A New Job

    I've not posted anything here for awhile.  I've been busy, and it's not about writing.
    Things have been happening at our youth drop in centre called The Beacon.  I had volunteered there often, before we built our house and lately I'd come back to it again. It is managed by Youth Unlimited, formerly known as Youth for Christ. The director, Andrew, withdrew to pursue other things and there was a leadership vacuum. All us volunteers wondered who would take over. A new Executive Director, a fellow not yet forty, took over for Northumberland County, but he couldn't be expected to run our little drop-in centre. Someone local was needed to organize the volunteers, speak at various venues to ask for funding, and be at the drop in most days.  I couldn't afford the time - I said to myself.
You could do it three days a week - a voice replied to me.

Shooting pool is the most common pastime

I'm not the right person for this  - Nobody is the right person, but you can do this... that voice seemed to say.

It didn't make sense for me to commit to anything this steady, and yet I kept getting the thought; you can do this -- you should do this.     Eventually I offered my services and was accepted in the position.  Everything since has fallen neatly into place. Funding seems to be coming from different places.  We got some extra attention from the local radio and newspaper (and the latter was unasked for). Some very capable people have stepped forward and offered to help supervise the kids. So, yeah, it's working.

   There are two pool tables (but not very level) and foosball, air hockey and free food for kids donated by local volunteers.  The place is safe and the people are kind.  Being volunteers for YFC requires a signed declaration of your intention to follow high moral standards both at the venue and in the community.  A "sainthood clause" as we teachers used to call it when we signed a similar agreement before being hired as a teacher in Ontario.

   Most of the other volunteers have done it for seven years - ever since it opened.
   As part of the job I am going to the local high school to help tutor some kids and also to run a Creative Writing club.  Some of the members are kids I taught a number of years ago, and who have taken writing seriously.  One, Jesee, puts out 600 - 700 page novels every few months.
Maybe Jesee will inspire me to write that much too...
We'll see.

two ball, corner pocket

 

Sir Arthur Carty Catholic School

     Monday I had a pleasant morning visiting groups of Grade 7/8 students at Sir Arthur Carty Catholic School in London.  Since the visit required an early start, and a drive through Toronto rush hour in the early morning was just a stupid idea, we decided to go to London on Sunday and stay over.  Driving through the big smoke we tuned into AM 1010 and heard Mayor Rob Ford's not-so-mea-culpas.   I couldn't believe it. You can't make this stuff up.

 We spent the night in London, saw Shirley's old house, and thanks to the Writer's Union Writers In The Schools (WITS) program, we had enough subsidy so we could afford the little luxury of a nice hotel.

The school was very friendly and well-organized. I had been invited by the Teacher/Librarian Mrs. Popovic, to talk about Leaving Fletchville, which they had in the library, and also Canadian Disasters. Mrs. Popovic is the friendly kind of T/L that has all sorts of people coming to her library just to hang out and say hello and get lessons ready.  She warmly welcomed me and helped me find the electronics.  My laptop wouldn't connect to their system, but after some frantic moments and last minute sage advice, we got started.

As I was getting ready I also noticed the principal. Old school. He was standing centrally, greeting, observing, being friendly and knowing kids' names.  My old supply-teacher instincts told me I would have a good day here.  And I did.
Besides the active and welcoming principal, there was a relaxed staff and well mannered kids.  They even laughed in all the right places and perhaps heard of a few books which would appeal to reluctant readers.  I got a chance to use my new iphone 5 and do the panorama shot you see below.

Two groups came and we had fun.  A few disabled kids were integrated into and a socially strong part of the class.
So, yeah, sometimes I miss it.
A great day.

BEST BOOKS FOR KIDS AND TEENS

The 2013 edition of Canadian Disasters has just been included, with 12 other books, as one of the "Best Books For Kids and Teens" in the fall 2013 publication.  The list is made up as part of the Canadian Children's Book Centre publication.
 These people...

    As they put it;  Best Books for Kids & Teens is your guide to the best new Canadian books, magazines, audio and video for children and teens. Whether you’re stocking a bookshelf in a classroom, library or at home, every title in this guide has been given the Canadian Children’s Book Centre’s stamp of approval.    Expert committees of educators, booksellers, school and public librarians from across Canada have handpicked the materials listed below. Committees look for excellence in writing, illustration or performance. Most importantly, these committees focus on selecting materials that will appeal to children and young adults.

The other books listed were:  

Athlete vs. Mathlete by W.C. Mack

Canadian Disasters: 43 True Stories by René Schmidt

Days that End in Y by Vikki VanSickle

Dear Canada: Pieces of the Past by Carol Matas

Henny Penny (Scholastic Canada Reader) by Werner Zimmermann

Hideout by Gordon Korman

I Am Canada: Storm the Fortress by Maxine Trottier

Little Jack Horner, Live From the Corner by Helaine Becker, illustrated by Mike Boldt

My Friend Henry by Philippe Béha

Summer Days, Starry Nights by Vikki VanSickle

Welcome, Baby by Barbara Reid

Whatever After #2: If the Shoe Fits by Sarah Mlynowski

Whatever After #3: Sink or Swim by Sarah Mlynowski

    I also have a shout out to Marsha Skrypuch of the Author's Booking Service 

for a great day in Mississauga on Wednesday.  A bunch of us went to St. Kevin Separate School to present to a roomful of Teacher / Librarians of the Durham Separate School board, organized by the booking service.  There were a lot of us there, and we were given a mere 90 seconds to wow the various TL's into booking us to come their schools.  They were all witty and spoke well (and clearly) and had interesting things to say.  It was tough competition!   Maybe some bookings will come of it for me.  Maybe not.  
I wore mining gear and said a bit about unknown disasters that happened in Canada we should know about.  At least I think I did.  I only had 90 seconds.  Maybe I forgot to tell the witty remark I had memorized.  Maybe I flubbed it.  I did mention that university enrollment is only 40% male and that there is something wrong with this.  Do I write for boys only?  No.  Do I have the reluctant reader in mind?  Yes.  Girls as well as boys are sometimes reluctant readers, but experience has taught me that boys are far more likely to be in that category.  
Whatever... I will keep on writing...

A Prize Winner, Don Cummer

    In the last post I mentioned the Scholastic dinner.  One of the people I spoke to then was Don Cummer, a professional looking and personable man about my age. We chatted a bit about enjoying history and we exchanged books and signed each other's copies. I'm so bad with names that his didn't twig with me at all.  If he knew me he didn't let on, although he signed "To Rene, Well, did you ever... What a swell party this is!"  
   Last week I began ruminating through all those signed books which are suitable for older readers, reading them to see how these people do their art.
   Don's book is very well-written. Within the first two pages one of the main character's was given a nick-name 'Turd Boy' because he collects dog feces for use in his father's tannery. Buckets of piss (used in tanning leather) were also described in full olfactory detail. Kids would love this stuff.
   So did I.
   The easy chair became the centre of my world for a more hours than I had planned on (that cleanup job could wait).  The dialogue in Brothers At War is pretty good. Just boys talking, but dated back in the early 1800's and consistently you knew which one of the boys was American and which ones were Upper Canadian. I appreciate when individual voices are recognizable, but not forced, and especially if they say something of the person's character.  Many teen books, unfortunately, have the same voice for each character - usually the author's - sounding either too mature or some caricature of what kids are supposed to sound like.  Not so Brothers at War.  The setting and details peppering the story had the ring of authenticity that comes from a writer who knows his historical era and breathes it out onto the page as naturally, as, well... breathing.
   But something about this book was familiar.  I stared again at the name.  Nothing twigged.  I looked for a bio, but aside from knowing some of the same people I know, I couldn't place him.
    Finally halfway through the book I came across familiar lyrics of an old song, joined with an unforgettable scene - a young man visits the grave of his recently dead mother and infant sister while a strong odor fills the air - and I knew where I had read these pages of writing.  I had studied it last year as the winning entry of the Writer's Union competition for short prose for children.  It was a 'duh' moment for me because I had been one of the three final judges.  We chose Don's piece as first place from the ten finalists of excellent work submitted by amateur writers.  He won $1500 and a recommendation to be published by one of Canada's major publishers.  Not only had I been one of the three final judges but I remember submitting some of the comments about the piece which were used in the W.U. blurb, after a pleasant conference call with Hazel Hutchins and Don Calame last year to decide the winner.  There wasn't much debate by the way.  We all thought the writing was excellent and highly competent. We also wondered if he actually was an unpublished children's writer. Hazel went so far as to Google search it to see if it was cribbed from somewhere.  Nope.  Original stuff, but the author was obviously very well versed in his art.  Turns out he also was a speech-writer for the Prime Minister, though his bio wisely leaves out which Prime Minister.  
Check out the notice by clicking the link below.

http://www.writersunion.ca/system/files/viewable_pdfs/July%2010%2012%20Writing%20for%20Children%20Competition%20Winner%20-%20Web2.pdf

   His short story was called "The Burying Grounds" but it is now part of the bigger novel you see above.        
    I would recommend Brothers At War to any good Intermediate reader with an interest in historical fiction.  It is written smoothly enough to be an excellent read-aloud book for teachers to their classes in History.   Don's focus in this book is limited to events leading up to the conflict - a coy way to guarantee a sequel involving the two young men in the war of 1812 itself.  
   Published by Scholastic, its reading level is probably Grade 6 or 7, although I haven't tested it, with shorter sentences and effective but accessible vocabulary.  

Over The Years... A Great Scholastic Dinner

   Every autumn Scholastic Canada has a spiffy free dinner for their staff, book sellers, and those illustrators and authors whose book has come out as a new Scholastic title that year.
   Back in 1985 I was surprised, then delighted, then feeling no pain at my first Scholastic dinner. Following a thankless day of teaching my behavioral class in Scarborough, I drove to a mysterious address and found myself in the swank of an upscale Yorkville restaurant. Luckily I brought my tie. I was warmly welcomed by name by Scholastic people I'd never met and ushered into a lounge where tuxedoed waiters brought a constant round of beverages... "Fill your drink sir?" ...pouring tidy shots of fine amber liquids in my glass...  "...and would you like another..?"
   Over in one corner was Jean Little with her seeing-eye dog, talking to Beatrice Thurman Hunter and nearby stood other people whose faces I had only seen on book covers.  After a litany of single malt Scotch shots, the event blurred into a panorama of people and faces and fun. Another first-timer was Barbara Reid, whose book with amazing plasticine illustrations I had first seen a few days before.
Most of the writers and illustrators were like me;  looking a bit more threadbare and hungry than the bookstore and industry reps and, also like me, grateful for free exotic treatment. Leaving that night, listing like a stricken battleship, I was joined by John Melady, author of Cross of Valour, who made sure I got out at my proper subway exit. John would become a friend and neighbour a few years later when we moved to Brighton.

above my head the CN tower 

   Later books earned me invites to the Scholastic banquet in 1999 and 2000 and 2006.  I learned to pass on (some of) the free drinks offered and to have Shirley ready to drive me home. It was always lively, always good. Writing is a quiet and contemplative activity, so maybe my all-female table-mates were surprised at the Scholastic dinner in 1999 to have me lead them en-masse into the men's washroom to let them see for themselves the marvelous furnishings and exotic plumbing there. After more alcohol consumption the women reciprocated, showing me how well turned out the ladies facilities were. Judging by the noise all the other tables, particularly the one where Robert Munsch shouted out frequently, seemed to have as much fun.

Hugh Brewster's new book

   This year we were at the Bell Lightbox in the TIFF building on King W.  I was greeted at the door by Denise Anderson in publicity, who it was nice to see again.  Right after I saw Sandy Bogart Johnston, to whom I owe much success at Scholastic. Any other writer who has worked with her felt the same way. She just completed 40 years there, and later that night David Carroll, 100 mile marathoner and first time author of a successful page-turner; ULTRA, played a recording of a radio program he did in her honour.  The view from the Bell Lightbox was perfect, and since the Toronto International Film Festival had just ended, all the famous actors had been in that very location just a few days before. As Allison Burda, one of the marketing people remarked, 'we are breathing their air'.  Next to me sat Aldo Fierro who designed my book and many others for Scholastic this year. I was happy to thank him for his great work.  I also met Hugh Brewster, author of a compelling history on Dieppe. His book is thick with details and his research so thorough it can be easily sold as an adult book.  Creds to all the people for superb artwork and design on this excellent book.  I also got talking to Eric Zweig, author of the Big Hockey book for kids, and Mike Leonetti, who wrote A Hero Named Howe and who was at the same table as me for dinner. Mike and Eric talked hockey, as you might expect.  

Eric Zweig's hockey book

with Aldo Fierro

  Barbara Reid was there again, now very famous, and looking not as much aged as I am, with another  book to her credit.
   Much of our time was spent picking up other writer's books and getting them autographed for friends and family. I came away with my best haul yet, about 25 signed copies, and friends at Stockdale Public School will be happy with some books
dedicated to them. Jean Little signed a copy of her book with the words; "Keep reading a little"
Maybe in a few year's time I'll be at another Scholastic dinner.
If so, I'd better get to work.

Barbara Reid's artwork

In Praise of Yard Sales

  My very first power tool, a drill, died.
(You always remember the first fondly)
It was a gift and had been bought new almost 40 years ago; it was good quality and has since outlasted just about every tool in my collection. Not being a professional tradesman my tools are not for daily use. Although I cannot afford the very best brands I still try to get something durable and make it last. Some favorite tools of mine even acquired names (but I wouldn't share something so intimate).
  So there was my drill, dead.
  Made around 1975, it was steel bodied and durable, reversible and variable speed. It was on its third chuck, had been dropped, kicked, drop-kicked, squeezed in a vise, frozen in the snow and overheated numerous times. It had drilled, screwed and unscrewed, driven bolts, reamed, polished, honed, spun, cut hardwood plugs, and spent hours wire-brushing rust from old metal. The brushes and armature had been cleaned and polished, the reduction gears greased twice and the cord had been repaired three times. When it finally died I knew every part in detail but (sigh) it was beyond repair.
  Too bad.
  Good tools like that are hard to find.

  Contrast that to just the week before, when a hammer-drill I'd owned less than four years packed it in.
  It was not expensive, the outer case was plastic, but it came, as modern tools do, with a handy box full of bits and accessories.  It worked adequately, but after 'Adam Squared' (Adam & Adam the carpenters) borrowed it to run 3/4" bolts into concrete to build our deck.  "We had one just like it," shorter Adam was grinning, "but it fell apart." After it was returned to me it rattled ominously. My final task of drilling tapcon screws into concrete was the last straw...  no more drilling, no more hammer-drilling, just a death rattle. Opening it up revealed the main ring gear had teeth ground to nothing in one spot. The whole drill was cheaply made; and I didn't grieve it like my old steel-bodied drill because it was throw-away quality.

  Time to buy some new tools!
Building a house these last few years has been a great excuse to spend some real money on good tools, but this day I realized that unless I was willing to spend a couple hundred bucks, the best quality I could expect these days was similar to the hammer drill. Plastic and cheap.
   Like an unwanted thought, it came to my mind several times that maybe I could find a good old quality drill somewhere like a yard sale.
   The next Saturday it was a beautiful morning, mist in the low areas, and a great time to be out. It kept coming to mind to go out and check yard sales. I hadn't frequented yard sales for a couple of years.  I doubted I'd find any decent, reliable steel-bodied drill like old faithful.
  "Pray about your old drill" the thought jumped into my mind.  I was sure that was a stupid idea.  God doesn't have time to be concerned about something so trivial as a drill.  
  "Pray about it." came the thought again.
  So I did.
  Feeling stupid, I prayed I'd find a replacement for my good old drill.
  Down the road to Wooler, the nearest town, was a sign for a yard sale. The first I saw that day. It was at a house beside Old Wooler Rd. Through the car window I didn't see many prospects.  Clothing on a rack, some old furniture and kids toys. No tools to be seen. Something told me to get out of the car, to take a better look.
  Inside a cabinet drawer were three tools; a crappy belt-sander and a SEARS battery-powered electric screwdriver, probably shot...
and my drill...
  My heart beat a little faster.

  Here was the exact twin to my faithful old drill, and hardly used at all.  The original chuck was still in place and the original chuck-key was attached to the cord. The steel body was shiny. Even the label was in place and the lack of scars showed this drill hadn't been (ab)used much.

  The only problem was the cord was starting to split where it joined the drill - just where I'd repaired this drills twin brother three times before.    

  "How much?" I asked the lady, holding up the drill as

  "Five bucks."

  For the price of a round of coffees at Tim Horton's, I may have this drill for another 40 years.
  Maybe God cares about little things after all.  

When things go awry...

The other day, after a long absence, I went into my website (www.reneschmidt.ca) to post an updated page about my 2013 book, Canadian Disasters (now in bookstores near you!).   
I also needed to clean house.
I felt like Doctor Zhivago seeing all those cobwebs in his Siberian cottage;  The comments cache was deluged with thousands of robo messages the comments cache.  Fourteen thousand  comments were there, ranging from polite requests to visit posts with mysterious foreign addresses like; zapoznaj się z innymi artykułami
and there were lengthy oriental posts such as:  教育自分をリンス 可能性がに糞 あな髪しますが、間違いなくないそれらのほとんどは 可能性がガソリンに。Unreadable to me, except the message: Here is my weblog: ル たの髪しますが
There were also flattering but generic compliments: My spouse and I absolutely love your blog and find a lot of your post's to be what precisely I'm looking for. can you offer guest writers to write content in your case? I wouldn't mind publishing a post or elaborating on a lot of the subjects you write in relation to here.  By the way check out my page:  xxhgytppption.com 

So I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.  With trance-like vision I began bulk-selecting 20 at a time while scanning them for the rare genuine request; Dear Mr. Schmidt, I was wondering if you could come to our school and talk about your recent book...
OR Dear Mr. Schmidt, you visited our library last year and we'd like you to return...

Twenty robo comments at a time fell to my murderous keystrokes; purveyors of Calvin Klein knock-offs, penis enhancers, sellers of Nike Air or free stuff, offerers of editing services, renters of hotels and airline deals, and thousands of offers to speed up my Mac. Page after page were marked for deletion and I saw the numbers gradually go down. After a few hours it even began to feel like I was doing something important... "No, I wasn't planning to finish those countertops today... "  Use the computer?  Well, I'm kind of busy right now..." "Email somebody?  Why don't I do that for you.  Tomorrow. It'll be faster..." 
Somewhere in the middle I found a message from Hennie W. - our erstwhile babysitter from Zaandam, Holland, who came as au-pair girl to Hamilton to help take care of my brothers and me when our parents were working. I was just four, but have happy memories of her . In May, while in Holland, Hennie and her husband hosted Shirley and me for an afternoon, including sightseeing at Madurodam and a pancake dinner. (Halo Hennie!) She had great memories for us and I remembered her laugh.

After removing 4000 plus comments I went to bed, but the next day I could no longer log in to my website.  Firefox couldn't flame it, Safari couldn't discover a way into it, and even mighty Google Chrome couldn't peek in.  I phoned my webpage guru, who is supposed to charge me a yearly fee to keep my domain name intact, (and who hasn't charged me yet), and he got me into it once, but after that I was blocked again.
Sigh.
Stuff should work.
Always...
So anyone trying to reach me, just email me at MisterS@accglobal.net

But there's another reason my face is red.  

I owe Mr. Toyota an apology.
Months ago I suggested the 2005 Toyota Corolla is for paranoid people only.  The doors lock with malevolent regularity just when I needed them to be open and accessible. It was far and away the most annoying car I'd ever owned. The doors locked when I started, stopped, put it in gear, took it out, stopped, started...
But a couple of weeks ago my mechanic mentioned in passing that the Toyota could be programmed to lock or unlock its doors with various key and transmission positions. It's in the owner's manual, of course (but I don't have a manual).
So I looked it up on google and found the solution.
All fixed.
The car is much better behaved. The doors stay unlocked until I want them locked up.
Sorry Mr. Toyota.