The Campaign Heats Up!

Since Tango donned his Canadian Dressage Horses for Obama sign, there has been a 34% increase in flights over his field. Some planes are flying perilously low. One plane covered with logos for Alaska, Saks, and Macy's nearly crashed when the pilot grazed the top of the old cottonwood tree in the middle of the field.

A day later, a two new horses arrived at the farm across the street. One was a grey gelding who appears to be in his late twenties. The other is a bay filly. They are both sporting GOP blankets. They have become something of an attraction in the neighborhood due to their erratic and unexpected behaviour. The older horse seems uncertain what to do with his time. First he runs barrels, then jogs around as though in a Western Pleasure class. He has also been seen jumping large rocks in his field without any provocation at all. Much of the time though, he seems happy simply to nap.

The filly is even more dynamic. She's been picking fights with every horse within calling distance. She's even biting and kicking at the gelding and startling him out of his naps. She's cute, though. That much is undeniable.

I saw a local trainer watching the pair. He speculated that the filly's not sound. He seems to think that if anyone put her into a serious work program, she'd be lame in a month.

Meanwhile, Tango is still getting most of the overhead attention and according to my sources, dressage horses all over the Cedar area have been seen in Obama blankets.

This update has been brought to you by Equines for Obama Mobile Field Advertisements and its subsidiaries. Please check out our website for our latest product: Obama Bell Boots.

Notes from the Frontlines

So my neck is fine. My black eye is fading. And I'd like to thank Quill and Quire for a lovely review of Getting the Girl, which is holding on at #11! Also on the good news front, many thanks to Kirkus for choosing Getting the Girl as one of the Top Teen Books for 2008!

I'm mostly finished touring for this year and am looking forward to getting back to my writing. I'm a little behind, but I think it's manageable. I should be finished the second draft of my novel for adults (and young adults who enjoy novels of agricultural dysfunction) in a month or so if all goes well. My non-fiction should be ready early in the new year.

I have nothing to complain about.

Okay. I do have one thing to complain about. I can't vote in the U.S. election and not being able to help is killing me. I want to wear Obama pins around and stand in voting line-ups and dress my dog in Obama-wear and feel all hopeful about the possibility of change but not look like a total delusional who doesn't know what country she's in. I guess I'll just have to watch events unfold from afar. Go America! Go Obama!

Hey, I have an idea! I can dress Tango in a winter coat with Obama's name emblazoned on the back. That way, when planes fly over his field, the people onboard, some of whom may be Americans eligible to vote, will see the slogan and realize that this is such an important election that even Canadian dressage horses have formed an opinion. Tango's the right horse for the job. He is all about hope, including the hope of getting an apple or some other form of food for very little work.

I will create this Equines for Obama Advertisement at NO CHARGE to the Obama campaign! I feel so empowered and part of.

I could write: "Palin is a Crazy B#@%&!" on Tango's back, but he hates it when I go negative. Anyway, I suspect Obama and Tango would prefer I come up with something wittier and more penetrating. Maybe Tango has some ideas.

Finally, a HUGE congratulations to Elissa Vann Struth, who won the Surrey International Writers Conference Writing Contest for her story, "Mall Girl"! Elissa took my Novel Writing Workshop through the UBC Writing Centre last year and I'm not surprised to hear that she's making a splash with her work.

Now I must get back to work on my books and that Equines for Obama Mobile Field Advertisement Unit. Good thing Tango's got a long back. I can make a logo large enough that it will be visible from space...

You will be relieved to hear that I now have a stiff (broken?) neck to go with my black eye.

Last night on my way home from the barn, I was stopped at a red light. A fairly bad book about pirates in the Florida Keys played quietly on the stereo. Frank was asleep in the backseat.

Suddenly, there was a loud slam and my car was propelled several feet into the intersection. My immediate (and customary) response was confusion, followed in quick succession by rage.

I got out and yelled, "Damn, lady! Are you drunk?!"

It was meant to be a rhetorical question.

The haggard-looking woman driver told me her son had just died. I felt bad for her, went to get my insurance papers. When I came back, she rolled down her window and released enough spirits into the evening air to power a small army of alcoholics. Apparently her poor son died in a large vat of gin and tonics.

I reached for my cellphone.

"You calling the cops?" she asked, with very little animation.

I said, "Hello? 911?"

She threw her little beige Hyundai into reverse, showing a sense of purpose that surprised me, and tore off down the Old Island Highway, leaving me with a sore neck and Frank with permanent neuroses about the stoplight at Rutherford and Uplands.

The good news: there isn't too much damage to my car.

The bad news: despite the best efforts of the nice young police officer I spoke with, that woman is still on the road, probably looking for other subcompacts to push around. And I am starting to look downright disreputable, what with the black eye and inability to turn my head. If you are one of the many people scheduled to hear me speak or come to one of my workshops this week, please don't judge. Bring cookies and heating pads and we'll get through this together.

xoxo

S.

Home Grown Censorship

Last week I was informed that the principal of the middle school in Stettler, Alberta, demanded that Another Kind of Cowboy be pulled from the shelves of the library that serves the middle and high schools. He asked the librarian to do this after learning that the book is about a young gay man. The school librarian arranged to give the school's copies to Stettler Public Library and she is now giving away free public library memberships to any kids who want to read it. (Thank you to those fabulous librarians for fighting the good fight!)

The same day, I read that noted Y.A. author, Alex Sanchez, has had his invitation to read in Charlotte County, New Brunswick revoked. Sanchez is gay and writes wonderful books about gay, lesbian, transgendered and questioning kids.

Here in Canada we can get a bit self-righteous that we are more tolerant than (some) of our neighbors to the south. Obviously, we have a long way to go.

What kind of message does it send to kids when a few parents or school officials decide that a gay author can't talk to them? What about the idea that a book with gay characters is so dangerous it can't be allowed to stay in the library lest it... I don't know. Turn previously straight kids gay? (Perhaps the principal is just really, really concerned that dressage might become an option for previously western riders. Ahem.) My guess is that some adults fear is that exposure to gay and lesbian experiences and culture will cause tolerance and understanding. God forbid!

The toxic atmosphere that exists in a lot of schools for gay, lesbian and transgendered kids didn't just materialize out of nowhere and kids pay a terrible price for even undercover homophobia. Every decision like those mentioned above makes it worse.

For more information about how to increase the love and tolerance in schools and elsewhere for all kids, check out PFLAG Canada.

Update

I'm blogging all over the place, but not here. In case you hadn't noticed.

First off, I did a interview with the charmingly titled Five Randoms who host a terrific website of interest to all readers and writers. I kind of wish I was a Random. They seem fun.

I've also got a little blog entry up on the HarperTeen Myspace site.

In other news, I'm sporting a dreadful looking black eye, compliments of Tango's knee. It's amazing how quickly the novelty of a black eye wears off. At first I was entertained by the double takes and quickly averted eyes. Now, not so much. People are funny. Only a couple have come out and directly asked me what happened. Man, did I appreciate that. Because when you start volunteering information it begins to sound like you're making excuses.

Okay, back to put some more raw steak on my eye.



P.S. Don't forget to weigh in at YA for Obama! That's one North American election a progressive might win!

Home Stretch!

I'm at Rocky Mountain today and heading home this afternoon. I can safely say that central Alberta is extraordinarily beautiful in the fall. And the kids, librarians and teachers who took time to come and see me are extremely attractive and excellent also. Seriously. A hundred and fifty kids from Sylvan and their teachers risked hypothermia yesterday. But still they persevered. That's literacy in action! Well, at least it suggests an enthusiasm for getting out of math for the morning. Which I completely understand!

On the book front, Getting the Girl is holding firm in ninth place for a second week. Thanks to everyone who's put it in the top ten selling children's books in Canada!

And on the getting home front, I managed to lose my license on my way to Calgary, so there's a good chance I'll be living in the Calgary airport for the forseeable future. If you walk past me, I'll be the one eating chips and huddled under a pile of old socks. I'm going to give the Air Canada people a copy of my book. It's all I have with my picture on it. It's either that or the mug shot on my Costco card.

For the Greenies

Find out how you can vote for the environment!

P.S. This site has received over a million hits in less than two weeks.

Style

Sherman makes it into the Style Section in the National Post under T is for Teen!

Speaking of style, I'm currently touring in and around Red Deer, Alberta. I'm staying in busy hotel and indulging in one of my favourite activities: Name That Conference. Today's attendees are mostly women in their twenties and thirties. And each of them seems to be carrying a four-pack of Bacardi Breezers and a yoga mat. I cannot for the life of me figure it out but I have a bad feeling about my chances for a good sleep tonight.

xoxox

Top Ten Finish for Sherman, Sherman Mack

Thanks to all of you who've given Getting the Girl ninth place spot on the top selling children's books in Canada this past week!

The O.C.

As Getting the Girl is dedicated to my three brothers, Trevor, Aaron and Scott, I thought perhaps I'd also dedicate the first post-publication blog to them, or at least to Jackson, Aaron and Scott's dog and Trevor's nephew.

A few months ago, my brother Scott and I took our dog Frank for a walk. I admit that Frank isn't going to win any walking awards. He's not terrible, but neither is he any sort of obedience champion. He pulls on the departure and lags on return. He stops for sniffs that can cause traffic jams for people walking behind him. But he's better than he was when he was a young dog.

On this particular outing, I gave Scott the leash to hold. Frank kept up a steady pressure, as he was keen to get going. I could see a look of disapproval on my brother's face.

"What?" I asked.

"He's pulling," said Scott. He didn't sound impressed.

Just then Frank made a quick detour so he could sniff a rock and Scott had to walk quickly around him or trip over him.

"This would drive me crazy," muttered my brother.

"Your dog doesn't sniff on his walks?"

"Not like this," said Scott.

I knew he and my brother Aaron had worked hard to rehabilitate their rescue dog. Jackson is a pitbull cross whose early life featured plenty of neglect and abuse. Aaron and Scott read all the books about training "bull dogs" which is what aficionados call pitbulls. They'd watched every episode of the the "Dog Whisperer" and "At the End of My Leash". I didn't remember Jackson as being particularly beautifully behaved, but maybe after all their hard work he'd really turned a corner from when they first got him and he specialized in eating seat belts and pieces of door.

"He's not that bad," I said, defending Frank's honour. Of course, Frank has had every advantage. Not to mention every squeaky toy ever invented. He'd been to obedience classes and agility classes and we'd done all we could to make sure he was well-adjusted. Perhaps I could have worked a bit harder on his leash training.

Scott didn't reply. He just continued to look vaguely insulted every time Frank veered off course.

I admit, my canine companion pride was rankled. How could our pampered dog be less well behaved than Aaron and Scott's dog, a dog one trainer told them could never be socialized properly?

I was therefore keen to see this exquisite obedience in action. So when I went to visit my brothers a month or two later, I suggested that we take Jackson out for a walk to see if he was indeed better than Frank on the leash. In fact, I suggested we make a wager of it.

"Only if you want to lose money," said Scott.

So Scott, my mom, Jackson and I pulled out of the driveway with Jackson in the lead. Pulled was the operative word. And it wasn't just a little bit, like Frank.

"Don't see much slack in that leash," I told Scott.

"He's just excited," he said.

Then Jackson darted over to sniff a tree and I nearly fell over him.

"Hmmm," I said. "Did you allow that pit stop?"

"He's good when it counts," said Scott.

We'd walked several blocks and were heading home when a small, yappy white dog flew out of its backyard to issue a challenge. Jackson's reaction was instantaneous. He leapt at the dog. Scott tried to hold on, but it made no difference to the seventy pounds of muscle on the end of the leash. Next thing we knew, Scott was being dragged across the lawn on his face. I made a leap for Scott's feet and Mother screamed. The little white dog beat a hasty retreat.

Jackson immediately gave up his pursuit and Scott picked himself up, brushed the grass stains off his jeans and we kept walking in silence for some minutes. Jackson's fine red tail wagged proudly, as though he'd just accomplished his good deed for the day.

Once we were down the street a safe distance, the little white dog reemerged from its hiding place and ran into the road to bark defiantly after Jackson, who paid it no mind.

"See," said Scott, finally. "He's good when it counts."

"A regular Obedience Champion," I agreed.