I've quite lierally just hopped off the train here in NYC after the ALA conference in Washington DC. While I was there, I got to meet lots and lots of fabulous NINJA LIBRARIANS, saw other authors, and even saw some old friends!
I’ve made a little video of the Printz Awards ceremony, which is pretty much focused on John Green. I wish I could show you all of the other great speeches that I heard. And I hate speeches, so these were really good for me to be saying that.
While I was at ALA, several people asked me about Free Monkey. His World Tour webpage is here. He maintains this himself, with the help of his new friends from the tour. But here are two pictures from his most recent stop in my hometown, Philadelphia, PA.
FREE MONKEY enjoys some fine Philadelphia cuisine . . . a cheese steak from Geno's.
Everyone in Philadelphia dresses like this.
It was exciting to talk to so many librarians about the Battle of Bartlesville. More thoughts on this, and my future moves, later, when I put up a longer post.
A lot of you expressed what I was feeling about this whole Bartlesville naughty shelf/big bad book labeling issue. Of course, I got in touch with FREE MONKEY to tell him what was going on. He gave his usual balanced advice—he told me to reply to a lot of the great comments and e-mails that have come in.
(You can always find out what he’s up to by looking at his LiveJournal page. You can see some of the places he’s been at the bottom of this post.)
So, let’s get to your thoughts.
First, this turned up in my inbox, and I was extremely interested in it. Yes, it’s a different state, but it deals with pretty much the exact same setup. In this case the victim was Harry Potter.
Counts v. Cedarville School District, 295 F.Supp.2d 996 (W.D. Ark. 2003)
The school board of the Cedarville, Arkansas school district voted to restrict students' access to the Harry Potter books, on the grounds that the books promoted disobediance and disrespect for authority and dealt with witchcraft and the occult. As a result of the vote, students in the Cedarville school district were required to obtain a signed permission slip from their parents or guardians before they would be allowed to borrow any of the Harry Potter books from school libraries. The District Court overturned the Board's decision and ordered the books returned to unrestricted circulation, on the grounds that the restrictions violated students' First Amendment right to read and receive information. In so doing, the Court noted that while the Board necessarily performed highly discretionary functions related to the operation of the schools, it was still bound by the Bill of Rights and could not abridge students' First Amendment right to read a book on the basis of an undifferentiated fear of disturbance or because the Board disagreed with the ideas contained in the book.
So . . . any Oklahoma lawyers out there? Anyone want to take this to the limit? (To prepare yourself to go to the limit, you can go here.)
tobias said... I think you should perform a selected scene from "Oklahoma" outside their office windows!!!!
I’m starting to get more and more tempted. I don’t feel like these people should be simply let off the hook. And my dancing is a powerful thing.
sarai said... I think I'll add librocidal maniacs to my personal "things to be afraid of" list... Please allow me a gratuitous Buffy quote. "Where do we go from here... The battle's done, and we kinda won; So we sound our victory cheer." In my community, I'm thinking of getting involved in the public library to make sure such books are available outside of schools. This should be a wake up for all of us. We probably can't change Bartlesville, but we can get try to keep this from happening our home towns.
I like the quote, your idea to volunteer, and the word “librocidal.”
laini taylor said... Oh man, this just sucks. Thought I'd share this great [that is, AWFUL] quote I came up with when researching book banning for a library talk I did at the wonderful Topeka KS library a few months ago. A Texas mother who had attended a "book mulching rally" in front of a library (the mulcher was in the bed of a pickup truck), was quoted as saying that children should not learn about puberty until they are married. ACK! The blazing minds of book banners!
Fantastic! The minds of book banners at work! I think this was the book mulching she attended. Book mulching. How obscene is that? These people are disgusting.
jellybean said... Terrible. Just terrible. A special shelf? Give me strength. If they are going to do that, they should have to put a label on the book stating exactly why the book requires special permission. Come on Bartlesville: I want to see a sticker that reads, "We heard there might be homosexual content in this book. No one under the age of 18 may read about homosexuals without parental permission. But we aren't sure because we haven't read this book." Seriously, these people should have to take the embarrassing step of explaning why the book is semi-banned. Perhaps the shame of it will make them reconsider.
They essentially have labeled it. Since Bermudez contains no sex and nothing else of note that banners like to ban . . . this is entirely because of the homosexual characters. And I’d love to have them explain, but they won’t talk to me. I’ve tried to reach Janet Vernon for weeks. I keep trying to tell her how much fun I am to talk to on the phone, but she just doesn’t believe me.
dawn said... I listened to David's speech. I know there are kids out there who would benefit from reading his books, Bermudez and so on. Kids in all sorts of situations often turn to books to help them through, and though he spoke a lot about the tolerance of books that contain homosexuality, I know he was saying in general that it doesn't matter what the book is about. It matters that we get the books out there for whoever needs them. And I completely agree.
David’s speech is great, and he’s right.
liz said... After reading all the "Bermudez will get more attention on the shelf" comments, I have a major question: Where is this 'reserve shelf'? The reserved section at my middle school's library was a closet with a watched door partially hidden behind the magazine racks. The only people allowed to walk around in it were the head librarians. I was a volunteer in the library, if Bermudez was in there--I wouldn't have known it because I wasn't allowed to poke around in there and rescue the quality literature (it was a well-filled room). I have a feeling that Bartlesville's shelf isn't out in the open or even viewable. If anyone could find the where the shelf is, it would give us a better idea of how dirty that committee is playing now. (And if a volunteer could 'accidentally' move it to the YA section.)
Good point. Where’s the shelf? I’d ask, but again, they won’t talk to me.
This was part of an e-mail I got, and I love it: This is not really a victory in my eyes. It is being given a carrot stick at a restaurant when you asked for a slice of cake. Sure, carrot sticks are okay, and its better than getting no food at all, but it's nowhere near as good as a slice of cake, and this restaurant guarentees cake to every customer.
And the only reason why you aren't getting your cake is because your date to the restaurant happens to be the same gender as you and someone got offended that their child had to see you two and complained to your waiter and really, the only reason you got even the carrot stick is because you complained to the manager.
Precisely, my friend! I think we should send this carrot stick back and get our *#^$&*#^*& cake, don't you?
Please keep your comments coming. And know this . . . I’m not done with this. In many ways, this may just be the beginning. Maybe BanCon isn’t such a bad idea.
Now, some FREE MONKEY photos:
Living in New York, FREE MONKEY never gets to mow the lawn. He told me he liked this very much.
The stars at night, are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas!
Hey, everybody! This is right off the transom. I just got home to find this e-mail from Ninja Librarian Susan Hunt . . . and I’m basically just copying it direct to here (I’ve only removed some of the names). My comments follow. I don’t need to preface this with much, as Susan says it all . . .
**********************
I received a letter today giving the reconsideration committee's decision. Since I don't have a scanner available to me, I will type the letter as it appears. I do believe, Maureen, that without our intervention the book would have been pulled from the shelves. I'm not so sure that the decision is much better, however. While it avoids "banning" the book, it restricts the book's availability. I would not have been happy to live under a rule that demanded a 'reserve shelf' for certain books, or that demanded that I keep track of which students had parental permission to read which books. It is just the kind of nightmare my early retirement avoided. Thank you again.
The letter begins.
Bermudez Triangle District Committee Report June 6, 2007
The library book review committee met several times to discuss and review the book entitled, The Bermudez Triangle by Maureen Johnson. The first meeting was set to establish protocol and gather materials for review. A copy of the complaint was given to each member present. Each member of the committee had an opportunity to give his/her view of the complaint. The district library media department chair presented additional materials and discussed her opinion of the book. Members were asked to read the book, the reviews or research any additional information which would be relevant for further discussion at the next meeting.
Committee members met again on April 26th. The complainant met with the committee to express her view of the book and its inappropriateness for her 14 year old daughter. Members of the committee also met with the Mid-High librarian and principal. The librarian explained she had ordered the book for students who had to write papers for the English class. Each year, students have to write a paper on social issues and often students have had to go to the public library to get materials. She was trying to have a well rounded selection of materials to address the possible needs for the class.
Written comments from the community, regarding their views of the book, were solicited via the Bartlesville Public School website. A parent and the librarian of the Bartlesville Public Library responded in favor of keeping the book in circulation. The teacher at Mid-High who gives the social issues assignment sent a summary of the assignment to the committee for review. Yet, we must acknowledge, the book was checked out to the compainant's daughter who was not in this particular teacher's class.
The committee would like to make the following recommendations:
--In order to allow students to have access to the book for curriculum review or reports, the books would sit on the 'reserve shelf' and be checked out for classroom use with a parent's permission.
--Proactive communication with parents regarding materials in the library is important. An invitation to parents to visit the library should be extended each year. Listed media materials located on the website need to be communicated to parents. The committee would like to suggest the review of the district's current school library policy. Up to date revisions and procedures will be paramount in establishing a framework for future library media concerns.
The is the end of the letter.
Thank you again, Maureen. We succeeded.
**********************
Thanks to Susan, we did . . . if only partially.
Friends, what do you make of this?
Me, personally, I’m disgusted that a book requires parental consent just because it contains homosexual content. As Susan says, this is almost as bad . . . if not worse!
And that second point gives me a case of the wobblies. Why do I feel like other materials in this school library are going to end up on the “scary shelf” with Bermudez?
As for the rest of the letter . . . like I said before, the book was banned on April 26th, when only one committee member (the one who supported it) had actually taken the time to read it. Without your letters, your support, your links . . . the book would have been banned. You turned it around. Thank you, guys. I can’t tell you how much your support meant.
But what do you make of this “solution”? Is limiting access to a book really a good idea? What should I do next, if anything?
If you want to hear a really eloquent take on why self-censorship is a disaster, and why books with homosexual content belong on the shelf, listen to this podcast. This is David Levithan speaking at the Reading Matters conference in Australia. David lays it all out. (Note to anyone playing this out loud—he does drop the F-bomb once, but to great effect. This conference was for a group of librarians.) It’s fantastic. (And shows that these problems are not limited to American shores.)
You asked! How can I refuse you? I’ve always known you guys were sharp—sharper than me by a longshot. You know that if you only know what to fear, you can fear more effectively.
Maybe you’re asking yourself, “How is it that Maureen is such an expert in what to worry about?”
The answer can be found by reading the dedication of Girl At Sea. Or I can just tell you here. My mother was and is a nurse, an amazing nurse. But she’s also very, very, very cautious, and I was trained from a young age that everything is dangerous, if you only look at it from the right perspective. I have been prepared for Doom since I was just a tiny mj, and my training continues every time I go to Chez Johnson. When I was there a week ago, visiting while I was signing books in Pennsylvnia, my mother had just come back from a work-related conference on the Coming Pandemic. She quite seriously gave me instructions on what to do, on the procedures involved when we are all barricaded in our houses, when the roads and shops are closed down, when human contact will be cut off for weeks and months. All that over a cup of tea in the afternoon! I’ve been getting lessons like this all of my life.
This is why I am the person to tell you what to be Afraid Of In The Summertime.
This list is by no means comprehensive. I could write entire books on this subject. I just wanted to hit some of the major points. I may have to make one of these lists for every season and maybe for major holidays, if you find it helpful.
(Note: there are no jellyfish on this list. I’ve covered them in depth on this blog and in Girl At Sea.)
Before I begin, I just wanted to say that you can now find out where FREE MONKEY is on his World Tour by reading his LiveJournal page! I didn’t make this page—his hosts created it as a way for him to report back from the road. I see from it that he has been reading my blog, so I hope he reads this entry. I am worried for his safety out there!
BIRDS
It’s summer. You’re going to be outside a lot, right? Walking around on the beach, in the woods, down your street . . . that kind of thing. Which means you are a walking target for our Feathered Enemies.
Basically, the birds are out to get us, perhaps in retaliation for the cages, the poultry industry, and our alliance with the cats. Oh, you’re laughing, huh? You think birds are adorable and harmless? Think again.
Birds have been after us for a long time. They managed to take out one of history’s first and greatest playwrights, Aeschylus, inventor of tragedy. They sent an eagle to do that job. It flew low and dropped a turtle on his head. This very targeted, cultural attack has since become more of a widespread movement. Witness: seagulls swooping out of the sky and attacking English grannies’ heads, wood grouses throwing themselves at Norwegian police officers on bicycles, and organized gangs of grackles swooping down on entire city blocks.
And of course, now they’re developing their very own flu.
There are a handful of rebel alliance birds who are with us, like this one who attacked its owner’s murderer and then fingered the culprit to police (and was apparently not bothered by the fact that its owned had named it “Bird”). These birds are far and few between. The majority of them want nothing more than to pluck out our eyes and make nests in our rib cages.
After you.
THE SUN
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that you know all about sunblock and skin cancer. You have a really good lip balm and a zinc stick and a hat. Well, none of that is going to help when the sun explodes.
You heard me. That thing is about to blow up, and the sooner we get away from it, the better. We only have 4.5 billion years before it turns into a red giant, expands, and takes over the orbit of Mercury, Venus, and Earth. Apparently, the Earth is going to make a general run for it, but even under the best of circumstances, the seas will dry up and the atmosphere will burn away. No amount of air conditioning is going to help.
So instead of sitting on the beach, letting Our Big Orange Enemy burn you, you should be making a plan. I realize Pluto is no longer a planet, but its shiny, icy surface is going to look pretty appealing during the Big Barbeque. Spend your summer sharpening your ice skates and studying all the astrophysics you can. Time is ticking away.
Also after you.
DEADLY FISH
So, you’re going swimming this summer, right? Well, you might as well just throw yourself into a live volcano. You’re just giving yourself to the fish.
No, I don’t mean sharks. Believe it or not, sharks are low on my list of summer concerns. I watch Jaws, and I laugh.
The fact is, sharks rarely attack humans. The Jaws phenomena is all part of a campaign designed to divert our attention from the fish who are really after us. Like the snakehead fish. The snakehead fish does something that no fish should be able to do: walk. Or slither, at any rate. If they have eaten everything in one lake, they can climb out and go to another. And these things are big, up to a meter long, with sharp teeth. Can you think of anything worse that a meter-long, toothy, walking fish? Because I can’t.
By this point in their rapid evolutionary progress, they have to have worked out other modes of transportation, possibly rental cars or skateboards. Ignore them if you want. Worry about the sharks if it makes you feel better. But when the skateboarding snakefish comes in the night and out pops the tiny tooth, don’t say I didn’t warn you. It is only a matter of time before they team up with the birds.
Boats won’t save you.
RABIES
Ah, summer nights. Perfect for opening the windows and letting the night breeze in. Oh, and also FLYING DEATH.
When I was little, my mother liked to send me off to bed at night with this story: there was a little boy, just slightly older than me, who lived somewhere. (It wasn’t a very specific story.) He didn’t have screens in his windows. One night, a rabid bat flew in, bit him, and he died. I’m not entirely sure what the point was of telling me this. I think it was something about the importance of window screens. I was probably the only five year-old in town who was actively admonishing adults to get them and keep them in good condition.
It’s actually kind of tricky to get rabies in the United States, but tricky does not mean impossible. Bats still remain one of the most common vectors of the disease. It’s extremely tricky to get it in England and Ireland, because it was eradicated there in the early 20th century, and the English and Irish put a lot of effort into keeping it out. They can’t, however, stop you from being attacked and eaten by football hooligans. It doesn’t exist at all in Australia or New Zealand, but since everything else that lives there can kill you, this hardly seems to matter.
See the anger in its eyes.
CELEBRITIES
If you think you’re safe because Lindsay’s in rehab and Paris is behind bars, you are hopelessly naïve. The Celebrity Army is still strong. Only people who are not normal would go to so much trouble to convince us how normal they are. “We’re just regular people,” they all say. No, they’re not. They want to adopt us, convert us, mow us down with their cars, flash us, make us read their horrible books, shout insane things at us, expose their bony bodies at us, feed us weird diet food, sell us stuff, and generally take way our time, money, souls, and attention scrap by precious scrap, until we are empty husks.
Only a few (Mos Def, Abba, Simon Pegg, the cast of Law and Order) want to protect you. The rest won’t stop until we have all been consumed. This is fact.
And what about Paris and La Lohan? When those two bust out later this summer, they’re going to be all “mommy needs a drink.” And then, no sidewalk will be safe. If I had a stun gun, I would be out there protecting you, but no one will let me have one. Think about that while you try to get to sleep tonight.
Maybe by this point you’ve wised up and decided to stay inside this summer with the curtains drawn. Good for you. But you still have plenty of things to worry about.
SHELVES
Shelves are the sleeper cells of deadly household items. They sit quietly for years, helping you, holding up your stuff, and then . . . they spring. Witness the case of 38 year-old Mariesa Weber, whose family had thought she had been kidnapped from their Florida home. They reported her missing, and for 11 days, they searched frantically for her. It turns out, she had fallen behind a bookcase while reaching around it, trying to adjust the plug of the TV set. No one noticed this until her sister saw a foot sticking out from the “bookcase trap” almost two weeks later.
DIET COKE
I always say it will be jellyfish, but I think it’s Diet Coke that’s really going to get me in the end. I was attacked by a Diet Coke the other day, as I reported here. It fell on my foot and then exploded into my eye.
I should really take the warning. Though I try to eat healthy, I do have a fondness for Diet Coke. This is bad, because Diet Coke is seriously out to get you. It has no nutritive value whatsoever. The sweeter, aspartame, has been linked to almost one hundred health problems, including cancer and brain lesions and other weird things. Though this link is not proven, the government takes it seriously enough to warn Air Force pilots not to drink products containing aspartame before flying. Those sweetened with sucralose (Splenda) may not be much better.
If the aspartame doesn’t get you, the rest of the drink will. The phosphoric acid in sodas displaces calcium from the bones. Many soft drinks are contaminated with benzene, a known carcinogen. Also, Coke (and Pepsi, and really add sodas) is so acidic that it can (as I explain in The Key to the Golden Firebird) dissolve buildup on the nodes of a car battery.
Basically, we would all be better off if we just drank wholesome things like water, fruit juice, or (in my case) tea. But, of course, I am drinking a Diet Coke as I type this, and therefore speeding my way towards Doom.
There you go. Just seven of the thousands of things to worry about. Feel free to add the to list.
At the moment, both Free Monkey and I are on the road. He is in LA, and I am in Georgia, spreading the word of Girl At Sea.
First, the Monkey report.
FREE MONKEY is now in Los Angeles for the first stop of his World Tour. (The visit to Hank was a pre-tour stop to prepare.) You can see his activities by going to Little Willow’s site.
I flew to Atlanta on Monday night, and I am there now, sitting in the Georgia sunshine. Last night, I did a fantastic event at Little Shop of Stories in Decatur, where I spoke to a an amazing reading group.
That much is good. But the getting here, friends . . . that was not so good.
I have to preface everything below by saying that I am used to traveling internationally, so flying inside the US can be confusing. I don’t mean this in a “I only fly to fancy, faraway places!” I mean this in an “I expect the worst in terms of long lines and strict security” kind of a way. I expect my body to be x-rayed, my passport to be checked every six minutes, my shoes to be blown up, and my comings and goings to be ruthlessly questioned. On international flights, they make you show up days in advance so they can do all of this. They even board you a full hour before you take off just to make super-super sure that you are belted in snug and secure so they can seal the plane and check it fifty more times.
All of which I LIKE, because I am nothing if not pro-safety.
Comparatively, when I arrived at La Guardia (New York’s domestic airport), things seemed pretty relaxed. I checked in without showing ID. The security check seemed normal enough, but then I walked through the terminal, looking for my gate, and found that it was not so much a gate but more of a dark hallway in the back with about three hundred people crammed in it with nowhere to sit. The board behind the counter was not a digital display—it was one of those old fashioned boards where they stuck up plastic numbers.
Frankly, it looked shady, like some guys had quietly backed up to an unused corner of the airport, maybe one that had previously been a bathroom or something and was under renovation, parked their plane, and tried to stir up a little business.
The problem was, there didn’t seem to be a plane. They weren’t even acting as if there was supposed to be one. The flight was supposed to take off at 7:00. It had read 7:00 on the board, but since they didn’t know when we would be leaving, they simply removed the last two numbers and left it as 7:
After about 45 minutes of standing there, slack-jawed, staring at the 7: . . . I decided this was getting a little old, so I walked around and around until I found one seat, recently vacated, in the middle of a crowded row. I was just happy to be sitting down, and I barely registered the strange objects that were across from me, which were: a pair of black high-heeled fur boots, a sealed bag, and a plastic tub marked “chemical de-icer.”
Let me just put that into perspective . . . you can’t even bring water past security. You can’t bring bottles of shampoo. I once had my lip gloss taken from me and put into a small sealed bag. (I’m not sure what that was supposed to accomplish, aside from not getting the lip gloss on my stuff.) One time, when my flight to England was delayed, I had to leave the terminal and use the ladies room. They held my passport while I did this, and when I came back, they gave me one of those full body patdowns, they examined my shoes, and took the battery out of my computer to examine it.
So, that someone had come in with a tub of suspicious-looking chemical stuff was weird. What was even MORE weird was that that stuff had been sitting there unattended for TWO HOURS. I knew this from my seatmates, who had seen the pregnant woman who had come and left it there so long before. By the time I came on the scene and collapsed into the seat, there was quite a buzz about it.
Because the only thing more disturbing than a random tub of chemicals in an airport is an UNATTENDED tub of random chemicals in an airport left next to furry boots and a scary bag.
There’s always one woman who takes control of the situation, and we had one. She went to security. In fact, she went to FIVE PEOPLE, begging them to come and take away the Incredibly Suspicious Packages.
Again, this comes in sharp contrast to international travel—or anything in England. If you leave a bag for more than five minutes in England, they swoop in with an entire team, take it away in a big machine, and blow it up. The English have a lot of experience dealing with bombers, and they don’t mess around.
But at La Guardia, they really could not have cared less. They shrugged her away.
“No one will listen to me,” she said. By now, we were all involved in the story of the boots, bag, and de-icer and everyone was waiting for news.
This is when the staff of "I Can't Believe It's An Airline" sprang to life. The guy at the desk came on and said, “Who wants to go to Atlanta!”
You know, like it was a surprise trip, and not an airplane that we all had tickets for. But everyone was so excited that there was A PLANE that cheers and clapping broke out.
It was only as we were quickly scrambled back into line (it was a big rush now, of course, further confirming in my mind that this plane was not actually supposed to be here and we were getting into the equivalent of an unlicensed taxi) that the police showed up with the bomb sniffing puppy. It was definitely a puppy—he was sort of a shaggy German Shepherd, with huge paws, clearly delighted to be at work. I don’t know exactly what he found, but he went a little crazy with delight for the de-icer. The sealed bag turned out to contain large cheese puff balls.
So if you heard any stories about weird stuff being found at LaGuardia airport the other night, I was there. And if it was some scary germ or something, drop me a line and let me know, because I was sitting next to it for a while. Unlike that guy who flew all over the world with an infectious disease, I will turn myself in immediately. I think I might like quarantine.
So we got on the plane, and I eyed the contents of my seat pocket. (I’m always hoping that some day I will find something wonderful in there, like a first edition Harry Potter or a baby bunny.) Instead, I saw that my safety card had been ripped into pieces. The only other thing in there was a barf bag.
“Who ever uses those?” I thought to myself. I am lucky enough to have a very strong stomach, and the idea of throwing up on an airplane is pretty much the worst thing I could imagine.
And then we took off, and the girl across from me barfed into her barf bag.
Things started to look up once we took off and were flying along peacefully. We landed very suddenly (everyone down! down! down! we're landing!), and then I thought things were really on the move. But they had had a storm in Atlanta hours before, and for some reason this messed everything up, and we sat on our spot on the runway for well over an hour.
When I finally got to my rental car, I breathed a sigh of relief, and then I looked down at the ground next to it and saw this, which I had to pick up and take with me:
Would you take this as a sign?
I really could not have asked for a better way into my LIST OF THINGS TO BE AFRAID OF IN THE SUMMERTIME. And this story also proves why DRAGON TRAIN is so appealing. (Dragon Train is appealing for many reasons, but now more than ever.)
That’s coming next, just as soon as I complete something I have to turn in, pretty much now. (Not a book, but another writing project.) Deadlines call! FREE MONKEY travels!
First of all, thank you for writing in with so much support for Susan and Bermudez. Your ideas and good thoughts have made a huge difference, and Susan has expressed her continuing support of the effort.
I’m not sure what to say about Susan’s resignation, still. To think that a librarian like Susan would give up her job after 33 years fighting for a book (which happens to be mine) is astonishing.
Several of you suggested another letter campaign. I know the last one worked to at least halt the book banning that was going on unreported and get it out into the public. But now, the committee is responding by curling into a tiny, cowardly ball and refusing to answer me. (Maybe because Janet Vernon was too busy running for President-Elect of the Middle States Association, one of the most powerful bodies in American education. Great, huh?)
I have no idea what the people on the committee are really like, day to day. All I know is that they REFUSE to tell me anything else, and that in and of itself is weird and shady . . . and yet all too familiar. To tell the entire truth, I feel kind of bad for the position they ended up in. There are quite a number of crackpot organizations out there (along with individual crackpots) who make a huge and concerted effort to take books away from you. Here’s one of the more prominent ones, which calls itself PABBIS (Parents Against Bad Books in Schools . . . you gotta love it). This little army of loonytunes wants to make sure that books like The Catcher in the Rye, One Hundred Years of Solitude, Beloved, Looking for Alaska, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Slaughterhouse Five, In Cold Blood, and The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole (along with many, many others) are immediately taken out of schools.
PABBIS has not yet gotten to The Bermudez Triangle, but I am sure this is because they just haven’t noticed it. Maybe they are too busy building bonfires or trying to contact their Home Planet.
But you know what? Just because crackpots are giving you a hard time doesn’t mean that you should rip the books from the shelves, lie your faces off, demote librarians, and curl into a fetal position when confronted.
I’m sorry you have to deal with this, guys. I really am. I’m sorry that there are so many paranoid chowderheads out there who are afraid of ideas and books and knowledge and People From Outside.
But to prevent making even more paranoid chowderheads who are afraid of books and ideas and knowledge and People From Outside . . . we need EDUCATION. We need you to protect the schools. Many Americans are getting narrower and weirder as the world is getting more and more interconnected and fabulous. That’s just not going to work. Fear of Everything is not a viable way of living*. Instead of banning books, we should be getting together and working toward new ways of saving the planet, collecting shiny things, and getting me a Vespa.
Rant over. The bottom line next step is: I need to get the committee to just tell me what they recommended. Obviously, this is a secret, and I need to crack it.
I was so busy writing about Bartlesville, that I didn’t get you all up to date on the many things I need to tell you. So let’s do that.
WHERE ARE YOU THIS WEEK? AND WHERE IS FREE MONKEY?
As of tomorrow, I’ll be in GEORGIA. Come and see me in Decatur at Little Shop of Stories on Tuesday at 6:30. You can also see me at the Alpharetta Barnes and Noble on Thursday at 6:00. If you know people in Georgia, get them out there! (Especially if they make peach pie. I would really like some peach pie.)
I will otherwise be at the home of Betty Vox, writing away. Betty has three dogs, so I will have lots of furry company.
As for FREE MONKEY, he’s left for his World Tour! At least, the American leg. (International tour friends—your letters are coming soon.) His first stop is in Los Angeles to visit YA superblogger Little Willow. As soon as I have a report from him, it will be posted here!
YOU SAID YOU HAD NEWS. WHAT IS THIS NEWS YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO TELL US?
There are actually two things.
The first is about the Extremely New Book That Is Not Girl At Sea . . . in other words, the one I am writing. There have been many developments on this front.
Like I have said before, I love all my books, but I am REALLY, DEEPLY EXCITED about this one. This is my first book for Scholastic. (True story: when my deal was being negotiated, I requested that a line be written in saying that I would get a copy of Harry Potter VII immediately upon release.)
First, it officially has a title. It is called Suite Scarlett (the original title was Empire Suite), and it will be coming out in May, ’08. I am about to start a major revision on it. The cover was shot the other day. I had unprecedented input into the process this time, and guess what? THERE WILL BE NO HEADLESS GIRL. I’ve seen the sketches, the location, and the model. The location was carefully chosen to reflect the setting of the book, which is an Art Deco hotel in New York.
This is all very, very good.
Most of this summer will be spent finishing Suite Scarlett, so expect lots of posts about writing again.
The other very exciting piece of news that just happened is that I will be collaborating on a holiday book with John Green and the amazing Lauren Myracle. John and I have been talking about this a lot, but we couldn’t say anything until it was all a done deal. And now it is. It will be coming out for the holidays in ’08. I’m obviously thrilled to be working with someone like Lauren, and to get to work with my fake brother John.
GIVING AWAY OF THINGS
Last week, I promised to give away a book to whoever would make an internet fuss over Girl At Sea. A book is going out to first responder Katie Jarzombek, who dropped everything and went to her blog.
Meanwhile, if you requested a Girl At Sea card and it hasn’t come yet, it should be appearing pretty much any second. I’m signing cards until the end of June (or until I run out of cards, or just fall over at my desk with a loud THUMP), so if you want one, write in and let me know!
I said before that I was in a book-giving mood. I was just reading through the comments, when I saw this:
jas said... I'm a little broke right now, and I haven't had time to go to a bookstore, so I'm patiently waiting for my chance to win a book. I'm horrible with computer stuff, so I didn't even risk trying to "do something viral," 'cause I probably would have shorted out half the city (at best) or ended up advertising your novels as horrible (at worst). It wouldn't have been pretty. So, could you please do something for us peoples who aren't all technologically inclined? So I don't end up eating my own foot. Can't wait to read it, though.
YOUR TIME HAS COME, JAS! Send me an address! You’re getting a book!
See? You never know what’s going to happen!
I have many cool things from BEA, including these special HARRY POTTER VII BAGS. Based on what Jas has written here, I am trying to think of an exciting way to give away these bags, and more Girl At Seas. Less technological people—ideas?
I will attempt to write the MJ LIST OF THINGS TO BE AFRAID OF IN THE SUMMERTIME in the airport or the plane tomorrow.
Also, as a followup to my previous post about my difficult relationship with shoes. Many of you were extremely disturbed by the fact that I don't like to shoe shop. Well, for all of you, today I bought TWO PAIR. Here they are, for your viewing pleasure. I love them both. This is enough of an accomplishment to merit a photo. Who knows? Next, maybe I'll cut my own food! Who can say?
I kan has shuz?
* Fear of Stuff On My List extremely sensible, though.
Many of you have been asking me for updates on the Bartlesville situation. The reason I haven’t given one is that I have been working to get information, with little success until today.
A quick recap, just to get everyone up to speed. If you know this story backwards and forward, skip to the part at the bottom that says PRESENT DAY.
IN OUR LAST EPISODE:
April 27th: I get an e-mail from Ninja Librarian Susan Hunt telling me that The Bermudez Triangle had been challenged and removed from the Bartlesville Mid-High Library. She asks for my help.
When I put the story up on my blog, and when excellent writers like Justine Labalestier, Scott Westerfeld, John Green, Maryrose Wood, Meg Cabot, and Neil Gaiman (to name a few) picked up the story . . . and when all of you got involved with letters and posts . . . the committee that banned the book realized that this was not just going to be slipped under the carpet. After a week of effort, during which they stubbornly refused to answer my e-mails and calls, I finally spoke to one person on the committee.
He denied that they ever did this. “We can’t ban the book!” I was told. “Only the school board can do that!”
But I had information saying that yes, they really did do that, and no, they aren’t supposed to, for that is very naughty indeed! Remember how I kept insisting and insisting that it had really happened that way?
They couldn’t admit that, because it’s wrong and they would have gotten into trouble.
As the story got bigger and the local paper got involved, they gave the same story to the reporter, making both me and Ninja Librarian Susan seem like we were making something out of nothing, and doing a classic, “Who, me?” defense.
Which pretty much none of you believed, thankfully.
Then we entered into a period of bureaucratic weirdness, during which I learned more than I ever hoped to about the inner workings of the Bartlesville school district. I heard about the many tiny technicalities, the by-laws, the little things that they were using to say that the book hadn’t been banned, when it actually had been.
Except what they were saying kept changing. And it wasn’t just what they were telling me. My many Bartlesville friends told me that they were also all getting different stories about what went down, but the bottom line was . . . many mistakes were made, and the book was still off the shelf.
Finally, a committee member wrote to me to tell me that they had finally made a recommendation about the book, but that they couldn’t tell me what that recommendation was. Which was annoying enough. I then read in the paper that they said that they HADN’T made a recommendation.
“But!” I sputtered, pointing at my screen to the e-mail from the committee member that said that they had made a recommendation but could not tell me what it was. “But, but, but!”
Then my phone rang. It was a Friend in Bartlesville who I cannot name put who was very much involved with that story. She told me that no, I wasn’t going crazy. They had made a recommendation, but then . . . whoops! . . . they violated public policy by not informing the public of the challenge!
So they had to withdraw it. So they said they hadn’t made one. Well, except they forgot to tell the school PR person about the “new story,” so the truth was still getting out until they got that fixed up.
Still with me? Does your head hurt yet? We’re getting to the new part.
They then notified the public (by putting up an opinion box on the school website). While many of you expressed serious concern and anger about banning, it seems that several people in the area were all for it! And so, for a period of about a week and a half, I got nasty letters full of very non-Christian remarks, explaining how I was a bad person and certain to be hit by lightening.
I began to get grouchy. Still, I tried and tried and tried to reach the committee members again. I tried to reach ANYONE. I heard only from my friends in the town, but they had no new information. I thought over some new strategies. Many of you signed my petition to have the book replaced.
Weeks of silence followed, until today.
PRESENT DAY . . .
Today, Ninja Librarian Susan Hunt got in touch with me and told me two things.
The first thing is that the only librarian on the committee, the only person who stood up for the book . . . was removed from her position as a chair of one of the library committees by Janet Vernon, the head of the committee, and the person who STILL refuses to talk to me about the book.
The second is that Ninja Librarian Susan Hunt was called in for a meeting. It was fairly clear that this was not going to be the best meeting, and that there would not be hugs and sloppy kisses all around. She decided that rather than back down, she would resign her position. And I quote:
“I have taught for 33 years and have now gone out doing what I know was right. I continue to stand by my original statement to you, Maureen. The committee headed by Vernon voted to remove your book without having read it. I did not lack patience in the process in revealing this. I have no doubt that had we not made this information public that the book would have been immediately removed.”
So there you have it. One book advocate punished, another leaves because she refuses to go along with this insane situation.
This afternoon, I called Janet Vernon yet again, but got no answer. So let me put my message here.
Janet, if you are listening . . . I am officially #&$^#&^ed off. I was bemused before, sometimes addled, and occasionally irate. But now I cannot print what I am. And FREE MONKEY isn’t even here now to talk me down, because he is on his way to Los Angeles to start the World Tour.
I think you think that this kind of thing can go on, and that it’s okay, and if you just keep quiet and keep lying it will go away.
But it won’t. Especially not now.
I have left my e-mail and phone number for you on multiple occasions. What are you afraid of, Janet, if what you are doing is so proper? People with nothing to hide usually aren’t so shy and retiring.
Feel free to reverse the charges if that’s the problem. I’ll gladly accept them.
That’s the end of my message.
I’m opening this up to you, friends. What do you think the next step should be? Comments, e-mails . . . send away. I am all ears. How do we deal with these book banners? Because where they’ll remove one book (without reading it, natch), they’ll remove others.
Friends! I’m back after two days in Pennsylvania, during which I got to meet a few of you. That was fantastic.
Originally, I was going to write up a huge update today on all kinds of things, including giveaways, books, and Bartlesville. But I’ve been promising you another story for a while, and it’s kind of relevant. So those things will (really) come tomorrow.
Today, I want to talk about speaking. And running.
Tonight I’ll be at the Tompkins Square branch of the New York Public Library, reading with Claudia Gabel, Nico Medina, Sarah Mlynowski, Blake Nelson, Jenny Pollack, and Sara Shepard. On Saturday, I’ll be at Books of Wonder. Then on Monday, I fly to Georgia where I will be staying with Dr. Betty Vox, and signing in the Atlanta area.
Do you guys remember Betty Vox? My partner in the running of the prom? Featured in the story, “Why Betty Vox and I had to run from a nun with a three-pronged cane and why it is all my fault”?
I keep promising to tell you that story. The time has come!
As I’ve mentioned time and time again, I went to a Catholic girls school, where I was strapped into a polyester uniform and locked inside for four years. I wasn’t Catholic, which was an additional complication on top of the normal complication that is high school. So, on top of the assumed joys, I had the pleasure of knowing I was the Wrong Religion and that I was kind of doomed.
Also, I didn’t know the words or the rules. People who go to Catholic school all their lives carry around a wealth of information that they aren’t even aware of. They know tons of prayers, and all the words to mass, and all the little gestures and rules and steps that non-Catholics don’t have a clue about. In the beginning, it was kind of like being thrust into a play without a script.
Our school had thoughtfully implemented millions of ways for us to get in trouble. Some of these things they wrote down in a completely incomprehensible rulebook, which quite honestly contained instructions like:
There will be complete silence on the chapel stairs at all times. The chapel stairs can be used to go UP ONLY from the start of the day until the second bell at 8:17. At this time, girls can go both up and down between the 2nd and 3rd floors ONLY. After 7th period, girls may go down from the third floor to the first floor.
It went on and on like this, describing the sides of the halls we were allowed to walk on, when exactly we were allowed to go to our lockers, and the truly mystifying A-B-C-D-E-F schedule system, which changed all the times of the periods and sometimes required the changing of clothes. (We had to wear blazers to chapel, even if it was 110 degrees, but could wear our sweaters on certain variations.)
Imagine having to learn all of that, on top of learning the entire religion of Catholicism in both its liturgical and social aspects. And the school didn’t have a great deal of sympathy in this matter. When we arrived as confused and deeply startled freshmen, we were informed that we had THREE DAYS to master it all.
And we were locked inside a convent with no boys, in heat-trapping polyester.
While I am a generally sanguine person, this situation did wear at my nerves at times. I tried my best to master all the rules, along with observing Catholic behavior frantically. I never caused any real trouble.
One day, I was in the third floor bathroom with Betty, who was one of the two other non-Catholics. We were sitting around and talking. It was just after three o’clock. Classes had been over for a little while, so we weren’t doing anything wrong.
And then in came a nun I will call Sister Ann Oiance.
Pretty much every sister of the order had a job, or a series of jobs, and they worked quite hard. But Sister Ann Oiance was one of about three mysterious nuns who were kind of “without portfolio.” No one really knew what she did. She did have some kind of sketchy title, like “head of the media center” or something like that, but we didn’t have a media center, and even if we did, she didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be pushing the TV down to your classroom. One reason for this: Sister Ann Oiance walked with a three-pronged cane.
Sister Ann Oiance had taken it upon herself to do a different job entirely, and that job seemed to consist entirely of walking the halls in a never-ending state of anger. She had one favorite trick, which involved our lockers. Because we had crazy rules about when we could go to our lockers (never), and because we had tons of heavy books, we sometimes tried to sneak around and dump some of them off quickly between classes. We did this by leaving our locks undone, but carefully positioned to look locked.
Sister Ann Oiance would walk the halls when we were in class and pull on our locks to find these unlocked ones. Then she would flip them and lock them. I don’t know if you’ve ever had to unlock a flipped lock in a crowded hallway when you were in a rush, but take it from me, it’s not fun.
Anyway, Betty and I are in the bathroom, brushing our hair or something, and in comes Sister Ann Oiance. She immediately launched into us, which shocked us both.
“Girls!” she barked. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
We didn’t know the answer to that one. We were just, you know, in the bathroom. After school. It’s not something that can be explained in depth.
“This is CONVENT PROPERTY after 3 in the afternoon!” she went on! “I’m writing you both up!”
Now, I had never heard of this rule, and neither had Betty. We tried to protest and explain this, but she just got angrier and told us off more and more while she fumbled for her demerit pad, saying how we were invading the convent and generally ruining the world.
It was just not true. She was making it up. Or maybe it had been true in 1950, but it was no longer true, and she was simply hassling two girls who were just minding their own business for no reason at all.
I don’t really know what happened in my brain as I listened to this, but something in me had clearly had Enough. Enough insane rules and regulations and being told how I was doomed. Enough confusion.
In the short silence that followed, someone called Sister a b***h.
Just like that. The word just leaked into the air. Not meanly or angrily. Just firmly and matter-of-factly.
B***h.
I was even more surprised to find this person was me. Apparently, my mouth had decided to act on its own. I was normally the meek one, the one who didn’t give anyone any trouble. I had apparently decided to break out of this in a big way.
This was really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really not okay.
You must realize that you could get written up at my school if your socks sloutched or if you were missing a button. So calling a nun a b***h was just slightly better than, oh, let’s say . . . setting the English Center on fire.
It was definitely grounds for expulsion.
Betty looked at me. There were no words for it. There was no expression for how bad this was, or how unexpected, or how utterly, utterly unrecoverable. Sister Ann Oiance was rendered speechless. I had overloaded her circuits temporarily. I was about to become one of those people who went down in school folklore as the Bathroom B***h Girl Who Was Never Heard From Again. Adrenaline started coursing through my body, making me feels strong and woozy at the same time. My brain started working very quickly, at that special speed that brains only work at when they think the body they ride around in is about to be killed.
In that moment, in a single look between Betty and I, we knew what had to be done. We all wore nametags. I would be identified as soon as sister recovered enough to look. Her eyes were already heading towards it.
We moved as one.
We started running. Really running. Not jogging. Not just going fast as a joke. This was an end-of-the-world, Godzilla is behind us, zombies are coming, Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible III kind of a run . . . which was something else you weren’t allowed to do in our school. The run alone could have gotten us in detention. But what was behind us was so much worse. Of course, what was behind us was a woman with a three-pronged cane, but I think I honestly believed at that moment that that cane would fire up like a rocket and sister would FLY DOWN THE STAIRS and consume us.
I had done the deed, but Betty was running because she knew that an explosion of that size takes down everyone in the vicinity. Running was the only viable solution—jumping out of the window might have been better, except that the inevitable immobility and hospitalization would have trapped us and identified us, and no, there would have been no pity.
We ran down three flight of stairs (the wrong way), shoved people out of the way in the lobby, ran down the front walk, down the stairs to the parking lot, through the parking lot, through the soccer field, and didn’t even slow down until we were in the alley that ran behind the school lot. And even then, we did not really stop. We jogged up the road, to the street, turned a corner, and lurked in some bushes at some random house.
“I don’t know why I just did that,” I said, as we collapsed to the ground. “I may never know.”
Betty knew. Betty and I have known each other since we were eight, and she knows that though I am often quiet, there is certainly something in me that will only take so much, and that I was capable of acting in very unexpected ways when I felt that something was Wrong.
The amazing thing about this is that it seems just as scary in retrospect as it did at the time. That could have been the end of my Catholic school career. I could have ended up booted. The only reason I can see that that didn’t happen was because, for once in my life, I listened to the wild yawlp of nature, and followed my deep biological instinct to RUN FROM THE SCARY THING.
I spent the next few weeks dodging and weaving away from Sister Ann Oiance. I was not above throwing myself to the ground, hiding behind doors, and ducking under tables.
“I understand,” I hear you say. “But how does this apply to me? What can I learn? I am sitting here studying for a final exam. I start my summer job in a week, and my boss is guaranteed to be insane and hate me. What can I take from your experience?” I’ll tell you.
1. Those things that happen at school or you job that you think will ruin your life forever and you will never recover from? Not necessarily the case. And no, you are not an evil person. Both Betty and I have turned out just fine.
2. Always WATCH OUT FOR JELLYFISH. When it doubt, assume the object in question is a jellyfish. Sure, you may later find out it was a shell, or a wave, or a shoe, or your best friend’s foot poking out of the sand . . . but it MIGHT have been a jellyfish, and you should run from it. RUN! RUN NOW!
(There are other things to be scared of. If you require it, I will provide an entire list of MJ’s THINGS TO BE SCARED OF IN THE SUMMERTIME. My list is very thorough and will keep you alive longer. Let me know if I should put it up.)
Updates tomorrow. Now, I’m off to my reading. I promise not to call any of you any rude names if you show up, b****tes.
What a weekend! Signings! Book Expo America! Parties! So much to tell you about!
Right now, I am in Pennsylvania, at Chez Johnson. I drove down here last night, very late, in the middle of a huge thunderstorm. There is nothing like driving through New York in a blinding rain to give you a sense of Perspective and Your Own Mortality.
I was just looking for some lunch. My parents are extremely clean people, but the one thing they never do is clean out the refrigerator, so I take it upon myself to be the date-checking fairy when I am here. Now that I have completed my duty, I see there is very little left to eat. I found what I thought was blue cheese, and was excited by the prospect of a big salad, but discovered when I pulled it out of the back of the fridge that is was in fact suet for birds. And there is no lettuce. So that idea is pretty much dead.
The reason I am here is because I am signing books! Before I go any further, let me give the dates where you can see me this week:
And a heads up on next week, which will be in Atlanta, Georgia.
Okay, let’s rewind to before the storm and the blue cheese/suet. Let’s go all the way back to Friday. I had done a reading at Borders on Columbus Circle the night before—the first official Girl At Sea reading. On Friday morning, I was at the Children’s Books Breakfast at Book Expo America, which is a massive publishing event. Daphne Unfeasible came by to get me in an Unfeasiblemobile at 7 in the morning, and we were very grunt-grunt but content as we rode to town. When we arrived at 7:45, BEA still felt very fresh and new and just about awake.
The breakfast was fantastic. Well, the speakers were. My friend Libba Bray was the MC, and she did an amazing job. She didn’t seem at all freaked out by the thousand or so people in front of her. The speakers were Jacqueline Wilson (megafamous in the UK), Daniel Pinkwater, and Mo Willems. I happen to be a little obsessed with the Pigeon that Mo is so famous for. In fact, when I spoke after him at the Brooklyn Book Festival, I stole the pigeon from the drawing pad that he left behind.
So, naturally, I wanted the pigeon that he drew at the breakfast. I wanted it very badly. In fact, I kind of wanted to throw myself at him and get him to draw a pigeon on my arm so that I could get it tattooed in, but ultimately chickened out, even though Daphne was trying to get me to go talk to him.
But it turned out that MC Libba HAD THE PIGEON, and when she saw how much I coveted it, she gave it to me.
I now own TWO original pigeons!
I am officially on my way to a collection.
Swoon.
The breakfast was an amazing gathering of friends and fabulous writers I was meeting for the first time. Along with Libba, I saw: Holly Black, Cassie Clare, E. Lockhart, Sarah Beth Durst, Ally Carter.
As Daphne, Sarah, and I made our way out to the main part of the expo, my phone kept ringing—Scott Westerfeld had sprung to life, still suffering greatly from jetlag, and John Green came sproinging along, fresh from a call to a mortgage broker or something like that. He looked slightly puffy.
Thus, I got to walk around in what I kept referring to as my “fame sandwich.” You can get pretty much anywhere in Book Expo America if you are walking between John Green and Scott Westerfeld. People sometimes squeal when they see them. I am used to them by now, and so do not squeal. Mo Willems, though . . .
As the 30,000 people filtered into BEA, the day sort of got less and less antically fun, mostly because it took on the air of a bazaar in the middle of the desert, or the stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera. And the air conditioning began to fail. Daphne and I escaped late in the afternoon, so that I could get to my reading on time. Sadly, we could not find any cabs, and it was 92 degrees out, and we were each carrying about fifty pounds of books. So we wandered around the far west side sadly.
Saturday brought one of the highlights of the summer. I was at the Spiderwick movie party. I can tell a good part of this story in pictures.
The party was at a big studio, which was draped and fogged up to look magical and mysterious. The room was decorated with props from the movie—Victorian sofas and desks and scientific instruments—projected spiderwebs, and movie stills. They were serving drinks called Spidertinis, which were deep green and sort of smelled like the stuff I was using last week to get the paint off my paint brushes. They tasted much like how they smelled, but they were highly effective, and explain a lot of the faces I can be seen making in the pictures below.
Scott was there, and so was Justine, who was finally alive enough to come out of the house. I was standing with Scott by a back wall, when suddenly some people came and told us to move, immediately. An actor was giving a speech, and was having us all recite a magical incantation, and then all of the sudden, the wall we had just been up against started making a noise.
I looked at Scott, and he looked at me. Our looks were puzzled, yet knowing, if you can imagine such a thing. Then, all of the sudden, there was A LOT OF AIR AND SMOKE AND AHHHHHH THE NOISE THE PAINFUL NOISE MY EAR IS BLEEDING AHHHHHHHH!
And the entire wall came away, and there was a whole other room behind it, full of things that were made to look oversized, so that we would seem small, like fairies.
“My ear,” I said to Scott. But he could not hear me, because he was holding his ear.
But the room was fantastic. There was a bar that looked like a cracker box and tables that were boxes of matches. The buffet had a giant cheeseburger, about the size of a beach ball. When you turned the corner, there was a screening room, with fabulous benches that you will see for yourself.
Holly got up and made a speech, but for most of the night, I think she was away wth Important People getting her photo taken. I do not think she was drinking spidertinis. We all went out for food later, and she didn't have the spidertini stare. She just looked glamourous.
Here are some poorly taken and even more poorly edited photos of the event.
SPIDERWALL! The picture does not do the room justice.
Movie stills. Nothing like a picture of pictures to really bring the event alive. (They were so cool, though.)
Scott Westerfeld, now deaf, tries to steal this oversized muffin from the magic room.
Scott and Cassie Clare. No spidertinis.
The screening room seats were made to look like huge candy boxes. And that’s me, lounging. Sadly, there was no candy in there. Spidertini count: ???
The star of the evening, Holly Black, looking relaxed.
And here is a sequence of photos showing me wooing a very jetlagged Justine. More tomorrow . . . promise! I have very exciting news to tell! Enough gleeful bragging and Spidertini blackmail photos. We will never speak of this again. For now, I have to get something to eat and get on my way out to West Chester. I wonder if bird suet makes a good sandwich . . .
