Picture Book Journey - The Long and the Short of It

I just entered one of my children's picture book manuscripts in the National Children's Book Award of the Year Contest, sponsored by the NAESP Foundation. My picture book manuscript, of course, features a possum!

I'm so excited about this manuscript and this contest! I wrote this story many years ago for my daughter, India Camille, when she was about three years old. She's all grown up now, and this is still one of my favorite stories. I've been working on illustrations and, I must say, the possum and his co-stars are enchanting!

The National Children's Book of the Year Award Contest is open to anyone who is interested in being a published children's book author. Two winners are picked: one picture book and one chapter book.

Leaving Gee's Bend

On Saturday, February 20th, Alabama author Irene Latham will be at Leeds Jane Culbreth Library to present her new book, Leaving Gee's Bend, with a talk and booksigning.

We're all familiar with the beautiful quilts produced by the artisans of Gee's Bend, but I know little about the history of that area of our state. I look forward to reading Irene's novel, the story of a young girl who sets out to save her sick mother and records her adventures in quilt pieces. This will be a great program for everyone who loves good books and the art of quilting.

Irene's quote, below, comes from an interview on Elizabeth Dulemba's website dulemba.com/2010/01/leaving-gees-bend-by-iren...

.

I have made quite a few trips to Gee's Bend and Camden, where the Wilcox County Library is located and the town closest to Gee's Bend, thanks to the ferry. (Otherwise, it's forty miles to anyplace.) It's like stepping back in time --quiet, rural, with many red-dirt roads. And the people are so friendly and welcoming.

Of all the incredible things that happened in Gee's Bend, there were two that really captured my attention. The first was the 1932 raid on Gee's Bend. At the time, Gee's Bend was populated by sharecroppers, and the price of cotton was lower than it had ever been. So the landowner was stockpiling the cotton -- waiting to sell until price came up. Which left the sharecroppers in debt to the landowner. When the landowner died that year, the widow decided she would go to Gee's Bend and collect on all the debts. She brought men and wagons into Gee's Bend, and took everything: food, tools, animals -- basically leaving the people to starve. First hand accounts report that the residents survived on berries that winter. And yet, the women made quilts! It's just such a vivid example of how the human spirit can triumph over adversity. Then, in early 1933, the Red Cross came in with a rescue drop -- things like sugar, flour, seed, shoes, socks.

.

In Leaving Gee's Bend, Latham tells the story of Ludelphia Bennett, ten year old daughter in a family of share-croppers, who is blind in one eye, but is no stranger to hardships, hard work, and determination. Though her small town of Gee's Bend is geographically isolated by the Alabama River, she sets off on her own to Camden, 40 miles away, to find a doctor for her sick mother. Throughout her difficult journey, she physically and mentally chronicles her experiences as she pieces a quilt together. This is the way Ludelphia tells her story, of seeing white people for the first time, of encountering kindness and hate. Rural Alabama of 1932 is brought to life, complete with prejudices and superstitions that are eventually overcome thanks to Ludelphia's indomitable strength.

Review
“Ludelphia Bennett reaffirms the human spirit and defines survival in this beautifully stitched quilt of a novel.”—Richard Peck, author of A Season of Gifts

.

Hope all my reading and quilting friends can come to the library and enjoy what promises to be an excellent program.

Alabama Writers Conclave 2009

On Sunday, July 19th, I attended the last day of Alabama Writers Conclave 2009. We met in Birmingham, which was just fine with me. I had no trouble locating the location!

Last year, the 2008 Conclave was held in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and I, being the intrepid traveler not unlike Dangermouse himself, wisked away to Auburn, Alabama with Nina, an unsuspecting side-kick not unlike Dangermouse's right-hand-hamster Penfold, really. We arrived all agog, and casting our eyes all around Auburn, we soon perceived that there was no Alabama Writers Conclave meeting to be had in that fair city. Well, duh, it was in TUSCALOOSA!

But this year I successfully located the Conclave, which is something like a cross between a coven and an enclave, and accepted with grace, and something approaching dignity, the two awards they slapped on me. My free verse poem Calling Up Magic, and my children's story Uncle Earlie Batson and the Biscuit Angel, each won an Honorable Mention. As my daughter Buffy says, it's always good to be mentioned honorably.

As soon as time permits, I'll post Calling Up Magic here. And as soon as I get my illustrations done, Uncle Earlie Batson and the Biscuit Angel is bound to be published to rave reviews, and on sale at your local bookstore!

Calling Up Magic

I remember the mountain
where mountain trees are tall and wild
with glittering leaves like jewels in blinding sun.
Deep shadows abide beneath those towering trees;
somber shadows where secrets rest,
half-remembered, long-enchanted.
Scattered there are ancient odd-shaped stones,
covered over with moss and willful vines
like strong, possessive arms entwined.

The old dirt road curves along cool, shadowed places,
beneath wild cherry, sweetgum and hickory branches,
emerging into sunlight’s blazing blast;
red sand soft and warm underfoot.
Huge sandstone boulders, summer-hot,
perfume the mountain air with fragrance like no other,
and the smell makes my mouth water,
and the air moves around me, gently caressing
like mountain spirits whispering blessings.

A rough-barked tree shimmers, engulfed, heat laden,
its gnarled exterior shredded and tattered
by a bobcat whose sharpening claws,
over time, have left deep enduring scars.
Birds trill, noisy in the bushes, and
insects hum like a choir of tiny whirring machines.
They are calling up magic, singing incantations
of mysterious joy as dark clouds gather
out of the heavy, languid grip of Alabama summer.

© Ramey Channell