You Have the Summer Off...

These are fighting words for any teacher. The summer flies by with too much to do and too little time. Plus, we don't get paid for the summer months. Most people don't know that. For me, summer is the only time I can truly devote to my writing. And there's a lot of pressure involved...

Writing in the summer is very difficult. Let's face it. The sun is shining, my most recent novel choice is beckoning. The chores that have built up all school year are taunting me, nagging at the back of my mind. And, of course, Facebook and iTunes desperately need to be updated.

Don't get me wrong. I have spent the entire school year waiting for uninterrupted hours where I could sit at my computer and simply focus on my latest work in progress. The beauty and freedom to become WRITER CATHY! And, now it is here! Let me break it down for you.

The first two weeks are spent in fighting off the Teacher hangover - residual exhaustion from dealing with the stress of late night grading and lesson planning, not to mention the nasty meanness of today's society at large. Added to that is the procrastination time - time built in to obsess over the 5 million things that need doing, while telling yourself that you've earned the right to simply read your book, sit at the pool, and/or watch Bollywood movies. (of which I've only done the latter)

Which is why, on the third week of my 'vacation', I am finally starting to make those doctor's appointments I should've made during the school year, organize the house I trashed for 9 months, work on curriculum, reconnect with friends, work on the mentorship, do something about the weight I put on, research for the story I'm writing, tutor new students, and...oh yeah...

WRITE!

Why the SCBWI-MI Mentorship?

Why not?
There is nothing to lose and everything to gain. When I won the SCBWI-MI Novel Mentorship in 2002 with Audrey Couloumbis, I was shocked at my good fortune. I was also beginning a journey that would change my writing life forever. Not only did I make a lifelong friend in Audrey, I learned more about writing than I could have possibly imagined. Generous with her time and expertise, Audrey helped with so much more than the one work of mine that had won the contest. She gave me titles of books and different techniques that still guide my craft today.

How do you apply? It's quite simple! You go to the registration form, follow the directions, send in your entry, and wait for the results. For the low fee of $30, the worst that will happen is that your piece will be critiqued by three of our amazing SCBWI-MI judges!

This year, in response to the great need for more diverse literature for young readers, we're hosting a Multicultural Mentorship. I am passionate about this opportunity for two reasons:
1. The desperate need for new diverse voices in our quickly changing global world.
2. The chance for new writers to gain valuable advice and the opportunity to work with an established author.

This year's mentor, Patricia Hruby Powell,is a storyteller, author, and former dancer. Her most recent picture book, Josephine, won The Coretta Scott King Book Award, Robert F. Sibert Informational Book Award, Boston Globe-Horn Book Award, Parent’s Choice Award, Wall Street Journal’s 10 Best Children’s Books of the Year List, and the Bologna Ragazzi Nonfiction Honor. For more information on Patricia Hruby Powell, please visit her website: http://talesforallages.com/ And for more information on the mentorship, please visit: http://michigan.scbwi.org/2015/05/10/2016-scbwi-michigan-mentorship-program-multicultural-novel-or-picture-book/

Love Affair with the Punjab

Last night everything I hoped and believed about Diljit Dosanjh turned out to be true. He was genuinely a good, kind young man. Yes, I say young man because he's two years old compared to me. And why am I putting this in a writing blog, you might ask? Because he was one of my first introductions to Punjab culture. His songs, particularly the tracks on his CD 'Sikh', were some of the first bhangra/desi sounds I heard. I fell in love with the beat, the round sound of the vowels and the rolled r's. Later, as I learned what the Pagri and Kara meant, I fell in love with the religion Diljit seemed to follow in such a devout manner. When I began writing my novel, "Leaving Home", I really wanted Diljit's music to be a part of my main character's journey into the culture. But I couldn't get a response from him. I thought maybe he was a fake.

When I met his mother and father this past December, I once again thought he was the kind of man I wanted to use as 'the voice of Punjab'. Add to that the fact that his extended American family are my favorite people on the planet. Raj, Ravinder, Happy, Harjit, Harpal, and the rest have welcomed me into their homes, into their hearts. They are my family, mere parvaar. As Diljit's fame got bigger and bigger, I started to doubt that he was still the man who sang and meant 'Gobind de Lal'. The man who seemed so passionate about the pillars of Sikhism - giving back to community, living a clean, humble life.

And then I met him. His concert was amazing. Better yet. He was humble. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by all of the people crowding to see him. He seemed irritated by all the fuss to keep people at a distance. When I gave him the pictures of his family, he seemed genuinely touched. Add to that all of the people who went out of their way to make Monica Harris and I feel like part of the Punjab community - Satvir, Nazmine, Jas, and particularly Deepak...

Along with Gurjeet, Manpreet, Jaswant, Harjinder, Gesu...and so many others...I am touched and honored to call all of you friends. The love affair that keeps me writing about the Punjab continues. Tujade mere pyare.

Faction Friction or The Monster Under the Bed

So, I have several non-fiction picture books. None of them any good. And none of them catering to the current 'faction' trend. I told Jodell about them and asked if she'd like to see them and she graciously said yes, but that they would have to be sent now-ish. Before her crazy season. Ha! I forgot about my own crazy season. And that is not the only dilemma:

1. I have a huge lack of self-esteem when it comes to writing a) non-fiction and b) picture books (and c: writing)
2. While trying to download a seemingly innocent app someone had told me about, I incurred the wrath of the great computer gods. They were further angered when I had the unmitigated gal to download a rogue Spyware app. I have sacrificed much time and energy the past five days at the alter of the Trojan and Malware, trying to purge many a deadly virus.
3. It's the end of the year (as we know it...). 'Nuff said.
4. My non-fiction picture books were not of the 'faction' variety which is the only thing worth sending these days...or so I'm told. Therefore hard revisions (of the perfectionist type) are ongoing...and going...and going...

So why don't I throw in the towel on this seemingly hopeless venture? I have a million notebooks filled with research and a bazillion non-fiction picture book ideas. Besides, I really want to make this work, and, in case you haven't heard, I don't give up very easily.

Indian Car top Carrier

So much is going on in my life right now. It was report card weekend. I had research papers to grade, lesson plans to write. Like a broken record. That's about to end. Eight days left until school is out for the summer. And then I can concentrate on my writing with no distractions.

Except Facebook and Indian movies and getting lost online doing 'research'. I revised two picture books on the Punjab today. It made me want to go back. Sigh. I'd love to teach in the Punjab or anywhere in India. But it would be hard for Kent. And my family might miss me. Eight more days. And then I'll be Author Cathy.

Bringing Amrit to America for a visit...

Is so much more difficult than I imagined. First of all, I thought that, as a natural-born citizen of the USA, I would have no problem hosting a visitor from any country in the world. Color me privileged and naïve - not a good combination.

From the minute we met, Amrit and I have been very close, as have Sandeep and myself. But Amrit and I would like to write a picture book together about the Rajasthani puppets. She has done extensive research on the craft of making the puppets, and I had an idea for a picture book while I was in Laroi for the wedding. We talked at great length about our collaboration, she sent me her research, and the rest should be easy. Should be...

For some reason, trying to get a visa for her to visit is more difficult than trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. First, she said she needed a letter from me which I provided. But now she needs more - financial information and something to prove that we are going to be working on this project together. ARGH!

I have learned many things during this process. My greatest lesson is that Americans take much for granted. Certainly, I had to get a Visa to travel to India. But it was a simple matter of filling out paper work and sending in some money. I have other friends from India who live here who have not seen their families in over six years because the Visa process is so difficult.

Simply by an accident of birth, I am able to travel freely pretty much anywhere in the world. I truly feel, on this memorial day, that it is important to thank the men and women who have sacrificed their lives to give me so much freedom on so many different levels. Feeling blessed.

But missing my Amrit...

Straddling the Median

I've often been asked to describe what it feels like to mingle with the Punjabi culture and, if I'm being quite honest, I'm afraid to be completely honest. I mean, they are delightful, kind, generous people. But, when you venture outside of your culture, you never quite become a member of the other. You are always an outsider. It's hard. There is something inside of me that wants so badly to become a part of them. And I don't know all of the reasons. And I skirt this issue in my novel. But I need to come out with it and pray that I don't hurt the people whom I love so deeply.

Because I can see that it's not their fault. They did not ask me to become obsessed with them. They did not ask me to dress in their clothes or speak their language or try to cook their foods. And I can't begin to explain my desire to do so. On a very deep level, I feel like I am home when I am with them. Sometimes when I'm in a Punjabi gathering, I pray that God will suddenly allow me to understand Punjabi fluently so that I won't feel left out. But even when I feel left out, I'd rather be in their midst.

I'm writing this here in my blog so that I can remember to put it in my book. And as an explanation in case the book makes my exclusion by the Punjabi culture seem harsh. I realize it is my own doing - forcing myself into a group of people who never asked for my crazy gori presence. Still, it's hard when they don't ask me to sit with them at gurudwara or dance with them at the vasaikhi mela. Especially since my own 'people' look at me as an oddity for wanting something I'll never have. All I know is that, on some level, I am Punjabi and that it speaks to me. It has brought me to a rather lonely place. But it is who I am. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Mere naam Amandeep Kaur hai, te Punjabi passande hai.