48 days, day 18: bountiful moon

{{ I am chronicling 48 days of writing before my July 31 travel. If you are chronicling your summer writing/days and would like to share, please link or comment so we can all cheer one another through. Strength to your sword arm! }}
This is my grandmother's house in Jasper County, Mississippi, setting for Freedom Summer; Love, Ruby Lavender; Each Little Bird That Sings; and The Aurora County All-Stars. My grandmother, the original Miss Eula, is on the right. Her mother, who becomes Great-great Aunt Florentine in Little Bird, is standing next to her. I still go back to this house every year, although it is abandoned today, much like Carrie Watt's house (and town) in "The Trip to Bountiful."
I woke at 1am, wide awake. I realized, as the silver light streamed through the windows, that it must be a full moon. So I got up to stand outside a long while and watch the moonbeams bathe my brand-new gardens and freshly-sown back yard, as well as the bird bath in the front, the Gray's lilies bobbing around it in a tiny breeze. I heard a barred owl, close. I thought about Geraldine Page in "The Trip to Bountiful" --

Ludie: "Why can't you sleep, Mama?"
Mrs. Watts: "... I never could sleep when there was a full moon. Even back in Bountiful..."

"The Trip To Bountiful" (1985) got me started writing about Mississippi, my Bountiful. When I first saw this movie, something cracked open in me -- something old and ancient and full of aching memory -- even as I watched the opening credits, that mother in her flowing long skirts and apron, chasing her overalls-clad small son through a field of bluebonnets under the full moon, finally scooping him into her arms, all to "Softly and Tenderly." (You just need the first minute and half, below, for that amazing field of bluebonnets and that beautiful song -- whew - watch it in full screen.)
 When I watched this movie -- with tears in my eyes through most of it -- I knew - knew -- where to begin writing for young readers. Write what you know. Go home. Still, it would be another 15 years before my first book was published. I was a freelance writer for all those years, writing in the cracks of motherhood, reading like a maniac, teaching myself, trying to figure it out, practicing, getting rejected right and left.

Last night I bowed to the moon and to those days. I tiptoed inside, turned on the softest lamp, and read some of Horton Foote's play (again), read a bit about Horton Foote (again), and, as I started to get sleepy, read some of the Paris Review interview with Shelby Foote (Horton's third cousin) just because I could. 

And that's where I found this:
INTERVIEWER
When you were writing The Civil War, which is some million and a half words long, did you type the whole manuscript up yourself?
FOOTE
Twice. I’ve never had anything resembling a secretary or a research assistant. I don’t want those. Each time I type, it gives me another shot at it, another look at it. As for research, I can’t begin to tell you the things I discovered while I was looking for something else. A research assistant couldn’t have done that. Not being a trained historian, I had botherations that led to good things. For instance, I didn’t take careful notes while reading. Then I’d get to something and I’d say, By golly, there’s something John Rawlins said at that time that’s real important. Where did I see it? Then I would remember that it was in a book with a red cover, close to the middle of the book, on the right-hand side and one third from the top of the page. So I’d spend an hour combing through all my red-bound books. I’d find it eventually, but I’d also find a great many other things in the course of the search.
=====
Exactly! That's very much how it feels to me, researching and writing. When I was starting out, writing essays and features for magazines, I did research the way I wrote reports (and there was no internet to help me). When I started writing for young readers -- Freedom Summer and Ruby, in the 1990s -- my research was based around "What happened to my pool in Mississippi?" and "How many days does it take a chicken to hatch out of its egg?" I also used oral histories, a technique I still incorporate in all my work.

Today, research is an altogether different animal. It includes my curiosity (I tend to wander, as you've seen, but I trust the wandering and always put it to good use), new ideas, reaching back to fundamental questions ("What WAS Freedom Summer??"), and trying to provide a look at history that readers can hear, taste, touch, smell, and see.

From Horton Foote's obit in the NYTimes: "Mr. Foote depicted the way ordinary people shoulder the ordinary burdens of life, finding drama in the resilience by which they carry on in the face of change, economic hardship, disappointment, loss and death."

Yes. A book for young readers doesn't have to encompass a grand story. It needs to be about a true heart.I try to start from there.

On that note I went back to bed fortified by the benevolent moon, a movie I loved, the remembrances of a town I cherished, and the encouraging words of those whose footsteps, far ahead of me, I trust.

Not bad for a night's work.



48 days, day 17: multi-tasking, or not

{{ I am chronicling 48 days of writing before my July 31 travel. If you are chronicling your summer writing/days and would like to share, please link or comment so we can all cheer one another through. Strength to your sword arm! }}

"Now, you're either on the bus, or off the bus." -- Ken Kesey (photo by Joe Mabel at Wikipedia)
It's a short hop, in my imagination, from yesterday's Neil Diamond to today's Magic Bus. That traveling salvation show led me to think about Ken Kesey's bus, Further, the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and the many other trips Further made across the U.S., which led me to research The Merry Pranksters and the Hog Farm and the other busses of the sixties... and I thought: get yourself a school bus, paint it in psychedelic colors, fill it with hippies and returning Vietnam veterans, women who want a voice, a writer and a musician and... and maybe a 14-year-old, and you're set for the journey of a lifetime.

Wavy Gravy had a bus: Road Hog. Lisa and Tom Law had a bus: Silver. Lisa still has her bus, on her property in Santa Fe. She also has thousands of negatives she shot while living through some of the most amazing moments of the sixties. I read about Lisa and whispered to Jim: road trip.

The research of the past few days has led me to finding out more about Woodstock than I wanted to know, more about Vietnam than I can take in, more about the Haight and communes and Laurel Canyon and the Sunset Strip riots and the Kent State shootings than is good for anyone to know in three days' time.

I still have trouble appreciating "The Glorious Inconsistency of The Grateful Dead." Don't hate me.

My mind is wrinkled. Maybe Rachel has sat still long enough. Maybe I can switch gears and look at my picture book draft and complete a revision. Maybe not.

I have never been able to work on more than one writing project at a time. The Sixties Project has consumed me since 2008... well, the Sixties Project and the traveling I've done for work, for research, for family, for promotion of each book as it has arrived in the world. All good work. I've been grateful for every scrap of it.

I'm wondering if I can finish Rachel and maybe one other picture book I want to revise before I start writing Book 3 in earnest. I know it will swallow me once I start, just as COUNTDOWN and REVOLUTION did. Or maybe it won't, as I've committed to more time at home this year, in The Year of Exploration. Part of that year is being taken up (happily) with the water management project and the edible yard & garden project I'm documenting over at Instagram.

I dunno. I'm mulling how to manage my time, now that I actually HAVE SOME. My late-blooming heart says, hurry up! don't dawdle! you don't know what time you have left!

I worry, like I always do, that on a day - days -- weeks -- when I have read and researched so deeply, so widely, I'm not getting any writing done. I trust that I am, but I worry that I'm not. Do I contradict myself? Very well, then, I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes. (Thank you, Walt. And The Aurora County All-Stars.)

In possibly-related news, I am eating multitudes of frozen strawberry fruit bars these days (thank you, 4-year-old Abigail) in an effort to stave off melting completely in this heat wave.

Do you work on more than one project at a time? How do you do it? Do you recommend it? Do you eat multitudes of strawberry fruit bars to sustain yourself?

Thank you for all your mail. I so appreciate it. I'm sitting on the fender, below. xo Debbie

The Road Hog, Fourth of July Parade, El Rito, New Mexico 1968
"Road Hog" photo by Lisa Law