]]> http://www.katrinagermein.com/blog/book-launch/feed/ 1 http://www.katrinagermein.com/blog/september-guest-janeen-brian/ http://www.katrinagermein.com/blog/september-guest-janeen-brian/#comments Tue, 31 Aug 2010 09:18:11 +0000 Katrina http://www.katrinagermein.com/?p=909 To celebrate fathers, Fathers’ Day and the release of  ’My Dad Thinks He’s Funny’ five fellow South Australians (who’ve all written or illustrated picture books, among other things) will be visiting the blog with dad posts this September.

Today’s guest is Janeen Brian

I learned to garden from my dad. Dad grew everything in our suburban block; fruit, vegetables and chooks! It was second nature to gorge on fresh, ripe apricots; to peek under leaves for strawberries or to sit on a branch of an almond tree and crack the first of the nuts.

I learned the art of recycling from my dad. Dad’s shed was a treasure trove of jars and containers with nuts and bolts and bits that, to me, had no name or purpose – but they ‘might come in handy.’
I learned to look after my belongings from my dad. Dad grew up in the Depression and wore shoes patched from motorcar tyres. Dad shone his shoes. I did too. I polished my brown school leather ones until they squeaked under the rag. I whitened my netball ‘sandshoes’ as well with a wipe on liquid.
Dad fought in the Middle East and then guerrilla type fighting in New Guinea. He returned home ill. Mum didn’t recognise her husband. He was ‘six stone of yellow’. Dad spent years on and off in the Daws Park Repatriation Hospital. All through my childhood I remember countless visits, looking at rows and rows of pale, sickly looking men.  At home, dad was constantly ill. I remember that dad didn’t play with us kids much. Several years after Dad died, I tried to harness one thing I knew that he and I had done together, just us two. I turned it into a poem called A Dad Time.

A Dad Time.

I remember a dad time.

It was a gentle time
with a long jetty,
a sharp knife
and slivers of squishy cockles.
His sure fingers
slicing
bait
which I would thread
on a hook
as if making
a garment.
Sun crowned our heads,
I in his shadow
freckling away,
swinging legs,
aching to reel in – and in – and in.
Sure each wavelet
was a fish, Dad!
Mostly it wasn’t.

Mostly it was
just a dad time.

(© Janeen Brian published in The School Magazine, June 2009, No 5. Touchdown. Illustrated by Matt Ottley)

Today, I love seeing fathers playing with their children. The guy next door was singing ‘I’m a wibbly-wobbly scarecrow,’ to his toddler the other day. I stood by the fence and listened to his wonderful, out-of-tune rendition and felt happy. A few days ago, I saw a dad in big rubber boots, stomping through a big puddle in a park. He was with his kids, also in big rubber boots, and they were stomping too. And laughing.
In my book, I Spy Dad! I wanted to acknowledge all the dads who play with their children. It’s a fine, fun thing to do.

Ipswich launch of I Spy Dad!

Ann James read I Spy Dad! dressed as the little girl on the cover and up a tree! Terry Denton was the hang-gliding dad coming to hug her – but he had to use a ladder to reach her!

Janeen Brian is warm, creative, positive, encouraging, happy, sweet, energetic and fabulous. She is an award winning writer of picture books, short stories, poetry, non-fiction, short fiction and novels for young people. To less established writers she is inspirational and selflessly supportive.  (Janeen let me write her bio.)

Many thanks for visiting Janeen. What a heartfelt post.

Here are the visitors’ dates:

Wednesday September 1st – Janeen Brian

Friday September 10th – Sally Heinrich

Wednesday September 15th – Claire Richards

Monday September 20th – Katherine Battersby

Sunday September 26th – Rosanne Hawke

I’m also hoping to post photos from the ‘My Dad Thinks He’s Funny’ launch early in the month.

Happy Fathers’ Day!

Me: Does anyone have any questions about the books or about being an author?

Child One: I’ve seen that book before.

Child Two: I had that book from the library and my mummy readed it to me.

Child Three: I’ve got that one at home.

Teacher: So far we’ve had all comments. Remember the difference between questions and comments. Katrina asked if anyone has any questions.

Child Four: Can I go to the toilet?

Child Five: Do you like being an author?

Child Six: How many books have you made?

Child Three: I like the ‘Big Rain Coming’ book because there’s a Stephen in the story and my dad’s called Stephen.

Flurry of hands – lots of children know someone called Stephen.

Teacher: Now remember, Katrina said questions.

Child Seven: Why are your earrings so big?

Child Eight: I like the little dog book.

Child Three: My grandpa had a dog but it died.

Child Two: We can’t get a dog because our backyard isn’t big enough and Mummy doesn’t have time to walk a dog but we used to have a cat before it got runned over.

Flurry of hands – lots of children have dead pet stories.

Teacher: Remember, questions.

Child One: I like your books.

Child Nine: I like all of your books.

Child Three: I like the last one.

Teacher: Questions!

Child Ten: How do you make all the books?

Child Eleven: I make books at home.

Flurry of hands – lots of children make books at home.

Teacher: We have time for three more.

Child Thirteen: How much do those books cost?

Child Seven: What do you do with all the money?

Child Two: When I grow up I’m going to be an author as well because I’m really good at stories.

And isn’t that just the perfect comment to finish with?

Question Time © Katrina Germein 2010

I’m not afraid of being alerted to problems with the style or the structure. I can deal with that. I appreciate useful feedback. What I’m worried about is being told that there’s a problem with the theme, the theme that the whole the story is built around, because I’ve written a story about what it’s like to be a little person when the adults in your life forget to put you first.

The story is not drawn out and frightening, nor does the child in the story suffer devastating abuse. The grown up characters are not intentionally unkind or menacing. I’ve included a playful aspect and ultimately the story has a happy and hopeful ending. I haven’t written something entirely dark but I have explored how it feels to be a child when a parent lets you down.

My story has the ever essential narrative arc with a problem that needs to be solved and a satisfying resolution, but the complication, the problem, is created by a grown up instead of a lost toy, naughty sibling, or cheeky animal. It’s not a heavy story to be used exclusively by therapists, so I’m wondering, given that I’m writing for preschoolers and not young adults, if I can get away with it. There are certainly already plenty of picture books that deal with death, depression and displacement. But in these books there is no blame, no individual is responsible for the pain.

People read to make sense of the world, learn about others and find experiences they can relate to. I think small children deserve the same. They need to hear about other kids with similar experiences and emotions. Books can validate and clarify their own experiences and provide opportunities for questions and discussion. But is it okay to show adults with failings? Little children who can’t read need grownups to read with them. I’m not sure how some adults would feel about sharing a story that considers how common stresses for children are often caused by the very people children rely on. I’ve tried not to be judgemental or extreme. I’ve simply tried to explore what is a common life experience for many kids.

In thinking about trade picture books how many of them show adults (excluding humorous caricatures) in a less than flattering light? Can you think of any? Am I allowed to make the adults the problem? Or am I wasting my time? And how would the adult gatekeepers of children’s literature respond? Or maybe I’m just making a very big deal about nothing…  What do you think?

Can I Write About This? © Katrina Germein 2010

* The paperback edition of Littledog is out now. (It has a different front and back cover to the hardback edition.)

* I have joined Facebook. (Thank you to old friends who’ve not pointed out how I spent six years saying I never would.)

* Entries have closed for the Max Fatchen Literary Awards. (A poetry competition for South Australian children that I’m thrilled to be judging.)

* I’m convening a picture book  workshop, Ploughing a Path to Publication, at the Salisbury Writers’ Festival. (Sunday August 29.)

* My Dad Thinks He’s Funny is out this month! (It will be officially launched on September 3rd.)

1.
Acceptance: Eat an entire block of chocolate (preferably Cadbury rocky road) because everyone else is at work/school and it’s the best way to celebrate on your own.
Rejection: Eat an entire block of chocolate (preferably Cadbury rocky road) because everyone else is at work/school and it’s the best way to console yourself.

2.
Acceptance: Email a few people close to you because you’ll feel even better once you’ve shared your news.
Rejection: Email a few people close to you because you might feel a tiny bit better once you’ve shared your pain. Play it down though, with a few light-hearted lines that you don’t really mean like, “Oh well. That’s how it goes. All part of the business I guess.”

3.
Acceptance: Read the manuscript out loud several times and smile smugly to yourself. Read the publisher’s comments several times and repeat the same smug smile.
Rejection: Read half the manuscript then file. Scan the publisher’s comments briefly then file. (Return to the file in about seven weeks time.)

4.
Acceptance: Switch off the computer and spend the rest of the school day lounging around with a good book because it’s a nice way to reward yourself.
Rejection: Switch off the computer and spend the rest of the school day lounging around with a good book because what’s the point in writing when you’re crap at it anyway.

5.
Acceptance: Collect the kids from school, cook the dinner, and fold the clothes, because some things never change.
Rejection: Collect the kids form school, cook the dinner, and fold the clothes, because some things never change.

6.
Acceptance: Put the children to bed then talk to at your husband about the news for at least one hour.
Rejection: Stomp around and complain about the dishes and the mess the children have made. When your husband asks what’s wrong hiss, “Nothing I’m just tired and the kids are driving me nuts.” Once your husband has put the children to bed continue stomping until he asks, “Did you hear something about your writing today?” Talk to at your husband about the news for around three minutes and then announce that you’re having a bath.

7.
Acceptance: Eat some more chocolate because you deserve it.
Rejection: Eat some more chocolate because you deserve it.

The Seven Steps © Katrina Germein 2010

Mockingbird (mok’ing-burd) by Kathryn Erskine

Philomel Books, New York, NY 2010

Sweet, sad and hopeful ‘Mockingbird’ is a thoughtful junior novel. The book follows ten year old Caitlin’s quest to find ‘Closure’ after the death of a family member. Caitlin, who has Asperger’s syndrome, is the narrator. She is aware that she’s ‘special’ and often doesn’t ‘Get It’ but in her honest black and white world she continues to ‘Work At It’. Caitlin knows she must try to ‘Look At The Person’ and attempt to decode emotions. Caitlin has many typical Asperger’s traits but her character is engaging rather than predictable. It’s impossible not to compare this book with Mark Haddon’s also fabulous ‘The Curious Incident of The Dog in the Night-Time’. Both books show us the world through the eyes of an outsider as their protagonists try earnestly to solve a mystery. We see the effects their unusual behaviour has on those close to them, especially their fathers. The main difference is in the age and sex of the characters who drive the stories, and in their education; Haddon’s Christopher attends a special school while Caitlin receives daily support in a mainstream school.

‘Mockingbird’ is poignant and beautiful. It made me both laugh and cry. I highly recommend it.

I’m a bit of a slow worker.

I love writing but I don’t find it easy.
I spend entire days writing and redrafting two hundred words.
Then I spend more days redrafting the same two hundred words.
On and off I return to those two hundred words again, and again, for months, or years.
I like buffing and refining sentences.
Picture books suit me.
I’m a bit of a slow worker.

Some writers write novels.
Some writers blog every day.
Some writers have huge daily word counts.
I could never be a journalist.
I’m a bit of a slow worker.

Sometimes publishers comment favourably on my writing style.
They ask if I’ve considered writing a novel.
They’d like to see a novel of mine.
That’s flattering but – thousands and thousands and thousands of words?
I’m a bit of a slow worker.

I’m not much of a planner.
I start with a screaming idea and see where it takes me.
I had an idea for a children’s novel.
I told it to go away.
I can’t write a novel.
I’m a bit of a slow worker.

But it wouldn’t go away.
It kept on screaming.

So I started to write.
Without a plan, I started to write it.
It was hard.
Very hard.
Too hard.
I put it away and pretended that it never was.
But it still was.
And it still is, waiting.

My agent said it could be ‘amazing’.
That’s flattering but – a novel?
I’m a bit of a slow worker.

The idea of a novel is overwhelming.
But I’m trying.
Maybe one day it will be finished.
Or maybe one day it won’t.
We’ll see.

I’m a bit of a slow worker.

I’m a Bit of a Slow Worker © Katrina Germein 2010

They wanted to check my snail mail address, were sending promotional post cards.

I’ve never had promotional postcards before!

Tuesday The post cards arrived in the mail.

Wednesday The postman was back with an advance copy of the  book!

Thursday The My Dad Thinks He’s Funny teaching notes were added to my website.

Friday Everything’s all set for the August release! Champagne anyone?

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