, it was good to lose myself in a well-written novel. 

My eye surgery went well and I’m feeling fine. My grandson, Eric, is staying with me for a few days and he’s been an enormous help. The new lens that was put in my eye has improved my distance vision so much that I had to have the corrective lens on that side of my glasses removed. After the second eye surgery, I’ll  get new glasses for computer work and reading. For now, my eyes are not coordinated with each other. The only way I can read the computer monitor is with one eye closed so I won’t be doing any writing for a couple of weeks.

This experience has made me appreciate my eyesight even more than I did before. I also appreciate my friends! Vicki drove me to the surgery and back, and Heidi drove me to my follow-up appointment the next day. Normally, one of my kids would have been able to drive but my surgery happened to fall on the first day of school in the district where my son and his wife both teach, and it was also the day that my daughter and her husband moved my granddaughter, Brett, into her dorm at Whitman College, and attended all of the special events for parents. I had many friends volunteer to drive me.

Exciting news: I received my first hot-off-the-press copy of STOLEN CHILDREN. It is always a thrill to finally hold the published book in my hands. The official release date is October 16.

I received an e-mail from a woman who said her daughter planned to perform a monolog that I had written. She asked if the monolog’s narrator was based on a character in one of my books or if I could give her any other background information. She sent a copy of the monolog, which was titled, “Mandy.”  As I read it, my jaw dropped.

I wrote a monolog called “Missing Mandy” which was published by Meriwether Publishing in the book WINNING MONOLOGS FOR YOUNG ACTORS. It is still in print.  The piece this woman sent me had the same first line. Its last line was a direct quote from my monolog, too, although in my piece it was not the ending. The rest of “Mandy” is based on my idea and contains several sentences or partial sentences that I wrote, but it also contains actions and dialogue that I did not write. The end result is not something I would have published.

Anyone familiar with my books would be shocked to read one where a child discovers the dead body of her friend, covered in blood. I would never include such a scene. Yet, there it was, with me listed as the author.

 In “Missing Mandy” a child is asked about a burn on her hand and replies that she burned it while baking cookies. In the revised “Mandy” monolog, this child says she was scratched by her cat – also something I would never put in print.

I wonder how many copies of this distorted version of my work are circulating. I hope not many.  

When I responded to the mother’s e-mail, I explained that someone took my monolog, “Missing Mandy,” and rewrote it but left my name on it. I said that if her daughter performs the monolog she sent me, I should not be credited as the author.  I’m debating what else, if anything, I can do about such blatant misuse of copyrighted material.   

Yesterday was my mother’s birthday. I spent the day with Brett, driving home from Whitman College. We’d had a wonderful time exploring the campus, deciding which classes she wanted to take, and feeling pampered in a fine old Bed and Breakfast. It seemed a perfect way to celebrate my memories of my mother.

Mother always ended each visit by saying, “Didn’t we have fun?” No matter what we had done, it was always, in her view, the best visit ever. She had a knack for creating good times in any circumstances and for seeing the good in every situation.

My dad spent his last nine years in a nursing home, a victim of Alzheimer’s disease. Because he had been an executive with the Hormel meat company, my parents had a pig collection. Mother decided to have a “Pig Parade” at the nursing home.  I baked dozens of pig-shaped cookies, packed them in a box, and carried them on the plane from Seattle to San Francisco. Mother and I packed all of her pig figuerines and other pig memorabilia in boxes and transported everything to the nursing home.

The dining/recreation room was lined with patients in wheelchairs, and curious staff members took their breaks to watch the Pig Parade. We displayed each pig and Mother told where it was from. Those that weren’t breakable got passed around. Even patients who couldn’t follow the explanations seemed to enjoy touching the stuffed pigs, and my dad acted pleased to see the pigs again. I served the cookies on napkins decorated with pig stickers.

That night, as we put the pigs away in her condo, Mother said, “Didn’t we have fun?” and I could honestly answer, “Yes. The Pig Parade was wonderful.”

When Mother had cataract surgery, I went to stay for a few days to be her driver and to help with eye drops, etc. On the second day of her recovery, she felt well enough for us to have lunch at a small cafe’ near her home. “Isn’t this fun?” she asked, as we waited for our lunches. “Aren’t we lucky that we could do this today?”

Each Christmas was the best one we’d ever had. Every birthday celebration topped the charts of birthdays.

What a gift she gave me! By example, she taught me to appreciate each moment, to live life with joy no matter what the circumstances, and to find something to celebrate in every situation.

I miss her every day and always will, but oh my, didn’t we have fun?