Newbery in the Graveyard

I'm simply reposting an entry from Neil Gaiman's Blog cuz it made me laugh and smile with glee. It's a GREAT book by the way (thanks My Love for giving to me for Christmas)
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Monday, January 26, 2009
(Insert amazed and delighted swearing here)

Posted by Neil at 8:14 AM
The great thing about having a dead day in a hotel after a long junket, and this Monday was one of those, is you have nothing to get up for. So I had a very long late lazy bath in the small hours of the morning, and then stayed up talking to a friend on the phone, and then I read...

I drifted off to sleep with a Jack Benny show playing on the iPod around 3:30 am. I set the alarm for 11.00 am because I didn't have anything to get up early for, and planned to wake a little before the alarm, and start writing. I closed my eyes...

And then the phone was ringing. I think it may have been ringing for some time. In fact, I thought as I surfaced, it had already rung and then stopped ringing once, which meant someone was calling to tell me something. Probably the hotel was burning down. I picked up the phone. It was my assistant, Lorraine, sleeping over at my place with a convalescent dog.

"Merrilee called, and she thinks someone is trying to get hold of you," she told me. I told her what time it was (viz. five thirty in the bloody morning here is she out of her mind some of us are trying to sleep here you know.) She said she knew what time it was in LA, and that Merrilee, who is my literary agent, sounded really definite that this was important.

I got out of bed. Checked voicemail. No, no-one was trying to get hold of me. I called home, to tell Lorraine that it was all nonsense -- "It's okay," she said. "They called here. They're on the other line. I'm giving them your cellphone number."

I was not yet sure what was going on or who was trying to do what. It was 5:45 in the morning. No-one had died, though, I was fairly certain of that. My cell-phone rang.

"Hello. This is Rose Trevino. I'm chair of the ALA Newbery Committee..." Oh. Newbery. Right. Cool. I may be an honors book or something. That would be nice, "and I have the voting members of the Newbery Committee here, and we want to tell you that your book..."

"THE GRAVEYARD BOOK," said fourteen loud voices, and I thought, I may be still asleep right now, but they probably don't do this, probably don't call people and sound so amazingly excited, for Honors books....

"...just won..."

"THE NEWBERY MEDAL" they chorused. They sounded really happy. I checked the hotel room because it seemed very likely that I was still fast asleep. It all looked reassuringly solid.

You are on a speakerphone with at least 14 teachers and librarians and suchlike great, wise and good people, I thought. Do not start swearing like you did when you got the Hugo. This was a wise thing to think because otherwise huge, mighty and fourletter swears were gathering. I mean, that's what they're for. I think I said, You mean it's Monday?

"You can tell your agent and your publisher, but no-one else," said Rose. "And it will be announced in about an hour."

And I fumfed and mumbled and said something of a thankyouthankyouthankyouokaythiswasworthbeingwokenupfor nature.

Then I phoned my agent and my publisher, both of whom seemed to have intuited my news already through secret methods, but it may have just been that I was calling them on this particular Monday morning (and, in retrospect, someone must have phoned someone to get my home phone number). (Merrilee-my-agent: "You didn't start swearing, did you?" Me: "No." Her: "Oh good.")

I called Maddy, spoke to her, and she was beyond delighted, and I told her to try not to tell anybody about it, and told her lovely mum, who was thrilled for me.

Then I got a phone call from Elyse, Harperchildren publicist, wanting to know if I could fly in from LA to New York to be on the Today Show tomorrow morning. I said sure. I mean, what else was I going to say?

So I'm checking out of this hotel two days early, and I'm typing this with the ALA webcast playing in the background. They haven't got to the Newbury award yet. I'm not sure that they're actually going to say The Graveyard Book when they get to the Newberies bit. I might have imagined all of this, or they may have to do a sudden recount or something. But I think it probably happened. I mean, it's now 7:20 am and I'm drinking tea and blinking happily at the world. Spoke to Holly. Spoke to Mike.

Okay. They just said it. I can post this.

Labels: God I love librarians, Newbery Medal

Zerberts

Here is a little video of Shiori practicing one of her two new talents. The other is hooting like and owl. Enjoy.



Oh, and here's a cute picture.

“Listen, here's what I think. I think that we can't go around... measuring our goodness by what we don't do. By what we deny ourselves, what we resist, and who we exclude. I think... we've got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create... and who we include.” Father Henri - Chocolat

These words came to mind with poignancy this weekend. Why is that? No, it wasn’t the Christmas season, but the act of denying my daughter’s father his right to hold her during a blessing. He is not a member of the Mormon Church and as such doesn't “hold the Priesthood”. Because of this he was “unworthy” to hold his daughter while my father (her grandfather) gave her a blessing. In one unchristian act a man “acting with the authority of God” wounded my husbands heart and undid all my years of trying to help my husband come to love the Gospel of Christ as put forth in the LDS church.

“Don’t bother sending missionaries – ever” he said and “I thought when we got married I wouldn’t have a problem raising our children LDS, but now . . . “ Thanks to one Pharisee who was so compelled to follow the rule book instead of doing what was right, my family has been hurt. I can’t help but agree with my husband, however, what kind of a Christian church excludes the father of an innocent child! It is interesting that we – who let Kathryn be blessed for her sake – were the more Christian party in this whole thing. All he waned to do was HOLD HER ON HIS LAP! Instead they held her in a circle and bounced her so she cried and fussed the whole time.

I’m taking a break from going to church; not that I was terribly active to begin with, but when a wound is struck in the name of Christ, a wound that was wrong, that wound bleeds ever so much more and I don’t need to rub salt in it.

Badap Bum Bum

Merry Whatever

Well it’s a week to Christmas and I’ve not really gotten in the “spirit” of the thing, unless you count Bah-Humbugging. I’ve been really down and grumpy for a good couple of weeks or more. I’m not a social individual and all the “company” and getting together required just sets me on edge.

My poor husband has been snapped at so much he probably thinks I’ve been turned into a strange version of Hungry-hungry Hippo. I need a vacation and chocolate. I got him a “neat” gift, but than he made some comments that have sent me scrambling for another gift. * Sigh* back to square one. I’ve gotten a few things for the Bug, but she’s still to little to notice that Christmas is any different than other days. Gifts for all but one friend are still not done (cuz that one got a gift certificate).

My churches sacrament service last Sunday was the “Christmas” program and it was almost exactly the same as last year. Though, when they were singing a song that spells out Christmas apparently “I is for Emmanuel”. Laughed a lot on the inside.

Why don't people just sing the Christmas songs traditionally anymore? Why do we have to funk them up or turn them into a medley? Isn’t a song the same as a prayer unto the Lord? When the churches loose site of Christmas you know you’re in trouble.
I’m over Christmas already, but it’s only about to start. I have half a mind to get something for me and put a “from Santa” label on it. *shrug *

Thoughts as the Season Starts

The Season is once again upon us. That time of the year when shops fill with an overabundance of disposable gifts. Trinkets and nick-knacks that will inevitably end up in a drawer, box or bin filled with the “gee, thank you” gifts of past celebrations. I am not saying that all gifts are bad or that the giving of objects is wasteful, but the last thing anyone needs is another automatic match lighter or a clean-o-matic or some such thing.

My Daughter has only recently mastered smiling, the giggle is a work in progress, and she can only sort-of to hold her bottle. Needless to say, holding a pencil and writing a wish list to Santa may be a bit difficult. But, this year will be my daughter's first Christmas and I’m sure that Santa has already added her to his Good list, which means that a stocking must be found and a wish list made.

I have spent quite some time listening to her and her wish list is as follows:

To be greeted with a smile when I wake
To be rocked when I’m sleepy
To be fed when I’m hungry
To get that last burp up
To have a clean bottom
To not spit up on Mommy and Daddy (or Grandma and Grandpa)
To be swaddled and kept warm
To have my tears wiped away
To be comforted when frightened
To get better at peek-a-boo
To have an endless supply of clean binkies
To play in the water (and pretend I’m not taking a bath)
To play with my toys
To hold my bottle with out help
To hold onto Mom's hair
To lick Dad's popsicle
To make bubbles with my spit
To gurgle my R's for as long as I want
To learn to crawl
To listen to beautiful music
To be kissed
To be hugged
To be tickled
To be read to
To be taken for long walks
To be shown the wonder of the world and the vastness of the universe
To be Loved unconditionally

Mother-In-Law Blues

Turkey go BOOOOOM

I’m trying to get ready for my mother-in-law’s visit in a week or so and not doing well. My house is a mess and under construction. My husband informs me that “she’ll want to clean” like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t understand that I’m now staring into the mouth of Hell. I don’t want her cleaning MY HOME. I don’t want her into MY THINGS. I can sense the judgmental comments crashing down on my like a tornado. Did I mention that rick has explained countless times that, “she has no tacked” LOVELY * sarcasm *

Not only will she be in my house, she’ll be staying in my personal space. The extra bed is in my art studio, which is the storage room for everything that’s mine – sewing, paperwork, music CDs, nick-knack collections, computer/printer, and all the various art supplies and projects I putter on. I feel like my privacy is about to be violated and I don’t know what to do.

I KNOW she’s Rick’s Mom, but I’ve only met her twice for like a few hours. To me she is a total stranger and I’m about to have her in my house with my daughter . . . alone. What’s to keep her from snooping in my personal drawers and such?

My Dad offered to totally gut and re-do my bathroom, which is pealing from the humidity, but I don’t see HOW we can get this done and finished before she gets here. I can feel my blood pressure shooting up. I’m tense and seeing stars. Any time now I’m going to loose it. I just know something will get said and I’ll react by taking my daughter to my mothers and not going home for a week. UGLY I’m trying to see if I can take time off, but I really REALLY can’t . . . I think *SIGH*

Oh, she also smokes . . .YA.

I’m not going to get through this well - I know it.

I HATE Thanksgiving . . . oh, how I hate it.