Genre Jumper: Sarah Sullivan

I started jumping from picture books to other kid-lit genres due to curiosity, an itchy typing finger, and knowing that what I needed to say would sometimes take more than 500 words. It was not what I’d call a stroke of marketing genius (“So glad you like Schmutzy Family! Come back in 10 years for Dream Boy!”) But I had to do it, and I got curious about other writers who jump around, too.  Thus, I decided to start this occasional feature about genre jumpers. (Think about it, International Olympic Committee…)

Sarah Sullivan/ Photo by Rick Lee

I’m starting by talking with Sarah Sullivan, whose debut novel, All That’s Missing (Candlewick), follows 11-year-old Arlo as he evades a social worker and travels 350 miles to piece together his family’s past — and future. Before she published her middle-grade, Sarah published picture books, including Passing the Music Down (near and dear to me and all lovers of traditional music), Root Beer Banana, Once Upon a  Baby Brother, and Dear Baby, Letters from Your Big Brother. A native of West Virginia, Sarah’s in the process of moving across the border to Va., just an hour or so from Tappahanock, a place that inspires her writing. Thanks, Sarah, for answering my questions!

When did you write your first picture book? 

My very first stab at it?  Around 1990, I wrote Dear Baby:  Letters from Your Big Brother and sent it off to a few publishers whose names I had found in Children’s Writers & Illustrator’s Market.  After promptly collecting my rejection slips, I put the manuscript away and went to work on a middle grade novel.  When my husband and I moved to a smaller home in 1992, that manuscript went into mini-storage where it remained for 7 years.  When we were finally able to empty out our mini-storage, I started to throw Dear Baby in the trash bin.  But, my husband yelled, “Wait a minute,” because, by that time I had sold my first picture book, (Root Beer and Banana).  “You have an editor now,” he said.  “You should at least send it to her.” So, I sent Dear Baby to my editor.  And she loved it.  And, with some minor changes in the text and the addition of Paul Meisel’s inspired art, it became a book.  Amazingly, it’s still going strong.  Moral of story?  Do not throw old manuscripts away!

(*Note: Paul Meisel illustrated Schmutzy, too. Like Sarah, I am a member of his fan club.)

When did you start writing your first novel?

Well, here’s a long story.   I wrote a middle grade novel in 1991 and sent it off to 3 or 4 publishers.   This time I received a couple of “nice” rejection slips.  And, SURPRISE OF ALL SURPRISES, I received a response from one big publishing company which said, “The story you have sent to us for consideration has been recommended for a second/third read.  We will contact you again as soon as possible.” That letter was dated July, 1991.  I waited until February 27, 1992 when I received a second letter, telling me that my novel had been through “quite a few readings by the editorial staff.”  It said that the editors had “thoroughly enjoyed” my novel and that it had “well-formed and likeable characters,” BUT they passed on it.  And so, I put that manuscript away and my life promptly turned into chaos for about 5 years.  There was a lot of serious illness and loss.  Somehow, around 1997, I managed to write a second middle grade novel which I entered in the 1998 Bantam Doubleday Dell Marguerite de Angeli contest.  My novel was a finalist in the contest.  They had no winner that year.  Again, I received a lovely editorial letter, inviting me to revise my manuscript and submit it again.  At the time I did not have the emotional fortitude to revise a novel, though I did try very hard.  Ultimately, going to Vermont College is what saved me and set me on the track to writing the novel that would be published.

Are you a one-project-at-a-time person, or do you tend to mix it up? How easy is it for you to go back and forth between forms? 

I always have more than one project going, though some of them may go into a dormant pupal stage for a long time.  Once I have a strong first draft of a story, I tend to become obsessed with it.  At that point, I tend to focus on that one project, though I am still doing things like book reviews for my local paper and writing workshops in schools.

These days I focus mainly on middle grade fiction. With any project, I find there are distinct stages.  First you have the idea in your head and it seems glorious and exciting.  You imagine a marvelous creation.  Then you begin writing and, with a novel, for the first 20 pages or so, the enthusiasm continues.  Then, the initial glow begins to fade.  The project becomes work.  You are not certain what comes next.  You probably know where it ends, but what happens in between the beginning and the end is a complete mystery.  There’s a huge temptation to switch to another project.  J.K. Rowling says something to the effect that, (and I’m probably butchering her quote), beginning a novel is one thing.  Finishing a novel is an entirely different matter.  I couldn’t agree with her more.

Are there themes or places in your picture books that you tend to explore again in your novels? If so, talk about some of the differences in the way they come out.

The overriding theme I tend to explore is finding your place in the world and figuring out how much your family shapes you and how much you form your own personality, moral outlook and values.  And I know that this obsession comes out of my own experience.

Picture books or novels? Do you have a preference? Or if you can’t choose, tell me what you like/don’t like about each form.

I love both forms, but I feel much more comfortable writing novels.  The picture book format seems to be in constant flux.  There are exceptions, of course, but knowing how quickly tastes and styles change makes it exceedingly difficult to write a picture book, since the time line from manuscript to finished book is at least 2 years.  Also, the main trick to writing a picture book is getting the idea and, for me, getting that idea is UNBELIEVABLY difficult!

What have your picture books taught you about novel writing?

That’s an interesting question.  I suppose they have taught me about plot.  In writing a picture book, you need to think about what happens on each page spread, so that the illustrator will have something to draw.  That helps me think about action and moving the story forward.  Plot has always been my weak point.

What has your novel taught you about your picture books?

Conversely, I think that when I go back to picture books now, I am more conscious of how to use the page turn.  It’s the unique feature of the picture book.  It automatically moves the story along and, as a writer, you need to be conscious of it in constructing your story.

Is there a genre of literature you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

I would like to try an early chapter book and a series.

THANK YOU for inviting me to chat on your blog, Madelyn.  It’s been a blast!

Thanks, Sarah, for being my guinea pig and answering these questions!

 

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Flame

Arlington National Cemetery -- Kennedy Flame

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Talking About the Weather

So here’s the love part in my love-hate relationship with the Internet: The Capital Weather Gang. Namely, their twitter feed. I say this not because I am becoming obsessed with the weather in my old(er) age, though I suppose there’s some of that, too. Their feed tells me what I need to know. They put our area in perspective with the rest of the world. And when they tweet, they often get me OFF the computer, and back outside where I belong. They have sent my family into the yard to view planets and meteor showers and sunsets. On a night I’d caught a particularly good sunset on my own, they told me why the sky looked the way it did. Last night, they told my family just where to look to catch a rocket launch from Wallops Island. I set my alarm for 7 p.m. so we wouldn’t get too lost in dinner and homework and miss it.

BUZZ. My alarm went off.

I checked my twitter feed. The launch had been postponed to 8:15, the weather gang told us. When it was time to go outside, they even told us to bundle up.

By 8:06, my husband and I were on the driveway with the kids. We’d turned off the house lights to try to do our small part in getting rid of the light pollution. 10…9…8…3… We could see it! There! Shooting through the sky between a gap in the houses. We followed the arc up and up. Then the light seemed to freeze. We stared at it in the dark and cold, until it went out — in the night sky, anyway. Because I’m pretty sure that when I looked at my kids’ faces, the light was still there.

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Barbara Park and Junie B.

If I were choosing someone for the Supreme Court, here’s another litmus test I might throw in there: How do you feel about Junie B. Jones? Because I figured out recently that I often use this to judge people. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts on the death penalty. Now where do you stand on Junie B?” I have friends who never embraced Junie B the way I did. Honest, I do. I have friends who think she’s too smart-mouthed or else they struggle with the grammar or … something. (I’m not sure I can tell you what the something is, because after a point, we agree not to discuss it.)

Since Barbara Park’s death this weekend, I’ve been thinking about how much her books have made our family laugh, as in this excerpt from Junie B. First Grader: Dumb Bunny:

Lucille stood up and fluffed herself.
“Well — since the Easter Bunny and I are the same religion — I’m going to wear a fancy Easter dress, Shirley,” she said.
Shirley though for a minute. Then she nodded.
“Hmm. Then I guess I will wear a fancy Jewish dress,” she said.
Lennie’s eyes lighted up.
“Really, Shirley? You mean we have our own clothing line?” he asked.
He smiled.
“Then I think I will wear some fancy Jewish pants,” he said.

Note: that was Book 27 — 27 — and the prose was still incredibly fresh. Not to mention that she made an Easter-themed book perfectly appropriate and relevant for our Jewish family.

It’s been a few years since my daughter has actively read her JBJ books. They’ve moved from her room to the downstairs bookcase, replaced by Dork Diaries and Percy Jackson and Wimpy Kid. Still: there’s a girl in her class named Grace, who has never been mentioned in our house without the addition of the word “that.” When my daughter comes out of the shower, we still try to make sure she has smoothy hair. Like Lucille, we sometimes fluff ourselves.

“She will live on through her writing.”

I’ve seen that phrase a dozen times since learning about Barbara Park’s death. I’m not sure how much comfort it is for her family and friends, whose hurt cannot be soothed with words. But as a fan, I am finding comfort in all that Barbara achieved, and in all that she taught me, through her writing, about what voice should be. I will always be grateful to her for the joy she gave our family, and for creating Junie B. Jones, one of the most alive characters I know.

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Children’s Poetry Blog Hop + Poetry Friday

In which I wax poetic about … poetry.

The Mortimer Minute Poetry Hop started in September with April Halprin Wayland, who asked poetry lovers to share questions and answers about poetry – especially poetry for children. I got tagged by Jacqueline Jules, an award-winning poet and children’s author whose poems and stories stay with me long after I first hear them. You’ll find her poetry questions (and answers) over on Debbie Levy’s blog. Her list of poems for kids goes on about a mile long, and you can see glimmers of poetry in everything she writes.

My published poetry for children seems to have hit its peak with a counting book I wrote for the Dole Company a few years back —  though I do tend to sneak it into my longer pieces, like Canary in the Coal Mine, whenever I can. I’m hoping you’ll see more from me in the next few years. Maybe answering these questions will spur me to submit!

How do you feel about rhyme?

I love rhyming poems, especially for young kids, because it teaches them to have fun with words at an early age. When I read poetry aloud in classes, I often pause at the logical spot for the rhyme, just to hear the kids yell: “Wig! It’s wig!!! I know, I know. It’s WIG!

When I was a kid myself, I believed all poetry had to rhyme. Even in high school, I remember writing a poem to sum up my confusion about what I wanted in a career, in college, in life and how to live it. And I rhymed it, People, the syllables matching up like socks (well, like socks in someone else’s laundry.) It lost some of its emotional punch in the me/be, fall/all, but it’s etched in my memory for that same reason, making it the only bit of writing I still have from a certain vulnerable year when I burned my journals after a particularly bad break-up with a particularly bad boy. (Note: I have not linked to it here. That is on purpose.)

The first non-rhyming poem I ever adored was probably Ole Ramson’s I Am a Bunny, though I didn’t realize it was a poem at the time. As an adult, I rediscovered narrative poetry through Sherman Alexie, starting with Summer of the Black Widows, and ending only if he ever stops writing poetry. I’m also a big fan of Jane Varley’s slice-of-life poems. In kid-world, in addition to Jackie, I really like Liz Scanlon,  Marilyn Singer and Laurel Snyder. Like Johnny Cash, I’ll always have a soft spot for Shel Silverstein, and I consider it a triumph that my kids know Robert Louis Stevenson because they heard Bullwinkle recite The Swing on a the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show. It’s also lovely to find poetry hiding in plain sight — in a grocery list, or the Japanese-to-English translation for a soldering iron.

Why do you like poetry?

While it’s true that sometimes a good poem can take as long to complete as a full-on book, the length of most poems makes them seem deceptively doable, and therefore, not so threatening. I love poems for their concentrated bursts of emotion – my feelings (or yours) distilled, without the aid of a Bunsen burner. I love that they can paint a picture in so very few words. And I love poetry for its sound. I was reminded of that again recently when my friend Dana Kletter posted the words to Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky online — in Yiddish. The poem was already all about sound, but hearing it without knowing what a single word meant – and still being able to enjoy it – drove that point home.

S’iz brilik un di slivne toyves


Goyen un gimlen in di vaybn:


A tmimes hobn di bar-agoyves


Un di mume-roytes tsegraybn.

Why is poetry good for kids?

Milk builds strong bones, poetry builds a strong sense of word play, helps them remember things, and offers them release. With poetry, they are given the license to be funny, silly and clever, as in my son’s poem about a group of vicious, doughnut-eating cows. They are given license to put some of their intense emotions into words, especially valuable for teens who need an outlet for their angst, who are are finding their voice.

Thanks for tagging me, Jackie! Jackie also tagged my friend and writing cohort Anamaria Anderson over at Bookstogether, so be sure to check out her q&a, too. I’m tagging Mary Crockett, another slice-of-life poet I admire, for next week. Mary was a poet before she was anything else (author, wife, mother, Wonderwoman). My writing partner for the YA novel Dream Boy, which is due out this summer, Mary and I met when we were asked to co-teach a creative writing program for teenagers at the YMCA in Salem, Va. Look for Mary’s post next week!

And a last note: I feel like in my own education — and today, in my kids’ education — poetry was barely given a nod, even during National Poetry Month. More, please.

Since this blog hop falls on Poetry Friday, I’m going to double up, so I’m presenting this poem from Canary in the Coal Mine. I don’t think it’s a huge spoiler since I’m taking it out of context. Poetry Friday is hosted this week by Jama Rattigan; to invoke James Bond (and Carly Simon) Nobody Does it Better.

Sing, Little Songbird

Sing, little songbird, safe and sound

Fly, little songbird, glory bound

Feathers float on yonder wind

Pain and sorrow, now rescind

Night has fallen, black as coal

Time has come to rest your soul

Sing, little songbird, sing

Sing, little songbird, sing

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