Hey, folks! I hope your work is humming! I'm gearing up for my trip to SCBWI Summer Conference in LA. I'm making sure I am well read for the event and hence I'm on a reading jag. Lots of good stuff -- John Green, Carrie Ryan, Jennifer Donnelly, Matt de la Pena and a few just-pure-pleasure books like Gail Carson Levine's new mystery and a couple of books that have not even snagged contracts yet, but I am sure will.
I love it when the books have some meat. Reading them is like a workout. I become a better writer just for showing up. What a gift! I also love the part where I am transformed into a a better person while reading them too.
The news headlines are a little more chilling that usual with the massacre at the the camp in Norway and the way talented girl Amy Winehouse losing her life because of the avarice of drug dealers. People are fragile, so fragile. A part of me hopes that just as many good things happened in the past 24 hours that were not reported on the news.
As I writer, I feel the pressure to make a difference. I hate when I stumble and find a littleness in my heart. I desire respect for my work. I desire that my hard work be rewarded. But ulitmately I find these desires get in the way of the true purpose of the work. The goal is to get the ideas out there. I think that our creative gifts are a calling. Humility. I breathe it in. We are searching out the better angels of our nature. Let's be diligent and persevere.
I hope that you reach deep within this week. Draw out the meaning and mystery of what it means to be human. We are in all in the midst of great battles. Our art might help turn the tide in the best directions. Work hard. Don't let anyone tell you any different. See you next week.
The doodle this week is one I've posted before. It comes from my illuminated manuscript phase. It's called: Girl Holding a Tree.
This week's quote comes from one of my heroes:
We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature. — Abraham Lincoln