7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Being Alive is Being Hosted, by Mitali Perkins

I'm pleased to share this month's 7:30 Bells Guest Post by award-winning children's book author Mitali Perkins.

I was dreading traveling to the Middle East last month. My father is declining and on hospice; my mother needs my help. Would they be okay while I was gone? On top of that, I was worried about encountering the kitsch that comes with tourism, especially in the Holy Land. Would I gag over Jesus Bobblehead dolls for sale in Bethlehem? But my pastor husband had invited me to go along with our church group, and I knew it was important that I go.

“Why are you going to Israel?” Dad asked, looking worried. “We don’t have family there!”

Thanks to cognitive decline, his English is failing faster than his native Bangla. I tried to figure out a way to answer in that language. And then it came in the blink of an aha moment: “I’m going to visit Jesus’ ‘desh’, Dad.”

“Oh!” He leaned back in his wheelchair, nodding with a sudden, full comprehension of the purpose of my trip.

“Desh” literally means “village,” but it’s one of those words that loses oodles of meaning in translation. You can’t really know someone in Bengal unless you visit their “desh.” You draw much closer once you’ve received hospitality in the place where they grew up.

The word rang with a chime of invitation to me. “Come to my village, Mitali,” I heard.

And so I went.

When I travel, I delight in engaging all five senses, but my Host knew all about that. The taste of steaming flat bread and fresh fish from the Sea of Galilee, the sounds of roosters crowing and children calling to each other in Nazareth, the cool feel of old, golden stones under my palm in Jerusalem, the smells of olive oil and nard in Bethlehem, the sight of a golden dome, high on a hill where old olive trees remembered everything … I loved every minute in Jesus’ desh, and my parents shared the visit through the photos I was sending.

Being alive, after all, is being hosted. The whole world is His “desh.”

P.S. No bobblehead Jesus dolls. Only olive-wood sheep. I bought ten.

Mitali Perkins is the author of several novels, including Rickshaw Girl (chosen by the New York Public Library as one of the top 100 books for children in the past 100 years) and Bamboo People (an American Library Association's Top Ten Novels for Young Adults.) Her newest, Tiger Boy, Charlesbridge, is a Notable Book for a Global Society and an NCTE Charlotte Huck Honor Book. Mitali was born in Kolkata, India before immigrating to the US with her family when she was seven. 




7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.
7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second  Tuesday of every month.

The Best of 7:30 BELLS: Poet Linda Robertson on the Sense of Place

Occasionally I run the BEST OF 7:30 BELLS, to share past posts with new readers. This, originally from January 27, 2015 is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Linda M. Robertson and I met near this bell in the Cape George Colony. She was walking down the road toward the beach and I was walking up the road. We smiled at each other. She asked, "Did you see the sea otters?" And friendship blossomed. We were both poets, had both had lived and loved the Methow Valley. Robertson's beautiful, fine press book, Letters to Julia: 1898-1899 is set there, as are my books Eva of the Farm and After the River the Sun. 

I'm so pleased to share her resonating essay: Sense of Place.

At the edge of the Salish Sea, there hangs a large bronze bell. Shapes of fish and stones are cast in the metal, as well as the words: “Our simplest wisdom is to follow the sea-bright salmon home.”

The idea of “home” makes me think of place. I am a writer that cherishes sense of place. It is place that makes me feel alive, that rings and resonates in my work. Place provides me with vocabulary, with narratives, with inspiration for image-making; with a landscape to discover and chart as I build word-cairns, poems. My poems act as time-capsules; they bring people, incidents, and places of the past into the present.

I don’t consider “place” to reference only outer landscapes. My poems and prose also illuminate emotions, visual art, and dreams. I have written about “the places of goodbye,” as well as spiritual journeys: “Walking the Edge of Heaven.”

In the essay “The Art of Finding” poet Linda Gregg recalls the landscape of her youth and writes “The elements of that bright world are in my poetry now…They are present as essences. They operate invisibly as energy, equivalents, touchstones, amulets, buried seed, repositories, and catalysts…” She refers to this recalled landscape as her own “resonant sources.”

As I reflect on the landscapes that continue to be present as “essences” in my work, I think of San Diego, where I was born and lived for the first 20 plus years of my life. My memories pulse with broad beaches, fishing boats, shorebirds and the sea’s salt-songs. I think also of the shrub-steppe eastern slopes of the North Cascades in Washington state—a remarkable place I called home for nearly 30 years.

In December I completed a Low-Residency MFA program at Chatham University, Pittsburgh. My Thesis “The Missing” is a manuscript of 51 pages of poems. As I review the work I crafted over the past three years while I was living and traveling in the US and the UK, I see how sense of place pervades the manuscript. No matter if I was writing about personal struggles, dreams, a painting from the 15th century, my son who died too soon at age 20, or my elderly parents—place is often present and resonant. The southern sea and the northern mountain world are with me as I sit at my desk and write. This poem, the final one in my manuscript— written while in England as I wrestled with change of place and home, is an example:

AGAINST LEAVING

Later I will say

the hills conspired: crowds

of balsam root and lupine

hindered my passage; my shoulders

bound by snow-thrift clouds.

Not one clock struck

the hour. I leaned

                                  toward

the broadest yellow pine, the flags

of prayer, where a male grouse

stood sentry. The maple tree

sheltered the bird-bowl’s sheen—

a last offering. The distances before me

inscribed with raven wings.

In my writing, I find truth in the I Ching’s: “There is no going without returning.”

Linda M. Robertson is a recent graduate of Chatham University’s Low-Residency MFA program. Publications include “Letters to Julia: 1898-1899” by the Methow Conservancy, Visions of Verse, The Methow Naturalist, Mirror Northwest. A chapbook, Reply of Leaves, was published by Magic Mountain Press in 2002. Linda lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest and England and hopes to publish work from her manuscript The Missing in literary journals.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second and fourth Tuesdays of every month. Join me on April 12 for a guest post with author Kevan Attebury

Hearing the Bells: 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by Elizabeth Rose Stanton

I'm happy to share this guest post by author illustrator Elizabeth Rose Stanton. And no doubt about it, she is an AMAZING artist!

For years I didn’t think I was meant to be an artist. Looking back on it I knew in my heart I wanted to be one but didn’t, for one reason or another, take it seriously.

I should have known, though, the first time I heard those bells go off. I distinctly remember the moment. I don’t remember exactly how old I was . . . maybe twelve? I was alone in my room, it was late and I was supposed to be asleep. I had a pencil, a pad of lined paper, and a photograph of something I wanted to capture. Then it happened. Without being entirely conscious of it, I had broken down an image to an abstraction, and reassembled it into ART! It was exhilarating and powerful. Bells and whistles went off!

I heard those bells, loud and clear that night, and I felt them . . . but I didn’t heed them. I didn’t know exactly what to do with my newfound superpower. I suppose it was because I didn’t have a frame of reference at the time. I suppose, too, it was because I grew up in a household that, while otherwise encouraging, didn’t value the notion of a professional life devoted to art.

But over the years those bells kept ringing, sometimes intermittently, sometimes faintly, as I wandered down one life path after another. I became an architect (lots of drawing, right?), I had kids (!!), and I dabbled in design and arts administration (getting closer . . .). Finally, in what was truly a clear-as-a-bell moment (and, indeed, it felt like it happened in a moment) I found myself an illustrator AND an author. Those bells were ringing so loud I couldn’t ignore them any longer!

Looking back a lifetime, I wish I’d had the wherewithal to realize how powerful that first moment, long ago, really was—and to fully understand what it meant. I wish I’d pursued my art more directly. But I’ve come to appreciate all the life experiences I have had and have come to know that every one of them has, in fact, been leading me straight to where I am now.

My bells are ringing loud and clear, once again.

So when your bells go ringing, be sure and pay attention!

Thanks for having me, Dia!

Elizabeth Rose Stanton began her grownup life as an architect; then segued over to arts administration and design after starting a family a long time ago. Now she builds picture books, and is having a blast!

Her first book, HENNY (Simon & Schuster), was named a best picture book by the New York Public Library (Titles for Reading and Sharing, 2014), was a Kids’ Indie Next List pick, and was a finalist for the Prix Jeunesse des Libraires du Quebec. Her picture book PEDDLES (Simon & Schuster), was just released (January 2016), and she has recently begun work on her third picture book for Simon & Schuster, BUB, due out in early 2018.

Elizabeth lives in Seattle with her husband and three Scottish Fold cats.





7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

Join us on April 12 when author Kevan J. Atteberry shares what makes him ring, resonate, and feel alive.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Out Flew the Rice Birds by Clare Hodgson Meeker

I'm so please to share this "colorful" 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by the prolific and talented Clare Hodgson Meeker, children's book author.

“There are places I remember

 all my life though some have changed 

Some forever not for better, 

some are gone and some remain….” 

--from In My Life, a song by John Lennon

Twenty years ago, my husband and I took our first trip to Thailand. Some vacations are meant to be relaxing. I knew this would not be one of them, but that challenge makes me feel alive. It was winter. Still the temperatures soared to 90 degrees Fahrenheit and the smell of raw fish and pungent spices in the open markets overwhelmed my senses. On a harrowing night train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai, we were locked in by armed guards who said they were protecting us from bandits. It made a great story, once we safely arrived at our destination. It was an amazing trip experiencing this exotic culture – visiting shimmering gold and bright red Buddhist temples, listening for the bell that called the monks in their orange robes to prayer, seeing tall, delicate lotus flowers with their roots in the mud, and the small brown rice birds flying over the rice fields. These were the characters in the ancient Thai folktale about reincarnation and love lasting over lifetimes that became my first book, A Tale of Two Rice Birds.

Fast forward to this past December when we returned to Thailand as part of a larger trip to Vietnam and Cambodia on a small cruise ship. We were docked at Laem Chabang for the day and paid a visit to a busy site for tourists and Thai worshippers alike. Wat Phra Yai was a small temple that housed the largest Buddha in Chonburi.

As I was walking in from the parking lot, I saw a woman seated with a stack of colorful wooden bird cages in front of her. I asked our guide what she was selling and he answered, “For three dollars, you can release four rice birds from their cage.“ The small brown birds, as common in Thailand as robins are in America, were providing her a living wage. Without hesitation, I paid the woman what she asked and opened the cage door.

Out flew the birds and up into a nearby tree, most likely to be caught again. But that moment of setting them free was thrilling, like writing a happy ending to a story. That sense of accomplishing something beautiful is also deeply satisfying.

Clare Hodgson Meeker is the author of 11 books for young readers including the Smithsonian Notable Book Lootas Little Wave Eater, An Orphaned Sea Otter’s Story.

Her new chapter book, Rhino Rescue! and More Amazing True Stories of Saving Animals is published by National Geographic and will be available in bookstores starting this month. She works from home on Mercer Island near Seattle, and teaches writing in schools through Seattle Arts and Lectures.

Author site: www.claremeeker.com
Blog: www.claremeeker.com/blog
Twitter: @ClareMeeker

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. 

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Scribbling in the Void by Erik Brooks

Erik Brooks, illustrator/author of children's books, lives in the same Methow Valley that inspired four of my novels. I'm so pleased to share this inspiring (and very kind) guest post.

Thank you Dia for the invite. I’m excited to participate—especially knowing that we shared the same ill-fated debut publisher oh so many years ago. But its good to know as well that we weathered an early hiccup to continue doing what we love—making our way in the world of children’s lit.

If I’m perfectly honest, the twenty-seven-year-old me was humbled and impressed by your eloquent and articulate descriptions of that early publication experience—something about “Waltzing on Quicksand” —and the same holds true today to see you exploring these many varied sources of inspiration in the 7:30 BELLS. Sixteen years ago you epitomized a professional and thoughtful approach to creative endeavor — so thank you for setting a high bar and keep up the great work!

Regarding the Bells—these vibes that spark us to creative things—I wanted to write about the wild—about growing up Alaskan and about living on the edge of the Washington’s own Cascadian wilderness. Or about winter, which goes hand-in-hand in my mind. I love the snow. I love the quiet. It feels different than the everyday and therefore special—lightly chiming for an entire season. And truly, bells do ring for me in this regard—connecting a forty-three-year-old author/illustrator, husband, and father, to the elementary school-aged child who explored the Anchorage foothills.

But even more than wilderness and winter, the most important chime for me is the physical endeavor—the engagement outdoors, and then the lull that follows. I get out. I run. I ski. I shovel the driveway! And these little explorations—are tantamount to ringing. I work, like many of us, sitting, in relative isolation—so its AMAZING to be out! Its even better of course when you catch a fleeting glimpse of a mountain lion tail—or hold a sleeping wolverine in your arms—but chimes can peel in so many ways.

As unique and caterwauling as these active moments can be however, what rings me most are those quiet moments of repose. The after, perhaps, even more than the action. The sound of my heartbeat. The pause and the breath. The gulp of inspiration. Things happen. Wild surprises. But space, it seems, is created in the lull. And that is where the pencil really comes to life—scribbling in the void—ringing at a furious pace.

Erik Brooks illustrator of 20+ books for children and the author/illustrator of several more including the Washington State Book award winning Polar Opposites, and next years’ Later, Gator! (Sterling, 2016). When not drawing, writing, or visiting schools and libraries, you’ll find him coaching cross-country and track at the local high school, running, skiing, and wandering through the North Cascades. Erik lives in Winthrop, Washington, with his wife, Sarah, and daughter, Keeley. Say hello to Erik online at erikbrooks.com.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. Join me on February 9 for a guest post with children's book author Clare Hodgeson Meeker.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Hearing Bells in Small Moments by Suzanne Williams

I'm so pleased to share this month's 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by children's book author Suzanne Williams.

The only actual bell I possess is crafted as a Welsh woman in traditional garb. I was given it by my homestay family in Cardiff, Wales during my very first trip to Europe at age seventeen. (My high school band – I played clarinet – did a five week tour of Europe during the summer between my junior and senior year.)

The bell has a very sweet sound. I keep it on a tiered shelf in my home office along with souvenirs from many other trips. Partly because of that wonderful first trip, and partly because my adult daughter lives in Oslo, Norway, I have since made many more trips to Europe, and to other places as well.

I think the novelty of the things we see and do when traveling is one of the reasons those experiences stick with us and make us feel so alive. We break away from familiar settings and our normal routines when we travel, and we meet new people, too. But though I’ve experienced many lovely moments during trips abroad (and also during trips closer to home), some of my most joyful moments are everyday small moments.

I might be driving in a car not far from home, for example, when I come upon a stunning view of snow-capped mountains (I live in the Pacific Northwest), or a row of trees with brightly-colored fall leaves, and a feeling of awe and a profound sense of well-being washes over me.

Some of the small moments that bring me joy are ones I experience alone, such as when meditating, writing in my journal (or on a story), or reading something that is deliciously well-written, fascinating, funny, or insightful.

But my most joyful small moments are usually ones that connect me to others. These include daily walks with my husband and our small dog, coffee after yoga with gym lady friends, lunches out with my two sisters, and holiday dinners with extended family. Also, phone calls with faraway family and friends (including my amazing co-author, Joan Holub), get-togethers and meetings with other local children’s writers (like Dia!), and simple pleasant exchanges with acquaintances and strangers.

More often than I would like, I fail to take advantage of (or am oblivious to) the numerous opportunities I have each day to be joyful and alive. (The downside to things we do habitually.) Still, I am grateful for the times when I do remember to savor those small moments – to listen for those ringing bells.

Suzanne Williams is a former elementary school librarian and the author of over 60 books for children, including the award-winning picture book Library Lil(illustrated by Steven Kellogg). Together, she and Joan Holub write the Goddess Girls, Heroes in Training, and Grimmtastic Girls series. Suzanne is online at www.suzanne-williams.com

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. Join me on January 12 for a guest post with children's book author Erik Brooks.

7:30 BELLS: Guest Post by Author Jim Whiting

I'm so pleased to share this guest post by Jim Whiting, prolific author of many non-fiction books for kids.

Like most authors, I read voraciously as a kid. Perhaps unlike many if not most of my colleagues, my reading often leaned heavily toward nonfiction. By the time I was 10, for example, I had devoured a multi-volume history of WWII in the Pacific.

I was so absorbed in the account of the Battle of Okinawa one evening that birds singing startled me. “Why are they singing in the middle of the night?” I wondered. It was dawn. I read the entire night without taking a single break!

While I read my share of fiction today, my love affair with nonfiction continues unabated.

About 15 years ago I turned this love of nonfiction into a career. I’ve taken on topics with which I was already quite familiar. Others have broken totally new personal ground.

I especially like the latter. That’s because the thing that more than anything else rings my chimes about writing nonfiction is the constant learning it entails.

Perhaps the best example is a hip-hop book I wrote several years ago. It was about No Limit Records, founded by Percy Miller, aka Master P. I don’t like hip-hop and never listen to it by choice. So I needed something to grab my interest and provide a way into the material.

As a longtime sports junkie, I found that opening with the knowledge that Master P had been an outstanding basketball player. At the peak of No Limit’s popularity he nearly made the roster of the Toronto Raptors of the NBA.

Snoop Dogg cut several albums for No Limit. Prior to writing the book, I thought Snoop was a wretched thug as a result of reading newspaper headlines and little else. My research revealed that he played high school football. He felt the sport had played a crucial role in his development. So he founded a football program for kids 8–14 with hundreds of participants and underwrote all the costs. He encouraged fathers to become involved with their sons’ teams. I now had a totally unexpected admiration and respect for Snoop Dogg.

The cherry on top of the Snoop Sundae came when I discovered that every year he flies a team of all-stars from his league to the Super Bowl host city. For many if not most of those kids it’s their first time on an airplane. On the day before the big game his team plays the host-city all-stars.

It’s called the Snooper Bowl.

Kids enjoy hearing this story when I tell it during author visits. It also provides a useful teaching moment. I tell them that research can provide an entirely new perspective on something they previously thought to be “true.”

On many occasions, my research turns up a nugget of knowledge that compels me to want to find out more about it. I happily follow internet links to delve more deeply into this new topic. Sometimes I can incorporate my findings into the manuscript I’m working on, sometimes not. But it’s never time wasted, because it adds to my store of knowledge.

I love sharing this knowledge. Like other people who write nonfiction, I consider myself as much of a storyteller as my fiction counterparts, penning lively narratives to pique interest and make my readers want to find out more. The only difference is that my tales are true.

Since Charles Schulz, Bainbridge Island-based Jim Whiting has written more than 180 nonfiction titles for young readers. His ambition is to write a stack of books taller than he is, with the current level at about his collarbone. With nearly 50 more titles in various stages of production, he anticipates reaching his goal by 2017. It’s one of the few times he’s glad that he’s short.

He’s also the leading contributor to the Nonfiction Minute, a free daily fascinating aspect of the world around us that finds its way into thousands of classrooms throughout the country.

He’s also edited more than 400 titles, the majority of them nonfiction. Several of his clients have gone on to garner a variety of honors.

7:30 BELLS  Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. 

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Ninjas and Flying by Lois Brandt

Lois Brandt is the author of Maddi's Fridge, Winner of the 2015 International Literacy Association Primary Fiction Award. I've lately had the privilege of getting to know her as a friend and colleague and am pleased to share this wonderful guest post. Get ready to fly!

On a school visit last year I read to a group of about thirty kindergarteners. As I was answering questions, a little boy in a black t-shirt raised his hand high in the air. He had pulled the neck of his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose. I thought he was just being shy, so when I called on him I asked him to pull his t-shirt off of his face so I could hear him clearly.

Instead, he raised himself high on his knees, fixed his eyes on mine, and shouted “I AM A NINJA!”

The school librarian was mortified and aides rushed in to have a little chat with our friend. I couldn’t bodily throw myself between the disciplinarians and the ninja, but I thought about it.

I loved that little ninja. I love that ability in kids to ignore reality – no, not ignore it – to change reality. Young children inhabit a space where the imagination rules and the laws of physics don’t apply.

When I was about the same age as the ninja, I flew down our town’s Main Street with a group of my friends. It was lovely. We stuck our arms out wide and whoosh! The four of us soared above the rooftops with a warm breeze in our faces.

The next day at school I eagerly spoke to my friends about our flying adventure. To my huge disappointment all three of them told me that we had not gone flying and I had been dreaming.

I wasn’t convinced. For the next few days, when my mom wasn’t looking, I launched myself off the arm of our couch. After the first splat I put pillows down on the floor, but I still believed. I knew that if I just held my arms in the right position I would fly. Then I would zoom around my house once to show my brothers, who were at this point teasing me mercilessly about my ‘dream,’ how wrong they were. After that I’d soar out of the house, free to fly anywhere in the world.

When my mother caught me jumping off the couch, arms spread-eagle, she calmly sat me down and tried to explain, once again, that flying down Main Street had only been a dream.

There is no “only” in dreams.

It’s been a long time since I flew down Main Street, but the memory of flying under my own power has informed some of the best decisions of my life. Those decisions range from joining the Peace Corps, to learning to kayak, to becoming a writer. (Writing, by the way, is a great way to fly.)

And when adult worries begin to drag me down to earth, what keeps me going, what makes the bells ring for me, is the living example of dreaming big that I see during every school visit. Children, especially kindergarteners, remind me that the only limits in my life are the ones I have built myself.

Long live the ninjas!

Years ago, Lois Brandt peeked into her best friend’s refrigerator and found empty shelves and one small carton of milk; her friend’s family didn’t have enough money to buy food. Maddi’s Fridge, Lois’ first picture book, is the result of that moment. Maddi’s Fridge is the recipient of a 2014 Christopher Award and the International Literacy Association’s 2015 Primary Book Award, among other honors. You can read more about Lois Brandt and Maddi’s Fridge at LoisBrandt.com

7:30 BELLS  Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. Join me on November 10 for a guest post with children's book author Jim Whiting.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Linnea Lentfer

Eleven-year-old Linnea Lentfer is the youngest writer ever to write a 7:30 BELLS Guest Post. Her writing is my favorite kind--deeply embedded in place. See also Lentfer's award-winning Letter About Literature.

Our growing garden, ripening berries, and spawning salmon fade in and out as the globe tilts upon its axis, providing a rhythm to our Southeast Alaskan lives. Having lived through eleven of these cycles I have fallen in love with each season. Even so, one can’t help but have favorites.

Each year, as the fireweed goes to seed, the cranberries hang heavy on their bushes, and the potatoes await harvest, sandhill cranes migrating south with their young rest in the wetlands near our meadow. As we roust spuds from the dirt we are treated to a concert, the high whistling chirp of the babies intermingling with the melodic chortle of their parents.

The voices of these cranes have stirred something deep within my soul ever since I was two. As I toddled about the garden decked out in baby fat and raingear, the cranes flapped into view. When their voices first reached my ears l pointed a pudgy finger to the sky and said “Look Mama, cranes!”

Why is it, I wonder, that out of the whistles, croaks, and gurgles I hear every day, the sound of cranes, which I hear just a few weeks a year, rings so deeply in my heart? Maybe it’s simply the time of year they come, when I’m already filled to the brim with gratitude from the harvest and the cranes put me over the top. Maybe it’s just the cranes’ story. Their ancestors’ voices, identical to the ones I hear today, rang across North America when it was covered in three toed horses and hippos, ten million years ago. Maybe it’s the sound alone that attracts me. The unique gurgling crrrrr of a thousand voices, so mesmerizing that it still rings in my ears when the cranes are out of sight.

Whatever the answer, when the harvest is finished and our summer’s work is a gorgeous mountain of vegetables, the joy of my happily aching arms and tired feet is topped by the flight of cranes. A bell within me that has been silenced to a memory since last fall rings again.

Linnea Lentfer has lived all of her eleven years in Gustavus Alaska with the critical habitat area for migrating cranes just outside her front door. She has just begun her first year of homeschooling which she enjoys immensely and is looking forward to the new opportunities it will give her. In addition to writing she likes to spend her free time playing the fiddle and reading but most of all time outdoors (preferably barefoot) in the beautiful place she is fortunate enough to call home.

7:30 BELLS  Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. Join me on October 13 for a guest post with children's book author Lois Brandt.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Hark! How the Bells by author L.L. Owens

I'm so pleased to share this month's 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by the ever-original  author for kids, L.L. Owens.

Invite a writer to muse on what, exactly, makes her feel alive — on the thing that makes the bells ring — and I can all but guarantee you’ll receive the resounding reply, “Yes, please!”

Now, I’ve enjoyed my share of resonant THIS-is-life moments, so I jotted down some memorable examples:

· successfully holding my breath underwater and coming up for air that first time

· devouring Wind in the Willows in my childhood closet

· nailing Mozart’s “Rondo alla Turca” during a long-ago piano recital

· viewing Charlotte Brontë’s original manuscript of Jane Eyre

· gasping at the view of Maui’s Haleakalā at sunrise

· marveling at jazz great Dave Brubeck’s stunning live performance of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”

· falling permanently in love at hundredth sight

· writing my first-ever professionally published piece (the bells rang for me from start to finish)

· seeing a baby’s heartbeat on an ultrasound

· sharing a hilarious private joke with a total stranger

· thrilling at the sight of a hummingbird finding the feeder one minute after I set it up

· receiving a sign from a dearly departed loved one that I was on the right path

· clicking with a new friend I’ve clearly known, on some level, forever

· reaching the “A-ha!” after struggling to determine what my WIP’s main character really wanted

Perhaps you can relate. As varied in scope and import as these experiences are, each one has produced in me a flash of emotion strong enough to make it seem like nothing exists beyond whatever I’m seeing, hearing, doing, or being. I can’t tell you why such moments happen, but every time one occurs, I wake up to life. (Often, a ginormous goofy grin is involved.) I feel connected to my truest self — and to the world around me — in a brand-new way that’s, somehow, not new at all.

Then I’m reminded that there’s so much wonder to behold in the universe, if only I can stay open to it. Invariably, I’m inspired to reset my intentions . . . whether for the next minute, or the rest of my life.

I can’t predict when I’ll hear the ringing or the clanging or the tinkling of a bell. But when I do, I try to act on the phenomenon while I can still access its reverberations. For me that means continuing to work on living my most authentic life.

You might have noticed that some items on my list resulted from big life decisions, while others sprang from more mundane everyday tasks. All the instigating actions, though, were no-brainers for me. Which means that simply responding to what I’m most drawn to and acting on my deepest instincts has led to some pretty darned incredible moments I could never have predicted or manufactured — and that I wouldn’t have missed for the world.

I’ve learned this lesson the hard way many times over. And I expect to learn it again, and again, as the future unfolds.

Lucky me! 

Lisa L. Owens is the author of 85+ titles for young readers and has published everything from picture books to middle-grade fiction to YA biography. She works from her home near Seattle, where she always has several projects and a pot of strong coffee brewing.

Author site: llowens.com
Blog: llowens.blogspot.com
Twitter: @LisaLOwens

7:30 BELLS  Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesday of every month. 

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Author Trudi Trueit

I'm so pleased to share this 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by Trudi Trueit, a fellow Pacific Northwest children's author.

Growing up in the shadow of Mount Rainier in Washington state, I could hardly wait for our annual family trek to the 14,400-foot peak. My parents, brother, sister and I would spend the day hiking the easy trails, feeding bread crumbs to the friendly chipmunks, and admiring the spectacular vistas. As a girl, I can remember standing in a windswept meadow of wildflowers. Gazing up at the majestic, snow-kissed peak, I felt joy pulse through my veins. I felt the bells ring within me. There, in that heavenly realm, I felt alive. At peace. At home.

Yet . . . as much as I have always had a kinship with mountains, it is not an easy journey for me. I am uncomfortable in high places. Okay, I’ll just say it. I’m scared of heights. I could give you plenty of reasons: I have poor vision and get dizzy when I have to see distance and once I was trapped on a rickety ski lift at Idaho’s Schweitzer Mountain at sunset. Yet, reasons are excuses for not moving forward. So what do I to get to my beloved mountains? I swallow my fear and get on that chairlift for a heart-pounding, sweat-inducing ride to the top. As I dangle from the thin wire a hundred feet above the ground, I tell myself everything will be okay once I reach the summit. And it is. It always is. All of my fears, doubts, and struggles fall away and all that remains is triumph.

I’ve had many similar ‘mountains’ in my life. Of course, courage is only one aspect of overcoming a fear. You can ‘gut it out’ for some things, but for most goals, you have to lay a foundation. Bravery without preparation will not take you far. When I was in middle school, I was fairly certain I wanted to be a journalist, but I was a shy girl. I knew this was going to be a problem, unless I dealt with it. I wasn’t sure my timidity was a mountain I could climb on my own, so I took a debate class in high school. I learned to write a coherent argument, to craft a persuasive speech, and to speak confidently in public without my knees knocking. To my surprise, I fell in love with debating and it opened the door for me to become a television news reporter and, in time, a children’s author, who happily speaks to student groups of all sizes.

Mountains, whether they be physical or metaphorical, are necessary. They test us. They teach us. They remind us reaching any great pinnacle requires fortitude and perseverance. This summer, I’ll be heading to one of my favorite destinations, Whistler B.C. I’ll summon my courage and get on that phone-booth of a gondola, holding my breath (and hopefully, my lunch) all the way to the top. Then, standing above the world, I’ll jump up to tap the wispy clouds and revel that, once again, I made it. Everything I will go through to get there will be worth it. It always is, you know.

Trudi Trueit knew she’d found her life’s passion after writing (and directing) her first play in the fourth grade. Since then, she’s been a newspaper journalist, television news reporter and anchor, and freelance writer, but her favorite career is what she does now—writing for kids and tweens. She’s published more than 90 fiction and nonfiction titles for young readers, including Stealing Popular (Aladdin MIX) and the Secrets of a Lab Rat series (Aladdin). Look for her new title for tweens, The Sister Solution (Aladdin MIX), this fall. Visit her website at www.truditrueit.com.


Photos by Bill Trueit.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesdays of every month. Join me on August 11 for a guest post with children's book author, L.L. Owens.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: The Art of Waiting by Author Helen Landalf

I'm so pleased to share this month's 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by Helen Landalf, author of books for children and teens. 

My husband loves to photograph birds. He leaves the house in the early hours of morning to find a spot at the beach, by a lake or under the cherry tree in our backyard. He waits, camera in hand, until a warbling call alerts him or a flash of movement catches his eye. Then he lifts his lens to frame the sky, hoping to capture the perfect moment when an eagle or heron, a blue jay or sparrow, spreads its wings and takes flight.

Some days he is successful, and his camera brims with images of soaring birds. Other times, he comes home empty-handed. But even when he has nothing tangible to show, he’s satisfied in knowing that he has practiced his art. He was there, camera ready, waiting.

I, on the other hand, tend to approach my creative work as a task to be accomplished. I hunch over my laptop, worshipping the god of productivity: this word count must be met, that chapter must be completed. Even on days that refuse me the gift of ringing bells or fluttering wings, I force my ideas onto the page, and a writing session that produces no progress can send me into a spiral of despair.

But I am learning from my husband. Instead of pushing, I’ve begun to wait for a flicker of inspiration to dance, like a bird, on the edges of my consciousness. I’m careful not to move too quickly, for fear it will fly away. With patience, it ventures closer, perhaps rewarding me with a chirp or two. If I sit long enough in silence, the bird warbles and the bells begin to chime – faintly, at first. But when I continue to hold my mind open, the bells peal, the bird bursts into song, and my heart soars as I catch my story in flight.

The true art is in simply being there, receptive.

Helen Landalf is author of the YA novel FLYAWAY (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2011), as well as two picture books and five nonfiction books for teachers. When she’s not writing, she teaches dance and Pilates and hosts international students in her home. On weekends, she often goes bird watching with her husband, Steven.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesdays of every month. Join me on July 14 for a guest post with children's book author, Trudi Trueit

Announcing this Summer's 7:30 BELLS Guest Post Authors

I'm so pleased to announce a wonderful line up of 7:30 BELLS Guest Post authors. Join us here on the second Tuesday of each month to learn what makes them feel alive, what makes them ring and resonate.

June 9, 2015

Helen Landalf

Author of books for teachers, children, and her first teen novel, 

FLYAWAY, is out now.

July 14, 2015

Trudi Strain Trueit

Author of 94 books for kids, 

including her middle grade novel, STEALING POPULAR.

August 11, 2015

L. L. Owens

Author of 84 books and stories for young people,

including the middle grade nonfiction, THE GREAT CHICAGO FIRE.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post:: "Risk is When the Bells Chime Loudest" by author Margery Cuyler

Following is a wonderful post from author and legendary children's book editor Margery Cuyler.  I had the high honor of having worked with her on several of my  fantasy novels. 

I hear bells chiming when I experience what I like to refer to as a “mandorla” experience. Mandorla is the Italian word for “almond,” and the almond shape has been interpreted by Carl Jung, Robert Johnson, and other psychologists as a symbol for the overlap of two contrasting, opposing forces that occur simultaneously. When one finds oneself standing in the center of the overlap or mandorla, one feels extreme tension, but . . . that tension of the opposites can lead to transformation and renewal. One can sense that God is present in those moments of suffering, and if one is patient, if one prays and trusts, the solution will usually emerge. 

This mandorla experience has happened every time I’ve been at a crossroads in my life: to leave or not leave a loved one who provides a safety net, to go from being single to being married, to become a mother of three even while working full time, to change jobs when a new job opportunity challenges one’s comfort level, and so on. These mandorlas that punctuate life involve risk. But risk is when the bells chime the loudest! 

 And how about the mandorla experience in a writer’s life? For me, I decided recently to leave the safe haven of writing picture books, which have defined me as an author, to writing a YA (still in progress). As I wobble into the territory of character development, I am discovering that my characters have to experience the mandorla. What is at stake for them? How do they experience two different emotions at once? What causes them to change? The mandorla is a writer’s place. Don’t all writers try to make sense of the fragmented world in which we live? Don’t our characters long for a place where they can finally settle and experience unity? Can I, as a fiction writer, reach that place of synthesis by the end of a manuscript? 

Great writers have accomplished such leaps as they’ve united the beauty and the terror of existence. Their talent and psychological insight, their characters’ verisimilitude, can surprise and shock--can teach that the tension of opposites, the mandorla experience, is the stuff of good writing. I may never get there, but at least I’m exploring new literary territory, and that’s exciting!

Margery Cuyler has been part of the children’s book field for the past 45 years. Aside from holding executive positions at Holiday House, Golden Books Family Entertainment, Macmillan, Marshall Cavendish, and Amazon Children’s Publishing, she has written 49 children’s books and has a 50th book under contract with Random House. She retired from full-time publishing at the end of 2013 and is currently consulting, writing, and doing school visits. She and her husband, the parents of two grown sons, live in Lawrenceville, New Jersey. Margery also has a stepdaughter who paints pets for a living. They are really cool. For more information about Margery, visit www.margerycuyler.com

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Climbing Mountains, Writing Novels--by author David Patneaude

I'm so pleased to share this month's guest post by David Patneaude, amazing and prolific author for kids and young adults, whom I've had the good fortune to know for years.

In 2010 a couple of my brothers and I made the trek to Mt. Rainier’s Camp Muir. When I eventually gazed around from the observation point at everything, even other peaks, spread out below us in a wild, seemingly untouched landscape, I felt the standing-on-top-of-the-world sensation lifting me even higher. I also felt the altitude—10,400 feet—and the temperature change—seventy-something at Paradise Lodge when we’d left, thirty-something when we arrived at Muir.

Except for the hum and whistle of wind, a blanket of silence lay everywhere.

For much of the steady climb, fatigue had dogged me. The last half of the trek was in calf-deep snow. So it was put your head down, don’t look up, keep slogging, don’t think about the constant backsliding, don’t sit down because you might not want to get up. And the other voice: there’s a beer with your name on it waiting down at the lodge, masochist! Smarten up! Turn around!

But the beer could wait. I’d done difficult things—boot camp, the Navy, crappy jobs, a soured marriage, marathons, shorter races at faster speeds, the Columbia Tower climb, a triathlon, dark days and death (other people’s, not mine). I could do this. And once I got to the end of our grind and had a real chance to take in my surroundings, I thought about inspiration. Then imagination. Then story.

Writing. And the parallels between what I’d just experienced and was experiencing and the art or craft or carnival show or whatever you think of when you consider the process of getting words down on paper or into the memory of a computer and not stopping until you’ve reached your destination.

Something inspires you to write a story and you imagine a scene or fuzzy overview or maybe you’ve got an actual outline and you start off with a ton of enthusiasm but then you get bogged down because that stuff in your head doesn’t flow onto the paper like you thought it would. The ideas dry up, the right words don’t come, the characters stay flat and uninteresting. But you look around and realize what it was that got you going. You remember the times you’ve done this before. You see the millions of books out there and realize how many other people have done it. You recall how you prepared. Instead of a sweaty hour on the Stairmaster or six rainy miles on the trail or a mile of steep uphill along the pipeline, you’ve read thousands of books and written hundreds of thousands of words and even when you weren’t actually writing you kept your writing brain in gear, looking for inspiration and using your imagination and generating and revising ideas.

So trudging up the side of a mountain is a metaphor for writing something substantial. And vice versa. And if I want to go deeper, I’d say that both are metaphors for life. But I’ll leave the details of that comparison to your imagination.

From his home in Woodinville, Washington, or anywhere else he happens to be, David Patneaude writes middle grade and young adult novels and stories. His books have appeared on many state young readers lists, won awards, been translated into other languages, recorded for listening, and produced as a movie. When he’s not writing he enjoys spending time with his family, traveling, exploring the outdoors, running, and of course, reading.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesdays of every month. Join me on May 12 for a guest post with children's author and legendary children's book editor Margery Cuyler.

7:30 BELLS: Guest Post by author Laurie Ann Thompson

I'm so pleased to introduce 7:30 BELLS readers to Laurie Ann Thompson, my new friend and author of two wonderful non-fiction books for kids. Be a Changemaker: How to Start Something that Matters, and Emmanuel's Dream.

I recently did an author visit with two classes of sixth graders for their Teachers’ College Reading and Writing Project (TCRWP) unit on teen activism. I normally plan to speak for about 40 minutes and save the last 20 minutes for questions. For the first time, I ran out of things to say only 20 minutes in. I still can’t figure out what happened: did I skip a section, talk too fast, what? I was in a little bit of a panic when I realized I had 40 minutes left to fill and no plan for keeping 50 hungry 11-year-olds focused on the topic (it was right before lunch!). I decided to open it up to questions in the middle, which would give me time to frantically try to figure out what to say for the last 20 minutes.

Fortunately, the kids were awesome. Engaged and interested throughout, they had a TON of serious, insightful questions. We had meaningful discussions about being a changemaker, about reading, about writing, and about how the three overlap and enhance each other. Lo and behold, we used up all of our time! Despite its lack of structure, it was one of the best visits I’ve ever had, and I’m still feeling a little bit high from it.

The truth is I always feel like I’m walking on air after a presentation. As I told those kids, that never ceases to amaze me! When I was contemplating switching careers to become an author, one thing terrified me more than anything else—public speaking—and I’d do just about anything to avoid it. Toward the end of my senior year of high school, the administration posted our GPAs. I was one of the top in my class, which meant I’d have to give a speech at graduation. I nearly failed my last semester of Spanish—after having gotten As for four years straight—in a desperate attempt to end up third in my class. Success! No speech.

At that point, my main goal was to not be noticed. I lived in constant fear of making a mistake, terrified of failure. I avoided doing anything I wasn’t already sure I was good at. No one could find out I was a fraud, that I wasn’t really as smart as they all said I was. I played it safe and stuck to what I knew. That is no way to be a changemaker. In fact, it’s no way to live.

Of course, life has a way of changing us. Since then I’ve been put in situations that were way outside my comfort zone. Each time, successful or not, my comfort zone expanded. Succeeding at or even just surviving something I thought was out of reach is the best high there is. The bells ring for me when I’ve pushed myself to do something I never thought I could. That rush of adrenaline tells me I’m alive and growing, and that’s the best feeling there is.

Laurie Ann Thompson writes for children and young adults to help her readers—and herself—make better sense of the world we live in so we can contribute to making it a better place. She strive to write nonfiction that gives wings to active imaginations and fiction that taps into our universal human truths. She believes that each of us is capable of doing amazing things once we discover our passion, talent, and purpose. Thompson's books are: Be a Changemaker: How to Start Something that Matters, and Emmanuel's Dream, both Junior Library Guild Selections. My Dog Is the Best, is coming soon.

7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.

7:30 BELLS Guest Posts run on the second Tuesdays of every month. Join me on April 14 for a guest post with the wonderful children's author Dave Patneaude.

7:30 BELLS Guest Post: Plainsong by Artist/Designer Iskra Johnson

I am very pleased to share this 7:30 BELLS Guest Post by Fine Artist/Designer Iskra Johnson, whose work I've admired for many years.

When I was 15 I had a friend named Frank. He was handsome and angry, and one of the things that made him angriest was the bells of Epiphany, a church down by the lake. One afternoon as we sat together in his attic in a usual state of undeclared courtship, the bells began ringing. Time to walk home from school with arithmetic on our backs. Time to get down on our knees and pray.

Frank leaped up, enraged. The bells aren’t real, he shouted, they are a recording. How he wanted a real man, (preferrably a muscular man in rags and pearls of luminous sweat) to be the one pulling that long frayed rope to the sky. What a fraud they were, to impose this granular lo-fi hoax on us! I think in that moment I realized the beginning of unrequited love, it’s very nature. By which I mean not only love of a man susceptible only to fevers –– but of an idea. You can chase it all you want, but beauty won’t necessarily love you back.

Here again comes February, that grimy still-winter month with a red sticker in the middle. Here Cupid’s quiver of bent arrows. I always think of Mexico, of that year of urgent flight. I vowed I would not spend Valentine’s counting petals alone in my bathtub. Love me, love-me-not, let me go. Bring me to the balmy land of heart-shaped milagros and coral bits! The fish were bright and the coral was stubborn, resisting its own impermanence and building elaborate leaded windows undersea. I squeezed the salt out of my eyes and thanked it, and my heart was still broken into little pieces. I filled my pockets with abstract glyphs of shells and rocks and sorted them into sentences to send to myself.

My friends said, We should go see ruins. And so we set off to see civilization before it ended, batting off the red rose vendors of St. Valentine and wondering if the songs on the boom boxes were about love or drug deals gone bad. In this way it is very easy to get into a car accident. You aren’t quite paying attention, and before you know it you are in a five-car pile-up and then in a police station. On this side is the land of the Tourist and on this, the Other Side. No papier-mâché mermaids here, and no margaritas.

Prison? Hitchike to the airport? Slowly trade our belongings or bodies for freedom? Somehow the known Spanish was not enough to figure things out. For six hours we stood in the rain under a leaking wooden shed and watched the Mexican dogs. Two mongerel mixes, shepherd and retriever, dirty blond and scruffy black. They leapt and nipped in the mud in mad dog-love, while above us a bare lightbulb swung back and forth, intermittently bright. I held my camera under my coat and turned the lens cap, knowing that photographing police dogs at the police station was not a good idea.

I had survived the week through the eye of my camera. I had three hundred pictures of loving turtles and matching parrots and the bleak, beautiful abandonments of Mexican doors. Metaphor was my friend. But here nothing was anything other than exactly what it

was. I could do nothing but be here, and I had no idea how long that being here might last. What I had was just this, the dirty ochre light, the clouds floating in puddles, the barking. I don’t know how long I fell into a certain state. It’s not something you can measure. You don’t even know you are there when you are there. But later you look back, and everything is very sharp and clear. Frank would have liked it. It’s what he always wanted to hear: plainsong. Something with harmonies unrecordable. Something so real it never goes away.



Learn more about Iskra Johnson and see her work at http://iskrafineart.com/ and http://www.iskradesign.com/


7:30 BELLS Posts run every Tuesday.