Annick Press and Open Road Media will soon be publishing Red is Best as an e-book for a whole new generation of readers, along with a number of other titles.

My son is in the bathroom shaving
the water runs. I hear the scrape
across his upper lip, the rinse, the tap
three times on the side of the sink
which makes me wonder if this is some
primordial or innate rhythm all men
are born to repeat this razor tapping
male music ritual.

I wonder this of course
so I won’t stop to wonder
how this child of mine
grew this hair upon his face
it wasn’t much a newspaper smudge
of a mustache
but he told me it was time

It is time
that I am weeping for
how once this child
whose every body part was mine
to clean and tend to
is now a young man
who locks the bathroom door

Can you identify the poet who wrote that poem, “Coming of Age”?

It appears in a book called In this house are many women, and it’s by . . . Sheree Fitch.

I chose this bit of sock fluff to show you for two reasons.

I have a son who inspired one of the first manuscripts I dared submit to a publisher. Annick published Big or Little? in 1983, with illustrations by Robin Baird Lewis. They sold rights in French, Spanish, and Japanese, kept it in print for 25 years, and then issued an updated version with illustrations by Toni Goffe. Matt’s bathroom door has been in his own home for almost half his life now, but Sheree’s poem still has the power to move me.

There’s a song that takes similar hold of me with regard to my daughter, who, thirty years ago, inspired Red is Best – now available, at last, as a board book. And that song is (don’t worry, I won’t try to sing it here) “Rise Again” by the Rankins. It happened to be playing as Kelly and I took down the Christmas tree, the first Christmas she was no longer living at home, and I turned the cd player up loud, set it to keep repeating the song, and we belted it out at the top of our lungs as we finished taking down the tree.

My kids were instrumental in kick-starting my writing career and my family continues to be a rudder for me as I navigate the waters of my life.

The other reason for “Coming of Age” and not “Monkeys in My Kitchen” or “Toes in My Nose” is because it’s not what many readers expect from Sheree Fitch. She established herself well as the author of “lip-slippery” poems for kids, but I’m glad she didn’t allow herself to be pigeon-holed by what she achieved recognition for first. Instead, she writes about things that matter to her, intensely, that she can’t do justice to in the form that had made her popular. (Sheree not only writes poetry for adults but fiction for teenagers, as well.)

I know how hard it can be to get people to notice that you’ve changed direction, artistically, because I’ve done that too. Not that the public recognition is the reason for doing what we do. People like Sheree Fitch and me, Anne Laurel Carter and Margaret Mahy (a New Zealand writer who has long inspired me with the breadth of her work) follow creative impulses where they lead us.

It used to be that if I got an idea for a certain kind of book that I hadn’t written before, I’d say to myself ‘Oh I can’t write that, I don’t write…’ historical fiction, biography, whatever. Not all my pursuits have been successful – I have a psychological thriller in my files that’s not ready to submit to a publisher and may never be. But I’ve had fun with it and success with enough other things I dared try my hand at – partly just to see if I could – that I can’t imagine ever again saying, ‘oh I don’t write…’ any kind of story that might present itself.

There are certainly more “fun” books than Highway of Heroes on the Hackmatack lists for kids to enjoy reading, but I’ve heard from lots of Hackmatack readers and Silver Birch readers, too, who have written to tell me they enjoyed the book, even if it did make them feel sad for the boy in the story who travels the Highway of Heroes with his family.

Some kids who sent letters were expressing their feelings to others, too, like these:

Dear Soldier,
Thank you.

Dear Families of Soldiers,
It must have been heart-breaking to hear about your loved ones.

Those are the kinds of sentiments that inspire people to line the bridges over the Highway of Heroes whenever a fallen soldier is returned to Canada. This phenomenon in turn inspired me to write the book. Highway of Heroes won’t win any of the tree awards it’s up for this year but that’s okay. As all the authors of the nominated books will tell you, it’s great just to know that our books are being read. And really there’s no better prize I could ask for, having written this book, than the hug I got from the mother of a fallen soldier in Fredericton in 2010, after the Remembrance Day ceremony there, at which this post’s photo was taken.

I can’t pretend I’m 100% enthusiastic about my upcoming birthday, but – please pardon the cliché – it’s better than the alternative. And so what if I have osteoporosis, an arthritic finger, a bunion that sometimes hurts and whiskers if I forget to pay attention. I have family and friends, good health and satisfying work, and many other blessings I’m extremely grateful for.

I also have, and have had, senior role models teaching me by example their secrets to enjoying the years when much of society says, ‘You’re not young anymore.’ Those who have embraced the later decades of their lives best, it seems to me, have kept themselves open to new ideas, experiences, and learning, and keep physically active as well. So of course that’s what I’m aiming to do, too.

In the months and weeks leading up to my birthday, I’ve been making more opportunities to practice yoga – for strength, flexibility, balance, and for mental acuity and attitude, too. I’ve been attending a Sunrise Yoga class at Living Yoga & Health in Guelph and do sessions with online instructors at Yoga Today and Do Yoga With Me as well.

Having enjoyed listening to TED talks for some time, I also attended this spring an independently organized TED event in Waterloo, where I was stimulated to think about Physics and Biology for the first time since leaving high school, and was inspired by talks about vulnerability, fear, passion, a necklace of hope, a simple idea that went viral, and about sons and daughters. My sister attended the conference with me and she’s written a number of great posts about sessions we attended.

I also this month made the leap into the 21^st century (about time you say?) with the purchase of an iPhone. My sister’s stepson who helped nudge me in the direction says this almost qualifies me for geek status. One of the first things I did with it was subscribe to TED Talk and some CBC podcasts. (I also downloaded a flashlight app and the IMDb and goodreads apps.)

What apps have you found helpful? I’m open to suggestions but no addictive games please! I’m looking to keep physically and mentally active in my 60s, remember? I especially welcome suggestions for apps that might be helpful to me as a writer because my 60s are off to a good start in terms of my writing. I’m currently working on revisions to a YA novel scheduled for publication this fall, a picture book a number of people are pretty excited about, and a collection of short stories. The short stories are currently on hold till I can get these other projects put to bed.

Speaking of writing and TED talks, here’s one you won’t want to miss. It’s one they played for us at TEDx Waterloo last month. Why not wish me a happy birthday by sending me a link to one of your favourite TED talks? And if this is the first you’ve heard of TED, do check it out!

Is it time to give your current writing project the benefit of ‘groupthink’ (as opposed to ‘brainstorming’ as we’ve long been told is effective) – and the benefit of hours of quiet solitude in which to take advantage of the possibilities that great discussion of your work can open up for you? Deadline for applications is April 30.

That was “After English Class” from Hey World, Here I Am! by Jean Little.

In 1987, I had the welcome opportunity to travel with Jean in England, when the Canadian Children’s Book Centre organized an exchange of Canadian and British authors. Jean and I, along with Monica Hughes and Camilla Gryski – and Katherine Paterson acting as Jean’s guide dog – had tea with the legendary Rosemary Sutcliffe. We dined with Phillipa Pearce, Jan Mark, Jill Paton Walsh, and John Rowe Townsend. We had a grand time.

Years later, when Jean and I had books on a Red Cedar Award list, BC CANSCAIPer Ainslie Manson kidnapped us after the ceremony – neither of us won – and took us up to her cabin in the Cariboo.

Moments like these are important to me as a solitary craftsperson. I need time alone, to write, to muse, to stew – I need it desperately – but I need my community of like-minded people, too, people who will share the burden of my disappointments and celebrate with me my achievements, whether its publication of a book or the successful nailing of a single chapter. I didn’t know that, when Audrey McKim urged me to attend my first CANSCAIP meeting, back in the early 80s, or when Barbara Greenwood welcomed me, or when Claire Mackay began sending me clippings of reviews of my books. Or even when Claire delighted when Peter and I revealed to her, at a post Book Week party in 1984, that we were seeing each other. But I know it now. And thanks to CANSCAIP, that community extends right across the country. Ainslie Manson in BC has become one of my best friends, and it was at a CANSCAIP meeting that I first met Budge Wilson, a Nova Scotia writer who has also become a good friend.

It was also at a CANSCAIP meeting that I first met Nova Scotia writer Jill MacLean, when she came to speak about writing retreats. After that meeting, she applied to the Seaside Writing Workshop/Retreat that Peter and I have been offering for six years now. (She had actually referred to it during her talk.)

All this to say that joining CANSCAIP, as a Member or as a Friend, is a great way to expand your circle of like-minded, creative friends who will understand your ups and downs – and what’s important to you: your sock fluff.

How about you? Are you an organized cruise/tour kind of person or do you prefer to chart your own course? What’s the best holiday you’ve ever taken?

Cornelia decided at the age of eleven that she wanted to create parks when she grew up. She escaped Nazi Germany with her family when she was seventeen and became one of the first women to be admitted to the Harvard School of Design.

By concerning herself only with doing the best job possible – whether designing a children’s playground, a rooftop garden, or the grounds around a landmark building (like the Canadian Chancery in Washington D.C. or the National Gallery of Canada in Ottawa) – she carved out a place for herself in a male-dominated field. To each new site, she brought her commitment to bringing nature to city-dwellers, her deep respect for the environment, and her thorough approach to researching the best approaches and materials for the project.

Cornelia celebrated her ninetieth birthday last spring and she is still bringing her artistic intelligence and technical know-how to landscape projects across North America and beyond – practicing her profession with energy and a determination to make the most of the life that would not have been hers to live, had her escape from Germany in 1938 been unsuccessful.

She returned to Germany early in this century to design the rooftop garden on the Canadian embassy in Berlin. To quote from the biography that I wrote about Cornelia, published by Tundra Books in 2008:

That Cornelia could absorb the Holocaust into her experience, return to the city that had rejected her, and – through her passion for creating landscapes – transform that expulsion into something beautiful, useful, and connected to nature . . . Is it any wonder this woman speaks so confidently and so passionately of ‘the art of the possible’?

The title of the biography is Love Every Leaf. It is taken from a quote from Dostoyevsky which Cornelia says has often given her courage.

Cornelia gives me courage.

Up on Ipswich Road
a girl my age, not a servant,
boards with Doctor Griggs.
Uncle Ingersoll says
the girl’s so quiet you can hear
snowflakes falling ‘pon her cheek.

“Elizabeth,” I call
when I pass her on the road
back from Uncle’s tavern.
She spins her head,
searching for another with her name.
“Good to meet you,” I say.
“I’m Margaret Walcott.”

She clutches her parcel to her chest.

“Cold today,” I say, and she says nothing.
“How fare ye?” I ask her, but still
Elizabeth gives no response.
Is she mute, be she a simple girl?

I try once more. “Have you heard
what goes on at the Minister’s?”
She nods, opens her mouth,
but then covers it with her hand
as if she would be slapped for her speech.

I pull her hand away.
“Pray, be not feared to speak.
I shall be your friend, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth shifts her weight side and side.

I whisper, “There may be witches
in this village. Know ye about the craft?”

“’Tis Satan’s work,” she says.
Her eyes swell and ignite.
“I knew a witch hanged for her poppets
and spells. For the Bible says,
‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’
Exodus chapter twenty-two, verse eighteen.”

“Do tell me, friend, all ye know
and hear,” I say.

That’s “The Good Doctor’s Good Girl” from Wicked Girls by Stephanie Hemphill. It’s a novel in free verse that I read aloud at the CNIB Recording Studio on Bayview this year, and it tells the story of what happened during the Salem witch trials in 1692, from the points of view of several girls who were among, not those accused of being witches, but the accusers.

For almost eight years now I have been a volunteer reader and technician, helping to produce audio books for CNIB’s visually impaired clients.

When I first told long-time CANSCAIP member and CNIB client Jean Little that I was going to audition as a reader, she said, “Well, they don’t take just anybody, you know.” And it’s true, they don’t. But whether or not you have the time or skills that the CNIB looks for, or the inclination to do this kind of volunteer work, if you’re a writer, reading aloud is something you ought to be doing on a regular basis, to an audience or in the privacy of your own room, if you’re lucky enough to have one.

Read your own work aloud, for sure, before exposing it to anyone else. It’s amazing the errors and awkward phrasings that will reveal themselves to you, passages that are too long-winded or too abrupt, dialogue that’s wooden – or possibly, quite brilliant.

Read the work of other authors aloud, too. By involving your mouth and your ear in your reading, you’ll absorb even more important lessons about how to write well than you will reading silently, even if you’re not conscious of what those lessons are.