LOOKING FOR THE MAGIC

There is no doubt that the last three years have changed all of us. Made us face our own mortality. Made us realize what really matters...and what doesn't. Made us discover new sides of who we are -- while, at the same time, pushing us to the limits of what we thought we could endure. Speaking for myself, the last three years have also made me realize it was time for a change. A big change.

I'm not unfamiliar with changing my life. I did it quite often in my twenties and thirties. I moved a half-dozen times. Tried out multiple jobs. Went back to school to become a teacher. Quit teaching and sold everything I owned in order to have an uninterrupted year to write a book (which became Trouble Don't Last)...

But in recent years, it became easier not to change. To stay put. To keep doing what was working. To drive the same roads. To look at the same familiar scenery. 

However, creativity doesn't thrive in the familiar or the routine. Ideas don't sprout from the roadsides you've driven on a thousand times before. It needs adventure, inspiration, interaction, challenge, serendipity, magic...

And so, earlier this year, my husband Mike and I decided to move to a new place. Well, not just a new place...but a new COUNTRY. A place where we would have to learn everything all over again, except the language. A place where we'd be forced to make new friends and try new things. 

In May, we moved to a renovated stone barn, with eaves full of swallows and hillsides dotted with sheep, in southwest Scotland. 

Why Scotland? Although it is a place that has inspired countless artists and writers over the centuries...and given birth to wizards named Harry Potter and fictional islands of treasure...my reasons for landing here were more personal... 

I chose to move to Scotland because this was the place where I found the magic and the words again, the ones I feared the pandemic had erased forever. There was magic in the tiny striped snail living in my crooked doorway. The small and delicate deer that somehow sailed over four foot stone walls into the garden. The mysterious cat who would appear and disappear in an eye-blink. The waterfalls that burbled out of nowhere in the mossy-green woods.  For all those reasons and more.

I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter with me. Stay tuned. (And yes -- I will be making return visits to Ohio, my home state.)

THE VIRTUAL AUTHOR

Two years ago, it was the hopeful faces online that kept me going. 

When my entire speaking schedule in Spring 2018 was cancelled by my breast cancer diagnosis and treatment, I went virtual instead.  A screen became my audience. Skype replaced the cafeteria stage.

To keep things simple, I donated the virtual visits.  Schools knew that if my hair fell out from chemo…or if I had an unexpected doctor’s appointment…or if I just wasn’t up to talking—their visit wouldn’t happen.  Everything was “subject to change without notice.”  They were okay with that.
 
Fortunately, my hair stayed intact, and the virtual visits saved my sanity.  They gave me a schedule and a reason to get up every day.  Kids wore pink t-shirts.  They held up signs of hope and encouragement.  They made me believe that life would get better someday—and it did. 

One of the biggest surprises was the realization that I could still reach readers through a screen.  With a little practice and creativity, it was possible to keep being the interactive, thoughtful (and slightly random) author/presenter that I am. 

Then came Spring 2020 and the COVID outbreak demolished everything again.  I’ll admit that it felt like an awful kind of déjà vu.

But this time it wasn’t just me sitting at home worrying that I might die from a dread disease – it was the kids too.   I spread the word that I would donate virtual visits to any school group anywhere in April and May. 

I’ll never forget those first Zooms and Google Meets. Kids joined from living rooms, unfinished attics, closets, stairwells, and kitchen tables.  They appeared with homemade slime, family pets, and screaming siblings.  Some kids floated in blue galaxies or tropical forest backgrounds.  Others had their family seated around them like a solemn portrait.

Despite the challenges, these impromptu visits actually worked.  (A ton of credit goes to the parents, librarians, and teachers who made them happen.)  I was able to chat with kids about books and brainstorm characters with them. Virtual classes “toured” my office. We shared what we were going through and the various ways we were coping.  As I’d discovered two years earlier, there is something to be said for being there for each other in tough times. 

And as the school year starts at home again for many kids, I’m determined to keep stretching the virtual learning limits: Can we compose poetry on Zoom? Can we use our closets/attics/kitchens for writing inspiration? Can we create fictional characters from shoes?  Can we build stuff onscreen? (Tetrahedron pyramids for All of the Above? Mini-sculptures for The Seventh Most Important Thing?)

I believe that creativity and joy, even the virtual kind, will keep us going. 

I’m proof of that.

Teachers, librarians, and parents: If you are interested in finding out more about my 2020-21 virtual programs (some free and some fee-based) for your students, please check them out on my website or reach out to me at shelleyvisits@yahoo.com.

Spiraling Out The Sadness

SPIRALING OUT THE SADNESS

There is no question that we are living through very tough times right now.  COVID-19 has overturned our world.  The challenges of uncertainty, isolation, illness, and loss have touched every age group, everywhere. 

What can we do to cope?

In my latest book THINGS SEEN FROM ABOVE, the main character of Joey Byrd creates giant spirals in the playground dirt as a way to deal with his sadness and isolation—an idea inspired by my own nephew. 

“You think of something sad and you start walking,” Joey Byrd says.  “Then you think of more sad things and you walk…and you just keep walking…until the sad things finally go away.” (p. 114).

It isn’t such a crazy idea.  For centuries, spirals and labyrinths have helped to calm the mind.  My nephew called it “spiraling out the sadness.”  While working on the book last year, I met other kids and adults who used similar strategies to cope, including the amazing sand artist Marc Treanor.  Check out his work below. 

Sand labyrinth by Marc Treanor sandcircles.co.uk

The power of art is a theme you’ll find in a lot of my work. In THE SEVENTH MOST IMPORTANT THING, the artist character of James Hampton creates a visionary box made from things that he scavenges on the war-torn island of Guam. He calls it “Death and War turned into something beautiful.” (p.170) In ALL OF THE ABOVE, the teenage characters use art (and math!) to survive.

Like the characters in my books, I’ve used art and writing to help me cope with my emotions since I was a kid.  During COVID-19, I’ve followed Joey Byrd’s advice to “walk until the sadness goes away.” 

So far, I’ve logged more than 300 miles.

There’s no question that we have a lot of sadness to “spiral out” these days.  It is important to let it out. Draw it. Sing it. Write it. Chalk it. Spiral it. Paint it. Dance it. Walk it.  Make labyrinths out of clay, stones, sand, and chalk – even yarn. Learn more here.  Fill a playground-- or a beach—or a piece of paper—with your feelings. 

Know that you are not alone. 

Journals: Life Preservers in Scary Times

I’ve kept a journal off and on for more than 40 years.  My first one, in 1977, had a tiny gold lock and key.  I was a sixth grader at the time.  Back then, it was my daily log of events—the place where I recorded everything from Browns’ football scores—to the deadly Ohio blizzard of ’78 which was considered one of the worst in U.S. history (you can read about at the end of this post.).

But it was also my personal sounding board – the place where I poured out my loneliness, my frequent illnesses (yes, I was one of those sickly kids) – and the embarrassing fact that an overnight Girl Scout camp-out scared me so much I cried myself to sleep. 

I spoke to it like a close friend—even apologizing to it for skipped days or dull entries. “Not very exciting today--sorry,” I’d write.  But it never judged.  I could scribble TERRIBLE DAY! (see below)  and it would understand.

That little journal with the gold lock and key was my faithful listener and my sounding board as a kid. Now, as we face the COVID-19 crisis in our world today, keeping a journal continues to be a really important source of comfort and calm for me.

I encourage everyone to give it a try -- no matter what age you are.  Your journal doesn’t need to be anything fancy.  (Right now, I’m using one of my stepson’s old middle school notebooks that I dug out of a box for recycling.  It had a lot of unused pages.  I'm not sure what that says about his work habits…)

There are no rules for how much to write or how often.  Or how neatly. Or how grammatically correct to be. Remember the journal doesn't judge. 

Just write.

Encourage kids and teens in your family or classroom to keep their own journals.  Their reactions to the COVID-19 crisis may be very different than your own. They may want to stick to the facts. Or ignore them.  Or complain about the lack of snacks & decent WiFi in the house--or about you (I did that a lot in my 6th grade journal...). Or they may want to draw and doodle instead.  

Drawing in a journal is okay too!

Let your journal hold you up in this ocean of uncertainty—and let it remind you that someday this will all be in the past, like the long ago Blizzard of '78, and we will be able to look back through the pages to remember how strong we were and what got us through.