Reading Like a Writer

That one still doesn't come as naturally to me as I would like to. I know about it, even begin doing it, and then, usually find myself swept away by story. I loose myself in it, and I LIKE that.

Thing is, once I close the book, I haven't learned as much about writing as I would have, if I'd had my writer's hat on. Jacqueline Woodson once said, at a SCBWI conference, that we should read the books we like at least twice, once to know the story, and then, to study the way it was written. But with the pile of books that never goes down (how could it, new ones keep replacing the ones I just finished reading) it's hard to read a book again !

As serendipity would have it, I've been thinking along these lines for a few days, and today, I read this post on Teaching Authors and here is someone reminding me, yet again, to do precisely what I know I need to do...

Plot is one area of weakness for me. I tend to loose myself in the characters. All of them. I write, and write, and write journals, thoughts, I over-analyze them and their reactions, where they come from, where they go, and why, and how, and all the while, I seem to run around in circles, rather than moving forward with the story. 

The last two books I read were North of Beautiful, by Justina Chen Headley, and Many Stones, by Carolyn Coman. 

So, now that I've read the stories, I'll go back, read them again with notepad and highlighting markers, and try and see how they move their plot forward, then write a small essay, maybe here, discussing what I learned, and including examples I highlighted and noted in the text.

Now where did I put my writer's hat?

It is Hot !

Let me start by saying that I'm definitely a hot weather person. If there is one thing I've never, ever missed since I left New York, it is the cold and winter. Winter makes me depressed. It took me years to realize that I suffered from what is now recognized as seasonal affective disorder. But the Hyderabadi summer is something else.

The weather in Hyderabad is usually very pleasant from September until February. Then, temperatures start rising until they reach their peak in the last weeks preceding the Monsoon, which begins usually around the first or second week of June. Believe me, by that time, we're all desperately waiting for it. Uma Krishnaswami's picture book, Monsoon, describes it beautifully. 

Soooo, we've now entered the hottest month of the year. I just checked, and at 7.10 am, this morning, it was already 28 degrees Celsius, which is 82.4 degrees Fahrenheit. This past week, we've had temperatures reaching 45 degrees Celsius (113 degrees F.)

What this means, practically... When I open the door of my air-conditioned bedroom in the morning (I know, I'm lucky that we have A/C in some rooms, in our house. I can't even begin to imagine how people living without it manage to survive) I'm met with a rush of oven hot air. The floors are hot under our bare feet. The water that comes from the cold water faucet is hot ! Not quite burning hot, but close. I'm not kidding. It's the only time of the year when we can wash our dishes with hot water - which is fine. But here you are, dreaming of a cool shower, only, there is no cool water to come out, unless you let it run for quite a while, and even then, it will still be tepid to warm. The moisturizing cream that comes out of the tube is warm. Even the doorknobs are warm! 

No wonder schools in India close for the year between mid-April and early June, and people who can escape to the hills (the British used to do that, too, of course). For those, like us, who follow the Western school calendar, there is no choice but to grin and bear it as graciously as we possibly can.

Thank goodness for air coolers. I'd never seen or heard of them before,

even though they're apparently used in dry places in the US. It's really a - beware, pun coming - cool machine. Not the pretties thing around, as you can see. 

And really very noisy, too.  But as the volumes in our house make it impossible to air condition it totally (electricity bills already triple during the summer months), we're happy to put up with the noise. 

So, you now know where to find us, at this time of year. Sprawled in front of the air cooler...

"Bi-Racial, Not Black... damnit"

This above is the title of a trailer I saw on Facebook, a few days ago (watch the beginning, and then click again on the video to see the interviews.)

I have already commented on my feelings, as the mother of two biracial children, when facing the tendency to consider all children with some African or African American blood as black. It took me a while to warm up to Obama because of that only, because I felt that by declaring himself black, he somehow rejected his white mother AND white grandparents who raised him. I had to read his book, Dreams from My Father, to understand his search for identity and the way he came to terms with it, himself. And I've always liked and admired Tiger Wood's refusal to be labelled  a Black man, considering his diverse heritage, and how he came up with his own word (cablinasian).

Not that the subject comes up that often. We do not live in the US, and even though I often miss it and wish at times I could be back in Park Slope, Brooklyn, I've also always felt that it might be better for our daughters to grow up far from all the race issues that are so big over there. Not saying that there aren't race issues in other countries. Do I wish. But they don't seem to be as raw, painful and overly present as they are in the US.

Yes, racism is strong in India. The whiter the better. Still, Indians are brown people, which means that my children blend in perfectly, here. Recently, as we waited to hear about our next post, a couple of Latin American countries came up as possibilities, one of them being Argentina, and even though I did not veto it (I have a list of requirements that evolves with time, and our experiences; up till now, it included good internet access, a good school - although, as experienced here, what you see on the Internet or during a first visit of a school is in no way a guarantee that said school will live up to its promises - reasonable supply and security situation, not necessarily in that order) I had growing misgivings about it, and when it turned out that we're not going there, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Why? Well, Argentina is known to be a country of white people, and as I said to my husband, "If we must live in a society that is more backward than forward when it comes to race issues, I'd rather be in a brown racist society than a white one."

Anyway, the video and its title stirred some conversation. The documentary film maker, Carolyn Battle's website, mentions "Private Conversations" as a title for the movie, so not sure how the other one came about - catchier, maybe. No matter, I found it very interesting. 

I often wonder about how my children perceive themselves? Do they even think about it? I'm not sure. As mentioned before, here, I always tell them they're cinnamon in the case of the older one, and toffee brown, for the younger. But they're very aware of the fact that I'm white, and Dad is Black. The other day, we were at the beach in Goa, and two dogs, a white one, and a black one, were walking together, and my husband took a picture and they ran to show it to me, saying " this is Mom and Dad." But do they, or will they, one day, feel that they need to belong to one race or another, as did most of the people interviewed in this trailer? Will they feel rejected by one race or the other and feel they don't belong anywhere? 

One thing is sure, as a white mother of biracial children, I was glad to see this video. It may not be politically correct to say this, but I refuse to subscribe to the "one drop rule." I've said it before and I repeat it here. It has nothing to do with rejecting the black race, and all to do with stating the facts. My children are no more black than they're white, so why should anyone (including themselves) deny their whiteness? Reminds me of a time when teachers would ask children at the beginning of the school year, in France, whether they were from another country, and I would get up, along with the few other children of immigrant parents, and the teacher would invariable ask me to sit back because "You are French." It made me so angry. I was and felt as much French as I was and felt Spanish. To me, there was a clear line running down the length of my body, right in the middle, and one part was French, the other Spanish, and telling me that I was French only just because I happened to have the "right" passport felt profoundly wrong. I was only 6 or 7 at the time, so unable to articulate this as clearly as I do it, now, but I vividly remember my feelings.

Children (and adults, too, for that matter) should be allowed to embrace their heritages and diversity in all their fullness, wholeness and richness. No one should feel that they have to cut or ignore parts of who they are just so they can fit into the boxes offered them. And if the need to fit into a box is stronger, then create new and accurate ones that "feel" right, like Tiger Wood. 

Novel writing or the art of plowing through...

Uma just published a blog post about the Literal, Tedious Novel Draft. I like the concept that a first draft can and should even be drafty, with holes in it. Far, far, far from perfect, and even terribly flawed. What matters, I'm told here and there, in workshops, in books, is to write that first "shitty" draft (in the words of Anne Lammot), to get the story out.

I applied that scrupulously while trying to last as long as I possibly could, during the last Nanowrimo challenge. Did not go back to re-re-re-read what I had just written, yesterday, the day before, the beginning. Just went on... And it was a good experience, if only because it taught me that I can actually do it (don't laugh, for people like me, it's a wild discovery and a real break-through.)

One of Uma's tip to help us plow through and not give in to the temptation of going back to what's already written, but rather to pick up where you left the day before and just go on, is to leave a note for yourself about what happens next.

I'd heard her say that before, and so, I tried to think: why have I not done this until now?

Very simple : I often start writing late in the morning (I've said this before : I'm NOT a morning person), which means I have little time before the kids come back from school, and then I use up every second until I hear the door bell. And then what? I bound to the door, because these girls just love to ring the bell endlessly until I show up, and by then, said bell already made me jump out of my skin anyway, and that's it...  Until tomorrow, where I return to what was written before, start judging it, deleting, editing, changing... and, and... plowing through? NOT!

So, I just had a light bulb moment. I need to set the alarm clock 5 to 10 mns before the return of the brood, so I can think about what comes next and write said note to myself. Beginning today. Let's see how this works for me.

Reading in Hyderabad

When we first moved to Hyderabad, we often drove by a lovely building surrounded by a garden, and I always longed to walk inside. 

I finally did. My daughter took a couple of pottery workshops, there. And then, I attended a reading by Scottish author Margaret Donald in the lovely amphitheater at the back of the cultural center. 

If someone had told me, then, that three and half years later, I would be sitting under that frangipani tree, reading my book to an audience of children and their parents, it is quite likely that I would have laughed out loud, even as I secretly wished such a dream could come true.

Well, it did, on Friday evening.

My  youngest daughter here is doing her own reading, before everyone arrived.



Thank you to everyone who came to share that moment with me.

Thank you, Uma Krishnaswami

Ever since I stumbled upon her website, Uma Krishnaswami has been a major influence in my writing life. I sent her Ifeanyi Amadi's manuscript for a private critique, and she helped me get closer to my character, made me realize how important it was for me to follow his journey, his train of thoughts, and render that on paper in a way that made sense for the reader, that made them "care." After that critique, Uma suggested that I join her Manuscript Workshop at writers.com, and I did. That was about four years ago, and since then, I've attended four classes, and each time, it's been an incredible experience.

Uma's teaching style is what all teaching should be like : a combination of knowledge, passion for the subject/craft, wisdom, gentle firmness and humor, and last but not least, generosity. Uma truly brings all of these qualities into her teaching, and I can easily say that being "around" her, being exposed to her energy and vibrations have made me not only a better writer, but also somehow a better person (not that the work is completely done.)

We just concluded another workshop, and Uma announced that she's now stepping back from this online teaching, after 12 years. Even the way she organized her departure shows how much she cares. She had Sarah Aronson, a graduate from the Vermont College, join in as a teaching assistant, and after two workshops, Sarah will now take over the class.

We were all saddened to hear that Uma is leaving, but we all wish her only the best, and can easily understand how juggling her teaching position at Vermont College, the online teaching, plus her own writing (not to forget her life) would be hard, even for the most energetic person.

Thank you, Uma, for all that you have taught me over the last few years. You remain, forever, my mentor of the blue ink.

More Nigerian children read Amadi's story

I first met Kelly Jo Bahry online, in November, during Amadi's blog tour. She lives in Yola, where Ramesh Raparthy shot this lovely video (as a reminder, Ramesh is a Film Instructor at the American University of Nigeria, in Yola, but he's from Hyderabad !) and sent me an email, saying she was coming to India in December. Of course, I invited her to visit us. In the end, she didn't come to Hyderabad, but we did meet her in Delhi, and we spent a couple of days together. Our children loved Kelly Jo, who is the kind of human being one wants and needs around at all times : warm, funny, independent, smart, and down to earth. Kelly Jo also happens to be the Director of Study Abroad and Service Learning, for the American University of Nigeria, in Yola.
She brought back several copies of Amadi's Snowman to Nigeria, and has been sharing Amadi's story with children, over there. She sent me some photos.





I'm so happy that children in Nigeria get to see and read the book. Thank you, Kelly Jo!

Does Obama know he's campaigning for Indian politicians?

One aspect of the debate on diversity in children's books : the name of the characters

Mitali Perkins launched a new great discussion about diversity in children's books, here, and here. I was glad to see one question address the issue of the lack of diversity in the characters' names. I ranted enough about this (well, I had Amadi do it, actually) when it was decided that I had to find him a new name; Ifeanyi (his original name) was deemed too strange, too difficult to read. I could understand the publisher's and editor's concerns and I know they had the book's best interest at heart. This is not so much about them, as it is revealing of a general, mainstream approach to all things considered even mildly different, therefore possibly threatening, at the very least difficult -- and who has time for difficult, right? 

As a sidenote, I shared the name anecdote with the children at the Vidyaranya High School, here, in Hyderabad. I wrote Ifeanyi on the black board, without having said it, and asked them to read it. They all did, flawlessly. Of course, these children are all at least bilingual (English and Hindi, and/or Telugu, and/or Tamil, and/or Urdu, and/or Bengali... etc, etc.) Maybe one answer to that particular problem would be to put more emphasis on the need for American children to learn at least one other language (and when I say learn, I mean as in being able to actually speak it, really, not just playing around with a few strange or funny-sounding words here and there, words forgotten almost as soon as they've been heard.)

Concert Etiquette in Hyderabad

Warning : this is a mood (mildly annoyed) piece, I believe the very first one, but I just HAVE to publish this post.

Two nights ago, I attended a concert in Hyderabad. This is a rare occurrence. First of all, baby-sitting is often an issue. Second, cultural events are often organized at the most inconvenient times for a mother of small children (read weekday, 6.30 or 7 pm, etc). The last reason is that Hyderabad cannot exactly boast of having a very happening and exciting cultural life. But this is changing, along with so many other things.

On Sunday night, the Duo Rosario was here, from France, and I decided I would not miss this. As an opera lover who used to live in New York, London and Paris, I have been starved for this type of performance. As luck would have it, our car decided to break down on Sunday, the taxi supposed to come and fetch us couldn’t find its way (the new taxi companies created after the new airport opened often hire drivers who come straight from their village; some speak English, others not a word, and some know their way around Hyderabad, and others have absolutely no clue as to where they are, or where they’re supposed to be going), but we still managed to arrive... two minutes late, but a few minutes before the concert began.

The first part of the evening saw diverse musicians, some professionals, others amateurs, before the main performance by the Duo Rosario.

There was no reason for me to be so stressed out at the thought that we were late...

As Aleksandra Mikolajczyk, who happens to be my daughter’s piano teacher, started playing an Etude by Chopin, I was amazed to see that people continued to come in and go as if they were entering a supermarket or a restaurant. Even more incredible: a swarm of photographers started taking pictures of the pianist from all possible angles, their noisy flashes blinding her! I couldn’t believe it. Later on, when Celine Laly from the Duo Rosario sang (beautifully!) a cell phone rang, and a few minutes later, another one. I could see her eyes zeroing in on the person whose phone was ringing, even though she did manage to finish her song flawlessly. 

Question: Is this really cultural? The lack of punctuality is a fact of life, here. I know it, I’ve lived with it for the past few years, and I’ll never get used to it, but I also understand that there isn’t much I can do about it. Still, how difficult would it be to address such issues, at least when being late becomes downright discourteous, not to say blatantly disrespectful - then again, isn’t it always discourteous and disrespectful to be late? Seems to me a few simple rules would do the trick:

 

1. Latecomers will not be allowed to enter while the artist is performing.

2. Cellphones must be switched off during the performance.

3. Photographers are to wait until the performer is done to take pictures, or at least do it in the most unobtrusive way.

Ethnic awards : is it time for a new approach?

I have been suffering from Blogger's Block, lately. Petty, mundane, and not so petty or mundane life worries seem to fill out my mind. But then, I came across an important debate on Read Roger's blog, today, and it seems fitting to mention it here, right after a post celebrating the inaugural of Obama.

Should awards like the Coretta Scott King or the Belpré live on as they are, or should the whole concept of awards based on the ethnicity, identity of the author/illustrator be entirely reframed?

As I read Marc Aronson (do note that the article was written in 2001) and Esme Codell's arguing the need to rethink these awards, and in light of what we hope to be a new era, one that made it possible for a global citizen with white and black blood (I mention the white blood first because his mother, who carried him and pushed him into this world, was white, and so she comes first; if his mother had been black, I would have switched the order) to be elected as president of the United States of America, I found myself nodding a lot. But then, Andrea Davis Pinkney and Yuyi Morales (look up Yuyi's input in the comments section of Esme Codell's post) contributing their own thoughts had me thinking some more.

And finally, there was Richard Michelson's conclusion, that somehow wraps things us for me: "... while the majority must open its gates to the minority, it is up to the minority to decide when they want to put out the welcome mat. Clearly we are not there yet."

Doesn' it all boil down to this? Yes, atrocities and injustice created this world where affirmative action and ethnic awards like the Coretta Scott King and Belpre's awards are needed if the voice of the minorities are to find avenues to make themselves known and heard. The question is : can I objectively write the previous sentence in the past tense? Has the world changed so much that minority authors can hope to see their work published and appreciated for their content, and without the help of awards based on the identity of the author or the artist? Has the world changed so much that authors or artists who belong to the majority can be included, so that these ethnic awards would be exclusively about the quality of the work, and no longer care about the identity of their author/illustrator? 

The majority, to which I belong, would like to say : YES, it has. Because majority people like me, who understand that being "non racist" requires active and conscious work, somehow feel cheated when a minority refuses to include them. I mean, I'm NOT a racist, and I work hard at not only embracing and advocating an inclusive multicultural world, but also at fighting any residual thought or impulse born from my being a white person who was brought up in a predominantly white world. It is my will and my dream that my biracial children grow up and experience a world where the color of their skin will never cause them sorrow, frustration or any other negative emotion or experience. Doesn't, shouldn't that count for something?

Well, the response ultimately lies with the minority, those who were (are)  wronged, persecuted, and silenced for too long. How long will it take for them to feel, judge and declare that things have now truly changed and they can finally let go of all the hurt and the past? Who can say? But as Richard Michelson states : "clearly we are not there yet."

Where does that leave us, as far as ethnic awards are concerned? Might the answer lie somewhere between both extremes : let the Coretta Scott King Award and the Belpré live, maybe until the much awaited "new" reality declares them as belonging to History, and therefore obsolete. In the meantime, new awards could be created that " honor books entirely based on identity - but not that of the author, only the themes in the books," (as mentioned by Marc Aronson, about the Lambda Literary Awards). 

Seems to me this whole, necessary debate, is about how to best negotiate a fundamental transition. I also like Mitali Perkin's conclusion : "I'll fight to the end for NO APARTHEID in WRITING." I'll drink a virtual glass of champagne to that.

Inaugural Celebration in Hyderabad

Last night, Democrats Abroad threw an inaugural celebration with live coverage from the US at a local restaurant. Anyone was invited, regardless of citizenship or political inclination ( I like that). So, even half a world away, we were able to partake in the joy and beauty of that moment. A large majority of the women present (including myself) wore saris, which I found quite symbolic : expatriates from all cultures and countries (the US, of course, but also India, the UK, France, Denmark, Spain, and others I forget) coming together, with the women, and some men, wearing the dress of their host country. What a beautiful message !

I brought back a small poster :

 

And here I am, with friends:



And look at all these beautiful saris...


Thank you, Obama, for your powerful and inspiring inaugural speech. And good luck to you and your administration. Now, the hard work begins...

Amadi in Italy

Please, visit Valentina Acava Mmaka's blog, Kabiliana, for an uplifting and fun report on the workshop that several children attended, in Italy, to celebrate Amadi's Snowman. 

Thank you so much, Valentina ! I really enjoyed looking at all the pictures, and drawings, and reading the letters that the children wrote to Amadi.

Where in The World is Amadi?

It's been a while since I published pictures of children reading the book. I have quite a few in my files, so will catch up with that. 

Please, meet Emily B...



and Elliot G...
... from Pennsylvania, USA. Thank you Emily and Elliot. I hope you enjoyed Amadi's story. And special thanks to your auntie Kristin - a fellow writer and expatriate living in Shanghai - for sending me these pictures.

I've discovered Wii Fit

This is quite a departure from my usual posts, but I'm having so much fun, I thought I'd share that here. Whoever invented the Wii Fit is a genius. Let's see how long this keeps me motivated, of course. Anything to do with exercise (which doesn't involve dancing) rarely holds my interest for long. I'm just not a sporty person at all. Never was. Hated Physical Education at school, and was always below average in any kind of competition. But of course, as years pile up on me, and make my body shrink and go all flabby, I know I have to do something. The great thing about the Wii, as opposed to any workout machine, is the interactive aspect of it. Not only are you not alone, but someone talks to you - today, as I was doing the run, I had my daughter's avatar preceding me (loved that) even though she was already at school - and your progress are chartered, and celebrated... Yep, love the thing. Of course, I could get all that  by going to the gym, but that's precisely the beauty of it. I don't have to go to the gym, I can stay right at home.

It's a new year !

Warm wishes to everyone for this new year 2009 !

I'm back from a short trip to Delhi, suffering from a nasty cold. Temperatures in the Indian capital felt Siberian, especially for someone who is happiest in warm weather, but I finally made it to Old Delhi..., and now that I've taken a glimpse of it, I hope I'll be able to return to spend more time in all its alleys and back alleys. 

We also visited the Red Fort, on a very foggy morning.

Unfortunately, not much of the ancient magnificence is left. We were accompanied by an Indian friend who kept complaining that the Indian government doesn't do anything to preserve its extraordinary heritage. Of course, the place was largely ruined by the British, after the 1857 uprising (they actually turned the King's palace into their mess) but as William Dalrymple mentions in his fascinating "City of Djinns", the very ugly English barracks seem better maintained than the old palaces built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jehan. (And no, I did not take any picture of the ugly barracks. Just trust me: they are truly hideous. Then again, who has ever seen beautiful army barracks?)

And now, I'm back in Hyderabad, and cold, congested sinuses and sore throat notwithstanding, the usual course of life resumes. Those who know me, or read me, already know that I don't like new year resolutions. I don't like the "organizeness" of it. Still, goal setting is usually a good way to at least launch oneself in the right direction. So, the directions I wish to take this year are :

- walk a couple of times a week in the morning. Last year, I mentioned needing to move my butt a bit more, and I have to admit that I didn't really until the end of 2008. So, I need to pursue this effort (and it IS an effort!).

- Work on my nanowrimo manuscript, and hopefully, complete it, whether it means taking it into a completely new direction or not. Ideally, I would like to complete a novel manuscript, this year.

-Complete the couple of picture book projects that are slowly taking shape in my files.

- Send more stories out, and/or send them to more publishers. I'm not good at keeping up with this part of the business. 

And, last but not least, continue to work on enjoying the moment more. I'm making progress, slowly, but then again, I'm a slow kind of person. Who cares? What matters is to get somewhere, and to learn while on the journey, and I think I'm doing that.

Happy New Year ! May your wishes come true, whether you are a list maker or not.

Golconda

Each day, I receive a word in my email box, thanks to A. Word. A. Day. and Anu Garg. Today, it was "Golconda", and of course, I was curious as to how (and why) the beautiful and ancient fort in Hyderabad had wound up there. As it turns out, the name for the fortress has also become a common noun meaning "a source of great wealth," after the "city once known for its diamond mines in the nearby hills."

This made me want to revisit old pictures of a sunrise adventure with my friend Rilla, two years ago, exactly. Rilla, this is for you. Glad you're having fun in Australia, but I wish you were here instead. You are one of the only persons in the world who could get me out of bed before 5 am :)

Nanowrimo and Plotting

As if the month of November wasn't busy enough with the blog tour, I'd also decided to try to meet the Nanowrimo challenge, and write a 50 000 words novel in thirty days. This may sound like a totally crazy endeavor, and it is, in many ways. 50 000 words divided by 30 days, means that I had to write 1663 words, each and every day. 

I didn't make it, needless to say. But I did manage to write 28570 words in the first 18 or 19 days. Before I hit a wall. I had not plotted my story at all. Have I mentioned that plotting is not my strong suit? I tend to start with characters, situations and settings. I may have a vague idea of where the story is supposed to be going... but not always.  The beauty of Nanowrimo is that it forces you to write, to add words, to push them out of you at whatever cost. Most of all, it means that with such a strong focus on getting a number of words written, you simply cannot spend time rereading yourself. Ah, now, we are onto something.

Who out there is like me, endlessly rereading their words, changing a coma, here, tweaking a sentence, there, and quickly getting stuck? Who, like me, finds it almost impossible to turn our inner editor into a salt statue or send them to a dark corner with the order to stay put and absolutely mute until they're actually needed?

Nanowrimo taught me a few things about my writing process. Funny, because these lessons I also need to apply in my every day life. Maybe everyone ought to try Nanowrimo at least once in their life ? 

So, the lessons learned? I need to let go (yeah, yeah), to trust the process, the characters, and the story more, to let them unravel themselves at their own pace and leisure, and it doesn't matter if they fumble a bit, if they wander in a direction that seems to go nowhere, because actually, what looks like a dead-end could reveal a small tunnel, or an hidden path that will take us... to a totally unexpected elsewhere full of promises.

So why didn't I continue, you ask? In order to extricate my characters from the dead-end into which they found themselves, mid-way, I would have needed to spend a lot of time doing research. My main character got tangled into a world that I know practically nothing about (and I don't write fantasy) and it seemed pointless to continue without a few clues at least as to what was possible, and what was just ludicrous. I should also mention that by the middle of the month, I was starting to feel so exhausted from the lack of sleep and the amount of hours spent in front of the computer, each day, that I feared I would not be able to continue with the blog tour. And that was not an option, obviously. So, something had to go.

BUT  Martha Alderson, of Blockbuster Plots' fame, is giving out tips on plotting in her blog, during the month of December. And I'm happy to report that I've gone back to my story and my characters, and am now in the process of organizing a rescue operation to see if I can keep this project going. Wish me luck...

And now what?

Hard to follow up, after such an intense and happening blog tour. I'm feeling a little disoriented. Enjoying the more leisurely pace of the last few days, for sure. I've slept between 9 and 11 hours each and every night since Sunday. My desk is no longer cluttered with drawings, schedules, and notes about the tour. And I know that I need to get back into a regular schedule, writing, submitting stories again, etc. But I've decided to give myself a week to "land."

In the meantime, I went to my first Indian wedding. Yesterday was declared a very auspicious day for marriages, and ten thousand couples tied the knot, here in Hyderabad. Yes, you read that right. TEN THOUSAND weddings were celebrated in this town, yesterday only. I missed the beginning of the ceremony (which started at 9 am) because my taxi driver (our car was at the workshop) wanted to drop me at another couple's wedding and couldn't find the right venue, but I finally made it, and what I saw was every bit as fascinating and colorful as I imagined it would be.

I don't know why, but I was particularly touched by a ritual where the close family sat around the newlyweds while the priests ran a thread that had been previously blessed all around the group, each member of the family holding on to it.

That thread was then divided and the bride tied it to the groom's wrist (with a piece of turmeric), who then tied the other thread to her wrist. 

I also found it amusing to notice that two of the priests retrieved their mobile phones stuck in the the belt of their dhotis a few times to check for SMSs.

As usual, I was moved and grateful to find everyone so happy and eager to not only welcome me, but also to fill me in with bits of informations about their immensely rich and diverse culture. In spite of that, I left feeling that I could well spend the rest of my life here, and still have everything to discover.

Which is just fine...

FINAL DAY OF AMADI'S SNOWMAN GLOBAL VIRTUAL TOUR

Hello to all our friends around the world,

It is hard to believe that an entire month has gone by. What an incredible journey this has turned out to be ! And I have so many people to thank for helping me make it a reality.

Thank you, of course, to everyone at Tilbury House, Publishers, particularly the editor, Audrey Maynard, and the Publisher, Jennifer Bunting, for being the first to foresee the possibilities in the story of this young Igbo boy. And thank you to the illustrator, Dimitrea Tokunbo, for bringing Amadi's story to life in such a vibrant and colorful way. 

Thank you to all the bloggers who enthusiastically responded to our call to participate in our month-long tour. Thank you for your thoughtful reviews and always interesting interviews.

Thank you to the teachers, librarians, and the many friends of the book in the US, Nigeria, India, Haiti and Italy who worked hard, sometimes beating impossible logistical obstacles, to get their pupils and children involved in our global virtual tour. And thank you again to Ramesh Raparthy for the two beautiful videos that he shot and edited. The children's wonderful reactions to the book, their eagerness to ask questions and offer responses to other children from other countries, as well as their beautiful artwork, have been the greatest highlights of this entire adventure.

Thank you to all who participated in the quizzes and trivia. Amadi threw all the names into a small basket and we're happy to announce that the winners of the Quizzes/Trivia games are... Florin, Aisha and Shali, in Italy. Please, email me your address privately so we can send you your prizes. See our winners below as they check the tour. Thank you also to their mother, Valentina Mmaka, for sending this great picture.

Thank you to all those who participated in our feature "Where in the World is Amadi?" Again, we wrote all the names on pieces of paper and the lucky winner drawn by Amadi is... Jio, in Japan.

I'm pleased to announce that both prizes offered by Tilbury House, Publishers, are packages containing each THREE galleys of wonderful titles published by Tilbury House (Give A Goat, by Jan West Schrock, illustrated by Aileen Darragh; Just For Elephants, by Carol Buckley; Our Friendship Rules, by Peggy Moss and Dee Dee Tardif, illustrated by Alissa Imre Geis).

To all our participants who sent photos or played the quizzes and trivia quizzes but didn't win the grand prizes, we will send a surprise gift, so do email me your snail mail addresses at katianovetatgmaildotcom.

Finally, this would not have been possible without the work, support, dedication, enthusiasm and creativity (not to mention the willingness to participate in endless brainstorm sessions with me via email) of the wonderful publicist at Tilbury House, Sarah McGinnis. I only discovered her face on Facebook recently, and I have never heard the sound of her voice. And yet, I feel I made a new friend. I find it hard to believe that I will no longer sit at my computer, each evening after I've put the children to bed, and find six, seven or eight emails from Sarah as she starts her work day in the US. Thank you so much, Sarah, for believing in this from the very beginning, and for being with me every single step of the way - when you were not ahead :)

This is only a beginning, and I want to emphasize how it has been a discovery journey for me, as well. I would like to continue building bridges between children of different countries, and I will now work at creating a format to make that dream an accessible reality available at all times. This global virtual tour broke new grounds in many areas, and I hope to take the idea even further. I encourage teachers and librarians around the world to get in touch with me if they want me to not only talk to their children about Amadi's Snowman, but also to bring a little bit of Nigeria, India or whatever country I'll be living in at any given time into their classroom or library.

And now, Amadi and I will leave you all with this little collage and a last quote from Dr Seuss which fits perfectly with all that we've been doing and talking about during these last 30 days : 

"The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go."

Thank you !