Doing the math last night to check progress on the book with a February 3 deadline. As a guideline, I figured on four good poems in each 5-day period. That’s probably too optimistic by at least one poem per week. If I could keep up that pace, I’ll need 40-45 decent work days (8-9 week equivalents).
I reviewed my calendar, making note of upcoming trips and activities that will make it difficult to work. During October, I might have 12 days, 16 in November, 18 in December. That’s 46 days by year-end. If I don’t work on anything else. If nothing else happens. If I can really write four good poems every five days.
There’s still January. If I don’t finish by the end of December, I still have January between the deadline and me. Sorry to bother you with the nitty-gritty, but this is why I’ll be more heads down than usual for a while.
Here’s a new ad that Scholastic is running in ILA’s Literacy Today (October issue). This is for the paired titles that MARY JO FRESCH, TIM RASINSKI, and I worked on together. They came out in February and are off to an excellent start.
This second ad will be used in other spots. I’m eager to see both of these put to use.
This is a favorite of mine. It’s in the book I wrote about the trip that SANDY and I took up the Amazon River and into some tributaries years ago. The book, SOUNDS OF RAIN, was published in 2006 by Wordsong, Boyds Mills Press.
For those of you who remember the back story, I loved the trip. Sandy did not. That was the year I forfeited all future rights to choose our vacations.
The riverboat we were on, Amatista, held about 14 passengers and a crew of 8 or 10. Without notes, I can’t be sure. Small anyway. The poem is about watching our vessel negotiate its way upstream in the dark, sometimes through cramped channels and around short turns. Memories of a lifetime.
The boat’s twin running lights
punch long tunnels through the dark.
Ghostly clouds of insects swirl,
a smorgasbord for swooping bats
whose shadows fly along the bank.
The narrow stream coils ahead,
a twisting snake that squeezes in
until the boat can scarcely breathe.
A mounted spotlight casts
its blazing eye from side to side
as Captain shoulders through
tight turns and shallow places.
Tree trunks caught in the glare glisten,
white skeletons surprised by light.
I imagine armies row on row
of tree bones marching on patrol
beside us in the night.
The trip eventually prompted me to write a YA novel about that gigantic forest and one of the stories I wanted to tell about it. I have not yet found a publisher. It begins like this.
The Amazon River flows flat and brown between banks guarded by trees without number. The sky is so wide that yellow sun in one area doesn’t bother flashing rain clouds in another. This is the largest rainforest on earth. It covers more than two million square miles and is home to nearly one out of every three kinds of living things. In 1999 my wife Sandy and I journeyed into the Amazon rainforest. We left from Iquitos, Peru, the largest city in the world that can be reached only by plane or boat. From there our adventure took us past the headwaters of the Amazon onto smaller rivers that led us more than one hundred miles into the forest.