Today I visited my boys' school.  Two classes and a writing club, to which both of my boys belong.  The woman who runs the writing club began the visit by giving me a plant.  A pineapple lilac or something.  It's purple.  And it looks like a pineapple.  It's a clever name, really.

"I asked your boys if you were a plant person," she said. "They said no."  My boys don't lie.  I used to have plants... until the cats chewed every last one of them to bits.  There's not a sprig of color in my landscaping, either, because DOGS.  And now we have horses in our backyard.  So, yeah, maybe someday I'll try to cultivate life again.  Today is not that day.  Well, except for the really pretty flower thing named after fruit.

The writer's group was great, of course.  There was so much enthusiasm in that small group.  Each of them had written questions on index cards and took turns reading them out loud.  I made my boys blush by sharing the bits of "Daniel" based on them, which may be my favorite part of being invited to the school (but don't tell the boys).  The teacher spun my answers so that they related to concepts she's been teaching the kids.  She left out the part about drinking too much caffeine and popping Cinnamon Fire Jolly Ranchers like they're going out of style.   

The writing group teacher bought copies for each of the kids who weren't able to buy a copy for themselves, so that was really sweet.  I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say that out loud, but she did it.  I liked it.  I'm telling you about it.  

Then we had cake.  Really, really good cake.  Chocolate with that whipped cream frosting.

I may just sign books for her class, like, every day.

Next I spoke with my 10-year-old's class.  They read the whole book, but they asked me to read a section out loud for them anyway.  We agreed that the part about Whiskers in the tree was the perfect section.  I got to talk like a robot and, for a few seconds, a cat spinning on a ceiling fan.  My life is weird.

One of the kids asked how I came up with the character "Annie", Daniel's best friend.  For several years, my son had only one very good friend, a girl who is still in his class.  When I told the kids that I had based Annie on a girl they knew, I had to quickly make sure they knew she probably didn't eat worms.  

I've said my life is weird, haven't I?  Just checking.

My next stop was my eight-year-old's Second Grade class.  They had only made it through eight pages of the book because their teacher hadn't been able to do more than that due to multiple family emergencies the month before.  As expected, the kids weren't very excited about me being there.  One girl, who spoke in a cute little whisper kept mentioning something about her mom writing a book about ninja ballerinas?  At least, I think that's what she said.  It was hard to hear over the class next door's Kidz Bop version of "Fireworks".

The teacher gave me her microphone thing and let me read a couple chapters of the book.  Once I did that, the kids were much more excited about me and "Daniel the Draw-er".  I got to use my acting skills to read as Daniel, Annie, Whiskers, Pi-zzabot, Tommy, Lila, Ms. Konkle, and Mr. & Mrs. A.  It made me miss drama class.

One of the boys from the writing group was there for the reading, too, and he was actually finishing my sentences as I was reading.  Like, from memory.  

Wait.  Do I have a fanboy?  Because I really want some fanpeople.  That's awesome.

All in all, 19 books found their new homes, and that makes me happy.  I'm pretty sure it would have been more with more notice (or with more reading), but it was a good--and long--visit anyway.

And I got cake.  Thumbs up, friends.  Thumbs up.

 I didn't know there was a Children's Book Week, but, whaddya know, there is.  I also didn't know I was going to write and publish a children's book just in time for Children's Book Week. My life is full of lots of surprises lately, I guess. And here I thought nothing exciting ever happened to me!  ;-)

To celebrate Children's Book Week, March 12-18, I'm giving away an autographed paperback copy of my children's book, "Daniel the Draw-er". Check out how you can enter to win by scrolling down to my Rafflecopter giveaway below all of this wordy goodness.  Please note that my giveaway is open to U. S. residents only.  

I'm only one of a bunch of other authors and KidLit enthusiasts participating in something called "The Children's Book Week Giveaway Hop 2014.  Be sure to visit the blog hop hosts, Mother Daughter Book Reviews and Youth Literature Reviews and scroll to the bottom of this blog post for links to other awesome giveaways.  Tell 'em S. J. sent ya!  

Be sure to pop in and visit more lovely peeps involved in this year's Children's Book Week Blog Hop, listed below!  

Do you know joy?  I do.

I hear it in the giggle of the girl bouncing along with her pony's trot.

Do you know joy?  I do.

I see it in the grin of the man whose legs cannot move him, but his horse can.

Do you know joy?  I do.

I feel it in the happy step of an animal connecting with their human.

Do you know joy?  You should.

Three-year-old Rebecca Lamoreaux wanted to be a writer.  Writing, at her young age, translated into etching circles into the margins of her books with crayon.  She loved dreaming up fantastic tales and then retelling them to others.  The magic of stories had clearly captured her heart.     

Her grade school teachers nurtured Rebecca’s love of storytelling.  When she was about seven years old, she was selected to participate in a special program for students who showed promise in writing.  Through this program, Rebecca remembers finishing her first story.  She has been writing ever since.  

Though she has dabbled in all kinds of genres, she mainly writes fantasy, romance, historical fiction, and magical realism.  Her historical romance novel, Lord Hyacinthe, is scheduled for publication through Pandamoon Publishing in April of 2014.  

Rebecca places high value on sharing within the writing community, but she did not always feel that way.  For years she viewed other writers as competition and feared her ideas might be stolen if she confided in the wrong person.  Her perspective changed when a friend contacted her in November of 2012 and invited her to join a group of authors on Facebook.  The Authors Think Tank group on Facebook became Rebecca’s first experience with a community of writers committed to helping other writers.  So impressed with groups such as the Author Think Tank, she sought out more writing communities.  Rebecca joined ANWA, American Night Writer’s Association, a network for women writers who are also affiliated with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  The best thing she did for her writing career was attending writer’s conferences.  After meeting other writers at an ANWA conference, Rebecca’s writing improved because of the influence of her growing writing community.  And when a publisher came across her novel during a contest on Twitter, a panicked Rebecca turned to her community to help tighten up her story and help her land her book deal.  

Rebecca’s advice to me, a floundering writer staring down self-publishing after turning down a book deal?  “Grab on and go for it!”

She knows what she’s talking about.

***

Check out Rebecca’s blog out at http://rebeccalamoreaux-anauthorinprogress.blogspot.com, or on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/AuthorRebeccaLamoreaux 

This morning my husband was in the kitchen while the boys got ready for school.  I chose to hide in the bedroom, mainlining chocolate chip cookies for breakfast.  I tried to ignore their conversations as I hadn't stumbled my way to the coffee pot yet.  Then I heard my husband telling our children - the very same children who insist upon wearing noise-canceling headphones during rainstorms - about his grandfather who was struck by lightning on two separate occasions while sitting in a recliner in his study. 

He clearly hadn't thought this one through.  The kids already practically burrow beneath our skin when they hear the slightest rumble of thunder.  If there is no longer safety indoors, thanks to Great-Grandpa's magnetic legacy, I'm not sure of our next move.  Fall-out shelter? 

"STOP!" I yell.  "DON'T YOU DARE TELL THEM THAT STORY!"  My husband can't hear me or he's become immune to the distinct frequency of my nagging.  Perhaps he can't hear me because I've deafened him over the years.  Whatever the reason, he finished his story (and the kids added their own gems about tornadoes ripping off your skin.  Boys!).

On Fridays I visit my grandparents and clean their house for them so they don't have to.  We chat a little as I work, and then talk more when we sit to eat lunch together.  Today I mentioned my family's desire to record some of their stories so we would be able to hold pieces of them long after they leave us.  My grandmother furrowed her eyebrow and declared that it sounded like a lot of work.  Besides, she and my grandpa remembered things differently. 

Of course you do, Grandma.  You're married, after all.

Somehow conversation turned to my husband's grandfather, the human lightning rod, and then to my friend's mother who was struck by lightning while milking a cow (is that where fried cheese curds come from?). 

"That happened to my mother," Grandma announced.

Before my grandmother came into the world, her mother miscarried another baby.  With no little one to feed, her chest became engorged to the point where fluid gathered in her legs.  They referred to this as "milk leg", and they believed the swelling in the legs was the milk running down and filling up the lower extremities.  My great-grandmother was advised to wear some kind of rubberized stockings, likely some sort of compression stocking, to help with the swelling. 

A storm blew through soon afterward, and she ran outside to bring one of the cows into the shelter of the barn.  Lightning filled the air with electric charge and stung the ground at her toes.  Great-grandma's rubber socks saved her life.  In the years following, she would conceive and give birth to a fiery baby girl, my grandmother.

The more I think about the lightning strike, the compression stockings, the baby lost, the branches of the family tree that may have never sprouted, I am amazed.  And this is why we tell our tales - the good, the bad, the seemingly boring.  In the telling and retelling of our stories, we reveal the everyday tragedies and miracles that affect us all. 

But, still, my husband probably needs to keep that whole lightning striking indoors thing under wraps.

"Wrong lead, Gina!" I called out over my shoulder to the rider on the bay.  He used to be a nice horse.  Heck, they'd all been nice horses. 

"I know!"  She huffed in return, waiting until they had landed after the oxer and lurched into a trot.  "We can't do it any other way.  Charlie's about to drop a leg."

There was that feeling in my stomach again, the mixture of pity and sadness each time we lost one.  I'd had that feeling a lot lately as, one by one, The Change claimed its next victim.

(Thanks, Tim!)