Book Review: PARROTFISH by ELLEN WITTLINGER

Property of Simon & Schuster

Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing, July 2007

Hardcover, 304 pages

ISBN-10: 1416916229

ISBN-13: 9781416916222

Grades: 7 and up

When Angela cuts off her hair, changes her name to Grady, and begins to live as a boy, her family and friends have trouble accepting the change.

Description:  Ellen Wittlinger's style of writing is easy to read.  Her descriptions are short, vivid and worked so well in, one can barely tell they are there.  I love they way everything moves the story along.  There no distractions, no boring parts and nothing I wanted to skip.  Every detail mattered. (Score: 10/10)  

Narrative:  Parrotfish is one of those books that place you directly in the  main character's head.  Everything Grady sees, hears and feels is conveyed to the reader in a heartfelt way.  Some parts of the book contain quite a bit of narrative but it envelops the reader. (Score: 10/10) 

Dialogue:  I am in love with Grady's voice.  The character is so grounded that I felt calmer when he spoke, even during times of high emotion.  To be able to write about one feeling and evoke another in the reader takes some amazing talent.  It's no wonder Ellen Wittlinger has won awards.  Her writing style is so engaging that the whole book spoke to me.  (Score:10/10)

Characterization:  My favorite part of reading Parrotfish was getting to know the characters.  Everyone is different yet so balanced in the story.  It was amazing to me how the main character grew but I believe everyone else grew so much more.  In learning the craft, I've struggled with showing the main character's growth, but Ellen was able to make it happen even in the secondary characters.  Pretty amazing, I have to say. (Score: 10/10)

Resolution:  I found the climax and resolution very interesting.  I couldn't predict this ending, yet I doubt it's plausibility a little.  (But then again, I don't come from the same type of family Grady does.)  This book left me with chills and a sense of calm yearning.  I don't need more to this story, but I want it.  The ending was very complete, yet open the way I like it.  There's room for more, yet it's so very satisfying and inspiring. (Score: 10/10)

My twenty one year old niece recommended I read this book.  Before this, I'd never heard of Ellen Wittlinger.  What interested me most was that she lives in in my area of the world.  So, I followed her on Facebook.  And then groupie stalked her at New England Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators (NECBWI) mostly for my niece and dear friend Cybele.

Cybele, Ellen Wittlinger, Lorettajo at NESCBWI regional conference.

Now if I'd KNOWN Ellen was a Printz Honor Award Winner  I probably would have been too scared to approach her, but, alas, I did and found out she is a super, amazingly nice person.  I hadn't yet read her books, so I felt kinda goofy, but now I can make up for it with this review. :)


Anyway, Parrotfish is the type of book I'd recommend to anyone person trying to break free from labels and stereotypes.  There's a lot of discussion involving that topic.  Yes, the main character has changed gender, but the book is really about MORE than that.  It's about individuality, self-acceptance and well, let's face it, helping others accept who YOU really are.  I'm not gay or in confusion about my gender.  But I struggle EVERYDAY with being comfortable in my own skin.  I've tried to be "good" and fit the stereotype that a woman should, and it's made me crazy again and again.  Reading Grady's story inspired me to keep trying.  Be myself and love it.  So,  if you're in constant battle with yourself and others around you, read Parrotfish.  Grady will inspire you to be more of the self you should be.  Rating: 5 out of 5 stars. 

Sometimes I Forget...But Then I'm Reminded Secret #6

I fantasize. I believe. I wish.

Most of the time these are great qualities, leading me to be optimistic even during the darkest of winters. I can be a pillar of hope for so many people I love. And often my positivity reaches out to strangers.

But sometimes, even I reach the end of my rainbow. And I have yet to find a pot of gold.

I pout. I cry. I say things I shouldn't to people who may not deserve it.

And during these times, I tend to shut down. I forget about the people who appreciate every part of me. I feel alone and lost with no one to show me the way.

Every time, though, there's always someone who appears, lends a hand and helps me back onto my feet.

This post is dedicated to everyone who reminds me of who I am. Thank you....

The HARDEST Part of Parenting (for me)-Secret #4

I used to think the lack of sleep was the hardest part of parenting.

Or the financial cost-kids are really expensive and I thought that would be stressful.

Even the constant teaching of manners, grammar, behavior isn't nearly as hard as the HARDEST part.  I think sometimes teaching can be fun-as demonstrated in the picture of me, Doug and Anna at the beach.  We're practicing the "MONKEE WALK" and having a lot of laughs doing it.

The truth is, (and I learned this ages ago in my very first child development class but conveniently FORGOT it) as we raise our children, subconsciously we relive our own childhood.

Does this mean we have to grow up all over again?

YUP!

Though many choose not to and I can't say I blame them-it's freaking harder than doing it the first time, at least for me.

Baby Girl is seven.  We went on a family outing last week.  The souvenir she chose was a necklace.  It was one of those that came with a matching one-two halves of a heart that read BEST FRIEND.  I watched her lovingly box, wrap and label it.  Her eyes gleamed with joy and pride.  When school was delayed Monday morning-she nearly cried.

Selfishly, I flashed back to my own childhood.   A tornado of emotions swirled in me. The purity of friend love and the sorrow of learning life is more complicated than matching necklaces nearly paralyzed me.  Does everyone have memories like this?  Or is it just me?

But most of all, because Baby Girl loves so freely (like me) will she suffer the same hurts I have?  Can I protect her?  Should I warn her that people suck?

And that's where my growth comes in.  People do not suck.  My wounds are that-MINE.  I need to find the source of them and leave her passion alone.

Anna is showing me how.  I can choose to look away, ignore it and force my beliefs on her.  But I don't want to.  I want to grow.  I long to embrace the lessons she is bringing into my life, heart and soul.

But damn, it's HARD-harder than the sleepless nights of infancy and the tantrums of toddlers.  As a matter of fact, I might have a tantrum now!  Just kidding.

Still, there's a part of me that wants to teach her all that I know--bubble wrap her from the world of disappointment.  And I think she intuitively knows that.  Which is why she shared the following song with me and cried.  I cried too, not because I was sad-- but because I was healing.  And it felt really, really good.

Thanks, Baby Girl.  I love you.  And for you, I will push through the hardest part of parenting to be the best person I can be.  I promise to do the best I can to keep learning so you "Never Grow Up."

No Such Thing As Lucky: Secret #3

This is a picture of me with my husband and kids.  Of all holidays, it was Christmas.  And YES, we dressed in costume for the occasion.  Why?  Long story short: BECAUSE WE CAN!

A series of events since Christmas led me to really ponder the word LUCKY.  I've heard a lot of people say it about themselves and me.  But does LUCK really exist?

I don't believe it does.

Why?

Because LUCK is subjective.  Maybe I have more things than some, but most certainly others have more.  That would make me UNLUCKY in comparison.  But maybe I don't want those things.  Or maybe, it's not the things that matter to me.

I see it this way: everything I have, I earned.

I work, play and live hard.

I incite change.

I take chances.

And, therefore, I succeed, at least in my mind.

I guess what people don't realize is that things don't always work out for me.  And that's my fault, probably.  I prefer not to complain or whine about challenges.  Instead, I focus on the positive, keep taking steps forward, and never, ever give up.  And though many things I start end somewhere I never expected, I celebrate success every chance I get.

Failure is does not exist in my world, mostly because I refuse to acknowledge it--much like LUCK.

Therefore, I'm not really LUCKY.  I get what I deserve, both good and bad.  I make mistakes, but I learn from them.

So, please forgive me if I stop you next time you talk about how LUCKY you are.  It's then I shall ask you everything you did to deserve the opportunity.

  

NYC here we come! AGAIN

The countdown to Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators 2011 Winter Conference is on!!!

 Sera and I at our first SCBWI Winter Conference

This is my fourth time going.  I'll never forget how overwhelming my first experience felt to me.  Not only am I a small town girl, but five years ago, I wouldn't even call myself a writer.  I've come a long way since then.  I'm still a hillbilly, for sure.  I mean, the sight of skyscrapers still make me gasp and I giggle on the subway or in a taxi.  But now, at least, I can call myself a novelist.

But am I new?
Aspiring?
Unpublished?
Hopeful?

How do I legitimately label myself?

Does it even matter?

I am going with two friends: Sera and Nicole.  Maybe I should start there...what do I call them?  Writers, of course!  And they are BOTH novelists because they have completed novels.  BUT SO HAVE I!  (I've even submitted it, which, by the way, was a very rewarding experience.)

Why can't I be so kind to myself?

Sera and I even attended a publishing launch party last year!  

All of these questions are directly related to one thing: MY OWN FEAR.

Yeah, I know....for those of you who know me.....it doesn't fit into the picture of me.  But it's true!  I'm scared-OUT OF MY SKULL.

Shameless photo from my disaster relief trip to Haiti. NOTE: I was at the local  cemetery learning about Haitian burial rituals

But on the other hand, maybe it fits me better than I'm ready to admit.  Fear is healthy, normal.  It's what you do, or DON'T do, with it that counts.  So, fear and all, I'll take myself to the Big Apple, sandwiched by writer friends.

This year is going to be different, I can already tell.  A lot has changed in the past year. Some of it has been fate, but most of it has been personal effort.

I am a Young Adult Novelist because that is what I've made myself and no other adjective needs to be added.

A Christmas Story

Christmas is a time we get lost in giving gifts.  We monetize, materialize and forget what the season really means.

I believe gifts should be shared every day.  And when I found out I was becoming a mother, shortly after Christmas thirteen years ago, I instantly knew the one gift I wanted to give that child.  If nothing else, my child would have self-confidence.

This year, I learned how valuable that gift is, not only to my son, but for me and anyone who knows him as well.

You see, he started middle school this September.  And I was terrified-more scared than sending him to kindergarten, to be honest.  Why?  Because we all know how fragile self-esteem is and how easily preteens and teens destroy one another's identity of self-commonly referred to as BULLYING.


So, when my confident, fedora wearing sixth grader stood at his bus stop, on his first day of school, I cringed.  A lesson was sure to be learned from this and it was going to be painful.  I figured he'd be ridiculed.  Part of me hoped he'd influence others into wearing hats, but I seriously had my doubts.

My boy reported he didn't care what others thought.  And I prayed my efforts at positive self-image and years of praise was enough to keep him that way.

Sure enough, it was.  Not only have others in his school taken to wearing fedoras, but they've even named them after him.  And my boy is neither boastful nor embarrassed to admit he makes a difference in this world.

But it was an event this week that truly had me in tears and chokes me up each time I think about it.

Wearing his silly Christmas hat, he climbed onto the bus this regular school day.  To his delight, the whole bus crew shouted, "Merry Christmas!"  Upon arriving at his seat, he found a new hat waiting for him.

The expression on his face as he told the story warmed my soul.  And every time I think about it, I fall apart all over again.  Is this the result of my efforts?  Does he carry with him the gift I swore he would have that Christmas in 1997?  Maybe.  Or maybe not.  I'd like to take credit, but something told me, way back when he was still in my womb, that something was special about this child.

So, really, he has been a gift to me, and possibly the whole world.  Our family has always called him Mr. President, for reasons I can't really explain, except that it fits him.

As 2011 approaches, I dream of speaking loudly about these positive things.  I'm tired of the negativity in this world and my fedora wearing boy inspires me to work that much harder.  Thank you, Doug, for being the person you are in my life.  Merry Christmas to you and all the people you touch every day.