tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79975548582705472822024-03-05T14:09:11.170-08:00The Night I Followed the BlogNina Laden's Musings on Books, Writing, Art & LifeNina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-23099405804172471562018-02-13T13:04:00.000-08:002018-02-13T13:18:35.362-08:00Everett Scholastic Art Awards Keynote<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8w3BT3LlJ_8Dhyphenhyphenr0Y-Ato85PAp-xNCLPBhUPUwdef_wekCY-_7egTeNihAWyYFrqnovkIZdNDGkuhHeOWyR4MVO8NAUiiFYsEdW8WOeubHFisKrGYGPapUJ2-pyX5hZ0ep08HoVUAIwK/s1600/NinaDoodle78.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="841" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ8w3BT3LlJ_8Dhyphenhyphenr0Y-Ato85PAp-xNCLPBhUPUwdef_wekCY-_7egTeNihAWyYFrqnovkIZdNDGkuhHeOWyR4MVO8NAUiiFYsEdW8WOeubHFisKrGYGPapUJ2-pyX5hZ0ep08HoVUAIwK/s400/NinaDoodle78.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
The photo I've started this post with is from my high school senior yearbook. I chose it because last night I had the amazing honor of delivering the keynote to the <a href="http://www.artandwriting.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Scholastic Art Awards</span></a> for high school students in grades 7-12 of Snohomish County at the Historic Everett Theater.<br />
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I was so happy to be in that beautiful 1901 building with hundreds of teenage artists and their parents. Now that I know even more about the <a href="http://www.artandwriting.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Scholastic Art & Writing Awards</span></a> I want everyone to know what a wonderful organization this is that champions and aids budding artists and writers. I wish there was something like that when I was in high school.<br />
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Now without further ado I want to share my keynote.<br />
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Good evening. First of all, I want to congratulate all of you for being here. You are part of the great tribe of ARTISTS and it is truly a wonderful tribe to belong to.<br />
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Secondly, I want to thank Nancy Bell for asking me to speak to you. Most artists are introverts and I am no exception. I love to be alone. I love to be alone so much that I moved to Lummi Island up near Bellingham. Just about the only thing that will get me off Lummi Island is a good sale on art supplies or a chance to be around other artists. As artists we can inspire and energize each other. I hope that I will be able to do that for you.<br />
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I'll start with who I am today, and then I'll go back to how I got here. Right now I identify as a children's book author and illustrator. My books have been in print starting twenty-four years ago with "THE NIGHT I FOLLOWED THE DOG."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_a3nN0TvbJxaeI_IeOvKSt7b2_wllCpr6hq2FL8jbShyphenhyphene253xm-ihO4iRXHdH5Brcwy3h3plgxFUfQObp_bNs-AevaJQv7XdL0c43x0Hl8d2GB089BXPrTi8YPtRtYuBbQaQFDZypKiA1/s1600/TNIFTD+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="554" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_a3nN0TvbJxaeI_IeOvKSt7b2_wllCpr6hq2FL8jbShyphenhyphene253xm-ihO4iRXHdH5Brcwy3h3plgxFUfQObp_bNs-AevaJQv7XdL0c43x0Hl8d2GB089BXPrTi8YPtRtYuBbQaQFDZypKiA1/s200/TNIFTD+cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
At this point I've got more than twenty books in print. One of them is a board book I created called "PEEK-A WHO?"that has sold well over one million copies. Lately, I've been writing poetry and collaborating with other illustrators. I'm also starting to work on graphic novels. I've been making a living as an artist for my entire career, which includes the time before my books were published.<br />
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How did I get here?<br />
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We are all on our own journeys. Mine wasn't easy. It started with two parents who were both artists, which helped because they knew I was an artist from when I was only a few years old. But my<br />
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parents were both mentally ill, and my father ran off with my brother's first grade teacher when I was eleven.<br />
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I've worked since I was eleven. I started babysitting. Then in high school I worked in clothing stores. I drew all the time, too. I started seriously keeping a journal in high school. I drew, I wrote, I made cartoons. I got in trouble for doodling during most of my classes. I'll never forget when my eleventh grade English teacher, Mrs. Sherman (I'm still friends with her, by the way.) came over to my desk and saw I was drawing her, and she said, "you could have made me look younger."<br />
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My art teachers in high school- mostly Mr. Gangemi- were my heroes, and my refuge. I never fit into any groups in high school. I was "that weird artist girl." I had two other girlfriends who were artistic. One of them, my long-time best friend, Judy, became a documentary filmmaker and a writer/director/producer in Los Angeles. My other friend gave up on art. Her parents pushed her away.<br />
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Don't let that happen to you! Follow your dreams. As hard as it was, I followed mine. My mom was my biggest champion. We could not afford college. At the very last minute my father was forced to pay. I was accepted into Syracuse University's College of Visual and Performing Arts, and I became an illustration major. I worked all through college as a waitress, and I did caricatures in the mall to make money, too.<br />
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When I was in art school, in freshman year they made you take all of the basic core classes like General Drawing, Figure Drawing, Art History and Design. I was in a hurry to get into the real world, but all of this was so important. The only thing that troubled me was what my Design instructor said. He was a sculptor named Stephen Carlson. My class had a lot of women students and he told us that "it will be easier for the women because they could just marry rich husbands and do their art."<br />
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That made me so angry. That is not how to be an artist. Not only did I not marry a rich man, for years I supported my husband and my three stepsons. I am proof that you can make a living as an artist.<br />
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And your art can take you places you never imagined possible. For example: in 1998 my book "WHEN PIGASSO MET MOOTISSE" came out. I told the story of the rivalry between the artists Picasso and Matisse, but I turned them into a pig and a bull. This book has been translated into the most languages of any of my books, and it is in museum gift shops around the world- and I was invited to speak in schools in Normandy, France. On my way home, I took the train to Paris and there I met a big fan of my book: Georges Matisse, who is the great-grandson of Henri Matisse. He controls the heritage of the Matisse art estate. He loves my book and has given it to all of the Matisse family members. I gave him the portrait I painted of Henri Matisse in the book. It's still on his fireplace mantel.<br />
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Georges emails me whenever there is a new Matisse or Picasso and Matisse exhibit. There is one this summer in Nice, France, and I'm hoping to go see it.</div>
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I've also had two books optioned for feature film: THE NIGHT I FOLLOWED THE DOG, and ROMEOW & DROOLIET. Additionally, I worked on a project with DreamWorks Animation for two years. None of the projects went all the way through- that happens in Hollywood- but I got to keep the option money, and I was treated to some great trips to Los Angeles where I got to see many animation studios.</div>
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Speaking of animation: back in high school and art school, all that existed was hand-drawn or painted cell animation and stop-motion animation. I started making flip movies when I was little. I made a stop-motion animation when I was eleven using a Super 8 movie camera in my elementary school. There were no computers!</div>
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Now everything has changed. Everything is digital and animation is an incredible career option for artists... but I want to tell you this:</div>
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You need to draw and paint and use pencils and brushes and paper and canvas! I don't want to be a predictor of doom, but someday the grid may go down. I'm prepared- I built the studio of my dreams on Lummi Island and we put fifteen solar panels on the roof of it... but what I'm saying is that your skills as an artist need to be there for you whether you have Procreate or Photoshop or not.</div>
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My mom used to tell me to draw every day- just a little drawing, and write every day- just a little poem. She never lived to see my books get published. She died, poverty-stricken, with no health insurance, from cancer, six days after I turned twenty-four. I call her my Avant-Guardian Angel and I believe she watches over me.</div>
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I vowed that I would not be a starving artist. I would be a successful artist- and I know she would be so proud of me now.</div>
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I hope you have someone who watches over you- in real life- be it a parent or a friend, or an art teacher- someone who tells you not to give up your dream of being an artist, because it is unbelievably rewarding to be able to support yourself by being creative, by taking nothing but the spark of an idea in your head- and bringing it to life. Not many people can do that- so consider yourselves to be magicians- and wizards- and half-dragon-half-robots- because YOU can draw that and they can't!</div>
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And practice, practice, practice.</div>
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Get off your devices.</div>
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Draw faces.</div>
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Draw hands.</div>
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Draw out of your imagination.</div>
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Go to museums and galleries and look at original art. Get outside and draw in nature- or on a bus- or in a library. Build a portfolio of work you are proud of. They say you are only as good as the worst piece in your portfolio. I don't really believe that.</div>
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As an artist, let me tell you, I'm never happy with my work. I am constantly thinking that it sucks. And I'm always trying to learn- to grow- to try new things. I get bored if I do the same style or technique over and over again. And I mess up often. My journals are full of things that didn't work- be it stories or character drawings... but I'm always excited to keep creating and being creative no matter whether no one sees it but me- or it sells a million copies.</div>
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My final piece of advice to you is something that I saw on a rug cleaning store in my old neighborhood in Seattle. The sign said: IF YOU ARE AFRAID OF MAKING A MISTAKE YOU WON'T MAKE ANYTHING.</div>
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Don't be afraid to make mistakes. Make lots of them. Keep making them as long as you are making something.</div>
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Now go out there and make some art! And keep your dreams alive.</div>
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Thank you so much.</div>
Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-14305931782749717782018-01-21T16:35:00.000-08:002018-01-21T17:01:15.603-08:00Welcome YELLOW KAYAK!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2XUCbk4BsOlDs2mx1FCmKEtBUMLR1WIlfvY86yK2SRCw8_KQRlVDMRLO7ov_pJChJMMYi7kWw8h6wViSEmJ91zNn3OhsAfrZFEZq3uFvlt4cqU5T7cKkXAwkhROX5aq8IIH7mV4_VF-L/s1600/YellowKayakCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1150" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI2XUCbk4BsOlDs2mx1FCmKEtBUMLR1WIlfvY86yK2SRCw8_KQRlVDMRLO7ov_pJChJMMYi7kWw8h6wViSEmJ91zNn3OhsAfrZFEZq3uFvlt4cqU5T7cKkXAwkhROX5aq8IIH7mV4_VF-L/s400/YellowKayakCover.jpg" width="287" /></a></div>
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On Tuesday, January 23rd "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>" will be launching here in the USA, and on January 22nd in the UK from <a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Paula Wiseman Books at Simon & Schuster</span></a>. It will be my 24th published book, my fourth book as author only, and my second book with wonderful and whimsical illustrator <a href="http://www.melissacastrillon.co.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Melissa Castrillon</span></a>. "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>" is already getting off to a great start with Korean, Russian, Italian and French rights sold.<br />
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Every book is an adventure and each journey is unique. I thought I'd share the story behind the story of how "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>" came to life.<br />
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The story begins with my yellow kayak. When I first moved to Seattle at the end of 1997 I decided that I wanted to start sea kayaking. I took some classes at the <a href="http://www.nwoc.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Northwest Outdoor Center</span></a> and tried out a lot of boats, and in 1999 I bought myself this <a href="https://www.cdkayak.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Current Designs Caribou</span></a> yellow kayak.<br />
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I wanted my husband, Booth to paddle with me, so I tricked him into doing it by buying him a <a href="http://www.pygmyboats.com/boats/coho-kayak-kit.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Pygmy Designs marine mahogany Coho kayak kit</span></a> and after he built his multi-chined beauty, we could paddle together. We started paddling around Seattle, but in 2002 after we bought our <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.lummi-island.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Lummi Island</span></a> </span>cottage, we moved the boats there.<br />
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The <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Juan_Islands" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">San Juan Islands</span></a> are an amazing place to paddle, and we joined neighbors and friends for some great adventures. (Thanks to author/illustrator/neighbor/friend <a href="http://www.paulowenlewis.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Paul Owen Lewis</span></a> for these photos, btw.) But the waters in the Salish Sea are fickle. Currents run strong. Reefs lie hidden just below the surface. Tide rips and eddies boil. And winds can come up out of nowhere. So can Orcas, although I was in our skiff, not in my kayak when the Orca whales swam right under us.<br />
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The seed for my story, "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>" started when my husband and I went on what was supposed to be a lunch picnic paddle with our island friends, Jeff and Penny. I had checked the tides and currents and I had checked the weather. All was good. All four kayaks took off from our neighborhood beach to paddle about five miles to a rock outcropping in the middle of the channel... Now cue the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfSLuEj99d0" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Gilligan's Island theme</span></a>.<br />
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As we approached the rocks, I could feel the sea swells starting to roll under my kayak. We all made it safely, but then a gale blew up from out of nowhere- in clear, blue skies. The wind was so strong it took my breath away. We were stuck- with no real overnight provisions, and the seas were getting bigger, in fact a 32 foot whale watch boat had to seek shelter at the same time. My husband was making light of the situation, but I was not happy. I felt responsible for our group since I had planned the paddle. I decided to try my cell phone to see if I had a signal.<br />
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Normally, I am not happy about cell phones in nature- other than for taking photos, but this time I was praying to the gods of Verizon that someone would answer. I called a neighbor, and luckily their daughter's boyfriend (now husband) was visiting in his <a href="http://www.striperboats.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Seaswirl Striper fishing boat</span></a>- and he came to the rescue. It wasn't simple, or easy, but we all made it home, and we had a good story to tell.<br />
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Seeds of ideas sit and sometimes lay dormant, and when you aren't even trying to think of them, they can sprout. Quite a few years after our kayak adventure, I was sitting in the ferry line and I started writing "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>" as a poem in my journal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiR4HCs627DRWLMOBjrCpuOG3CqNcDEWv1dxsYybaqPWw6ZycgK5D8DsIA1wCj3Hl9ZBfijXcNPof8azEJq7mXR5Oq2_P9j7AGqLof60D9lRr5SE4UoTGdpAV2unX2EvnDFmAfGoKml7ok/s1600/IMG_3589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiR4HCs627DRWLMOBjrCpuOG3CqNcDEWv1dxsYybaqPWw6ZycgK5D8DsIA1wCj3Hl9ZBfijXcNPof8azEJq7mXR5Oq2_P9j7AGqLof60D9lRr5SE4UoTGdpAV2unX2EvnDFmAfGoKml7ok/s400/IMG_3589.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I wrote it to the rhythm of paddling. Each line was a stroke. This was on July 17, 2007. Then it sat and germinated some more, and finally in 2011 I typed it into a Word doc and called it, "Sea-Story." It was a story about a little girl who goes out for a solo paddle and gets caught in a storm, and she loses her paddle, but gets rescued by Orcas. It was a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hero%27s_journey" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">hero's journey</span></a> on the sea.<br />
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I even did a loose pastel study for it a few years after that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXmTf1wsjzhv_wH-tPUlFucdrivvs9f_TDvPfhW4pMelE8uCUtq_pyMi90NNnVXn7UM-9Q5XsKSkMRyDTleaHXYufV9C5Bt9c_4zBghm8yOHr9d0RC6CTwxiIX46YZZzJEVDWPCSK60e9/s1600/Sea+Story+Study+Laden15.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXmTf1wsjzhv_wH-tPUlFucdrivvs9f_TDvPfhW4pMelE8uCUtq_pyMi90NNnVXn7UM-9Q5XsKSkMRyDTleaHXYufV9C5Bt9c_4zBghm8yOHr9d0RC6CTwxiIX46YZZzJEVDWPCSK60e9/s400/Sea+Story+Study+Laden15.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Then life happened and I had to juggle many things, and I never submitted Sea-Story. Flash forward to 2017: "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/If-I-Had-a-Little-Dream/Nina-Laden/9781481439244" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">If I Had A Little Dream</span></a>," my sweet lullaby book had just come out with debut illustrator <a href="http://www.melissacastrillon.co.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Melissa Castrillon</span></a>, and editor Paula Wiseman wanted another book for Melissa to illustrate. I sent a pile of stories, including "Sea-Story," which I had secretly wanted to illustrate myself, and Paula wanted it. I did some hard thinking and decided that I'd let the story go- we were in the middle of moving out of our Seattle house after twenty years... and I knew Melissa would add different things to the story, which Paula had already decided would be called "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>."<br />
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After working as both <a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">author and illustrator</span></a> for twenty-four plus years, I have to admit that this has been a strange experience for me. Not to go into details, but I had to learn to let go of what I thought the story was that I had written. Melissa saw it through her eyes, not mine. I did some soul-searching and realized that my own version of the story, which was with a solo child paddler, was probably not as comforting and perhaps a bit scary. The character that Melissa added obviously made "Yellow Kayak" so much friendlier. And I learned that sometimes there is much to be gained by letting go and seeing where the adventure takes you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIzFQ80qfeQef1biw3PwUvF-qrOZ5S4MQOIh92ForClxYfF9a_42Od_xRfHRwCJacdaNlMjXQbgVQ6RAog9i7EiPrT-toTFZi5HayzN0eFGEG7qd_nTM4LZKN8uSaSR6t2UezUakhI4e-/s1600/YKayakCastrillon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="188" data-original-width="268" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIzFQ80qfeQef1biw3PwUvF-qrOZ5S4MQOIh92ForClxYfF9a_42Od_xRfHRwCJacdaNlMjXQbgVQ6RAog9i7EiPrT-toTFZi5HayzN0eFGEG7qd_nTM4LZKN8uSaSR6t2UezUakhI4e-/s400/YKayakCastrillon.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Melissa has brought so much to this story, that now "<span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>,</span>" is not my solo hero's journey, it is ours. I hope it will be yours, too- as once a book comes out- it has a life of its own, and I hope that "<a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Yellow-Kayak/Nina-Laden/9781534401945" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Yellow Kayak</span></a>" paddles into your heart and soul, and you share it with the young adventurers you adore.<br />
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With love,<br />
NinaNina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-33293738406809043332017-11-01T11:26:00.000-07:002017-11-01T11:28:54.376-07:00Inktober: a month of pen and ink<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7XkRYcfnuOYreTLuOBmeVqgBJBKkMLpUeI_pKMKJ0s9NH3ZWf_a3kfNOd8GOQIwvD_dVyIwtm4dSA8dgMTAsmp0qP7J28AdfQCV_rzemTW1lUBjuAYI_GlF8NYNMk1CYpVQOCG8msaJDa/s1600/Inktober.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1344" data-original-width="926" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7XkRYcfnuOYreTLuOBmeVqgBJBKkMLpUeI_pKMKJ0s9NH3ZWf_a3kfNOd8GOQIwvD_dVyIwtm4dSA8dgMTAsmp0qP7J28AdfQCV_rzemTW1lUBjuAYI_GlF8NYNMk1CYpVQOCG8msaJDa/s400/Inktober.jpg" width="275" /></a></div>
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October has been converted to "<a href="http://mrjakeparker.com/inktober/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Inktober</span></a>" for a bunch of years thanks to a guy named <a href="http://mrjakeparker.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Jake Parker</span></a> who created this art event and offered up a list of prompts to spark imagination.<br />
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I have always loved pen and ink and since life has been very tumultuous lately: both my brother and my husband had heart attacks, I've needed a respite into the land of white paper and black lines. I have also been trying to find an editor and publisher who will give me a home as both illustrator and author again. I am from a fine art background and am trained as a professional illustrator... and since I was a child, art and story have been inextricably intertwined, however over the past five years or so, that has unraveled due to some horrendous family crises and I'm longing to tie it all back together...<br />
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This playing with concept and art was therapy for me. I hope you enjoy the results. There is one week missing because I was with my brother at the hospital for his open-heart surgery and my husband had a heart attack the night of the surgery. Everyone, including me, is healing now. The drawings are in order and include the word prompts.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIi8loU3eyVfk9U18jbS-EN0vGHoU5kShGGYaH1QvQ-zWqdKv-eFsNxwRkKspCYJU-YfWhiSJpkZ0JzQyryOWrhYV2YG2DwE519xfLO_l__SgfQS6m3Br6C4pMjn5qhZsr468UFnMiHkg/s1600/Swift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1281" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirIi8loU3eyVfk9U18jbS-EN0vGHoU5kShGGYaH1QvQ-zWqdKv-eFsNxwRkKspCYJU-YfWhiSJpkZ0JzQyryOWrhYV2YG2DwE519xfLO_l__SgfQS6m3Br6C4pMjn5qhZsr468UFnMiHkg/s400/Swift.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2klolDWSbAO3zarq_WQPyZcn0-sh86kboo3n7PBBkXS1KLV32wAab4SW3UxVJACHkgAAs0vbbactBKy-mIJtTftR5O6x7aedbSx11vTCzh1rQNFLHC8IZpQ9ViB9A_P-UYKJr3E1ZDUE/s1600/Divided.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1053" data-original-width="1381" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2klolDWSbAO3zarq_WQPyZcn0-sh86kboo3n7PBBkXS1KLV32wAab4SW3UxVJACHkgAAs0vbbactBKy-mIJtTftR5O6x7aedbSx11vTCzh1rQNFLHC8IZpQ9ViB9A_P-UYKJr3E1ZDUE/s400/Divided.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKwzsLZw7xy3ab7aPOE-NrlAKvp7pMLjwhi7F_GTYLphLspva4dhrdsynZSZE8LS2R-Qslqi-OaBbw7sGwrpzp4PXSyQH03fyVcq6Rppqgt1Dzb60HfwtNcQ-lARfiglSc5WpgBVLSHvQ/s1600/Poison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1116" data-original-width="1081" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKwzsLZw7xy3ab7aPOE-NrlAKvp7pMLjwhi7F_GTYLphLspva4dhrdsynZSZE8LS2R-Qslqi-OaBbw7sGwrpzp4PXSyQH03fyVcq6Rppqgt1Dzb60HfwtNcQ-lARfiglSc5WpgBVLSHvQ/s400/Poison.jpg" width="386" /></a></div>
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This was the point that I stopped for eight days after my husband's heart attack.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDxTums-4l6CWRHwJMM1WzR0BN2jGceLpI1b-J9o-2vz6BxhMXlz0EM2S7X7lFpHs3jF-8JHlrV0ptUFqv2GTmPe-F_7MNRV6lInd9KuhkBwmcMp3TjKvsLbot5DpYL09Bz0215dEZT5R4/s1600/Shattered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="913" data-original-width="1222" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDxTums-4l6CWRHwJMM1WzR0BN2jGceLpI1b-J9o-2vz6BxhMXlz0EM2S7X7lFpHs3jF-8JHlrV0ptUFqv2GTmPe-F_7MNRV6lInd9KuhkBwmcMp3TjKvsLbot5DpYL09Bz0215dEZT5R4/s400/Shattered.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoh_rpJ6jgX6GQYaWWHyHOZ5ghA4ViJ9Z4GE4IsF4GU3OOAqMUgZETliWekniHOVNkA0d3P6okRX65ct4CHDgNaVSKIp7KvRcQyFac1qB2DzFexFC554qHBHO_VEDwEXVSsL3Mr_yYM9A/s1600/Fat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1429" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsoh_rpJ6jgX6GQYaWWHyHOZ5ghA4ViJ9Z4GE4IsF4GU3OOAqMUgZETliWekniHOVNkA0d3P6okRX65ct4CHDgNaVSKIp7KvRcQyFac1qB2DzFexFC554qHBHO_VEDwEXVSsL3Mr_yYM9A/s400/Fat.jpg" width="356" /></a></div>
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The word for this one (Jackson Porcllock) was "filthy."<br />
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The prompt for this one was "blind"- I love the blues.<br />
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-64336399737450633182017-02-06T14:14:00.000-08:002017-02-06T14:18:44.338-08:00If I Had A Little Dream: Making it Come True<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipf5C-ljHftXGIzcCeSflJmwfWZUXVS06fyvCfi8PtFONUddTjQjxXeOfutUk-FXjJT1pQkaWbyk5P4vy2wVoxhIbYwXakgC9YtNhzOM0_ZJzMLoN9BTpYwFV2YARK3t_lkBxUe4YNldyT/s1600/IfIHadLittleDreamCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipf5C-ljHftXGIzcCeSflJmwfWZUXVS06fyvCfi8PtFONUddTjQjxXeOfutUk-FXjJT1pQkaWbyk5P4vy2wVoxhIbYwXakgC9YtNhzOM0_ZJzMLoN9BTpYwFV2YARK3t_lkBxUe4YNldyT/s400/IfIHadLittleDreamCover.jpg" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I Had A Little Dream comes out February 7, 2017<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My new book, <a href="http://www.simonandschuster.com/books/If-I-Had-a-Little-Dream/Nina-Laden/9781481439244" target="_blank">I<span style="color: blue;">F I HAD A LITTLE DREAM</span></a>, written by me and illustrated by Melissa Castrillon is about to be born. I am very exited about this book for so many reasons, but first I want to tell you how this book, this LITTLE DREAM came to be, came to me, how it happened. I hope you will find the process interesting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Let me describe the scene: It is August 24, 2013 and the height of summer on <a href="http://www.lummi-island.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Lummi Island</span></a> where we live. It has been a rough year for me with my husband almost dying more than one time from heart disease, botched open heart surgery, and a scary emergency room trip after the first surgery, followed by a second surgery. Finally Booth was patched up, albeit scarred and not-quite-whole, but our life was beginning to return to the sweeter things that we loved. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We both love blackberries, and they grow wild all around our property. For years and years we pick them in August, by the gallon, and I make my famous blackberry jam.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The process of heating the berry and sugar mixture to 220ºf can take a while and I have to be very careful not to let the mixture burn at the bottom or overflow at the top, so I'm constantly monitoring. I get into a certain rhythm when I'm "jamming" and I started writing a song while I was stirring. I've played guitar since I was eight years old, and I've written songs since I was thirteen. I pulled out the orange pad next to the kitchen counter and started writing down the verses as they came to me while I was stirring. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was on a roll... and the verses came out of order, but I just kept writing and watching the blackberries cook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I even wrote on the back sides, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There was time to call out the important words/themes.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ekYJLdn4HAT_IR-ZtJCLKoP2IYZqNf9EPDP4nGxUO1yEq0aTV8BHKYOt_-n_DnhuGW2qdunr1BpCI8okifPW8xDbUyWIkkdw-xSGJDyrWyekxWdzxUVJiMUHRzz0VtI2ClCDlfymKYec/s1600/LDjournal4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ekYJLdn4HAT_IR-ZtJCLKoP2IYZqNf9EPDP4nGxUO1yEq0aTV8BHKYOt_-n_DnhuGW2qdunr1BpCI8okifPW8xDbUyWIkkdw-xSGJDyrWyekxWdzxUVJiMUHRzz0VtI2ClCDlfymKYec/s320/LDjournal4.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And come up with what I wanted to name those themes.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxCpohiIb22FPd5Yio-ffvW7_wIvarEjMLyp1x-BrtiLJShy8XlMA63RKi4npYnIKbo-TikqzTuItEGUVTwxSHuV0yGqDnl1Z50Wr1J63hmQn_LFqbKKSFqiQOqc7Gyt8T5tPPaPhZn2z/s1600/LDjournal5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirxCpohiIb22FPd5Yio-ffvW7_wIvarEjMLyp1x-BrtiLJShy8XlMA63RKi4npYnIKbo-TikqzTuItEGUVTwxSHuV0yGqDnl1Z50Wr1J63hmQn_LFqbKKSFqiQOqc7Gyt8T5tPPaPhZn2z/s320/LDjournal5.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All this while making jam. And I still thought I had written a song. I was thinking that and when Booth walked into the house, I asked him if he wanted to hear my song, and my poor husband, who always has to say "yes" when I ask him to read/listen/look at what I'm writing/singing/drawing said "sure." After I read it, he said, "that's not a song." I replied, a bit sadly, "it isn't?" He said, "it's your next book."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Booth was right. It was a book. Even though I've been writing and illustrating children's books and published for over twenty-two years now, I also know that even if I think it is a book, it doesn't mean that anyone else will think so. But I knew I had to give it a shot. So I figured out the order of the verses. You can see my numbers on the original text. Then I typed up the manuscript. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2tfHb7JN-iKCKPuOjrYZTnonGqQSmj3_S2Y93CUJ9rUy1NdQap1-7BzqbWp5rJWBtWWVLdgmDMssDKzh0Khjkbep8DNLXD0yCNUgKgteWr_Zn-RripZVpX9Fmysn-RAB0a3LNjxk-ocE/s1600/LDjournalSketch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2tfHb7JN-iKCKPuOjrYZTnonGqQSmj3_S2Y93CUJ9rUy1NdQap1-7BzqbWp5rJWBtWWVLdgmDMssDKzh0Khjkbep8DNLXD0yCNUgKgteWr_Zn-RripZVpX9Fmysn-RAB0a3LNjxk-ocE/s320/LDjournalSketch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I started doing some sketches in my journal, and I did this bigger sketch on tissue paper.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7hlGCp-2riioFQu3IE1BECX8qHxChAFCQpaQpzdkj46CgAzs8ZQAut7jxC6CuQTrgjkgZdBNXRaPwEyuXB4GBaaENpsbJFyWnsewyo-nlULrCurxXdYXQSMo2NmoyZZDt2hzj3-eCKJ2/s1600/LittleDream_NestSketch.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7hlGCp-2riioFQu3IE1BECX8qHxChAFCQpaQpzdkj46CgAzs8ZQAut7jxC6CuQTrgjkgZdBNXRaPwEyuXB4GBaaENpsbJFyWnsewyo-nlULrCurxXdYXQSMo2NmoyZZDt2hzj3-eCKJ2/s400/LittleDream_NestSketch.jpeg" width="312" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I sent it to my intrepid agent, Laura and asked her what she thought. She loved the text, but for some reason didn't like my sketch. She thought that <a href="http://www.renataliwska.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Renata Liwska</span></a> who had just illustrated my poetic book, ONCE UPON A MEMORY would be a better illustrator. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am professionally trained as an illustrator, btw. I have a BFA in Illustration and my parents were both fine artists, but I do understand that my style doesn't work with everything I write, so I've had to learn to let go and be collaborative. Working with Renata was a fantastic experience. We did <a href="http://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/nina-laden/once-upon-a-memory/9780316208161/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">ONCE UPON A MEMORY</span></a> with publisher Little Brown Books for Young Readers, so we submitted it to them. They were interested and made me an offer, but it turned out that the offer was only if Renata could illustrate, and she was "booked" for years. The offer was rescinded. I felt sad and wondered if I should illustrate a full dummy and submit samples... but Laura told me not to do that and that she'd send the book out to other publishers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">To my delight, Paula Wiseman of <a href="http://simonandschusterpublishing.com/paula-wiseman-books/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Paula Wiseman Books</span></a> at Simon & Schuster loved IF I HAD A LITTLE DREAM and made me an offer. We talked about illustrators and she suggested a young illustrator from Cambridge, England named Melissa Castrillon and she sent me a link to Melissa's <a href="http://www.melissacastrillon.co.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">website</span></a>. I loved Melissa's warm, quirky, almost fine-art drawings, and her color choices were both retro and modern at the same time. I didn't even worry when Paula told me that Melissa had never illustrated a children's book before. She had only done book covers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As an artist, I have confidence in other artists. I also know to leave them alone. And I did. I didn't see what Melissa was doing until we got to the proof stages, and when they showed up, I nearly fell over. Here is just one spread:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nkWV_bBS0sX4YzXgyN6vKQqH2DziMS9jt2ong1pINuuGWIFIKx5NlyhbbhIaeyKGl1zApDlm1nbeTet6xZP85BQVtM9QszGfcKma7kpSODjfUtJtS7LOZrFL2Fptb330kFvdoz9wqxg-/s1600/LDProofBrother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6nkWV_bBS0sX4YzXgyN6vKQqH2DziMS9jt2ong1pINuuGWIFIKx5NlyhbbhIaeyKGl1zApDlm1nbeTet6xZP85BQVtM9QszGfcKma7kpSODjfUtJtS7LOZrFL2Fptb330kFvdoz9wqxg-/s400/LDProofBrother.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Melissa's work was astonishing! Each spread was better than the next. This book was going to be a treasure and a dream all rolled together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Meanwhile, Paula and I were tightening each verse and making sure that each word, like each blackberry in my jam, was perfectly ripe and right. I also had to submit my dedication. At the time the dedication was due, one of my dear friends, <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/beaverton/index.ssf/2015/12/debbie_alvarez.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Debbie Alvarez</span></a>,</span> a librarian from Beaverton, Oregon, and then Hong Kong, was dying of cancer. She wrote the fantastic blog, "<a href="https://thestylinglibrarian.com/2014/02/01/styling-librarian-review/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">The Styling Librarian</span></a>." I'd visited her school in Beaverton many times. I knew that this was going to be her book. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVlGvH3cRqKSyt3YKCuiOv-9nK4rGSIOSBArzKM-YntJ1Ik4Nnl1pAPAFpEQnVjGEIfSXIyKIQBCnfBtI-UGSae2EXClSDX7O2Ptfg6Gi-nz3RKehVy2xetqdChASytLVRKmrIpRlSau4s/s1600/LITTLEDREAM_INT+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVlGvH3cRqKSyt3YKCuiOv-9nK4rGSIOSBArzKM-YntJ1Ik4Nnl1pAPAFpEQnVjGEIfSXIyKIQBCnfBtI-UGSae2EXClSDX7O2Ptfg6Gi-nz3RKehVy2xetqdChASytLVRKmrIpRlSau4s/s400/LITTLEDREAM_INT+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I wish I could have made Debbie's dreams come true. She fought cancer so valiantly, but cancer won and she died at age 42, leaving behind husband, Doug, and son Declan. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/If-I-Had-Little-Dream/dp/1481439243" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">IF I HAD A LITTLE DREAM</span></a> </span>is a deceptively simple book about naming things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">If I had a little land,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I would name it THERE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">THERE would be my home,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Be it stormy, be it fair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It also about wishing for wholesome things that bring joy and grounding to your life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And it is about finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And it is a lullaby and a bedtime book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the dust jacket it says, "Our world is full of possibilities if you look for them. IF I HAD A LITTLE DREAM will inspire you to look around you and find the dreams that are waiting just for you."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Right now, more than ever, I think children, and the world needs to find their LITTLE DREAMS. We need comfort in what we have around us and I hope that IF I HAD A LITTLE DREAM will be that comfort for little readers everywhere, be it stormy, be it fair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thank you all for reading this- and please share the book and this post if you are so inclined.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">If I had a little dream, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I would name it YOU.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Love, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nina</span></div>
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Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-74292878176029461122016-11-03T10:31:00.000-07:002016-11-03T10:31:28.799-07:00An Inktober Graphic NovellaHi, it's me again. Long time no see. I just can't do all these digital things. There is too much going on in real life. However... Last October I drew or painted an octopus each day not realizing there was something called <a href="http://mrjakeparker.com/inktober" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">#Inktober</span></a>. I started to see it popping up in my Newsfeed on Facebook, yet I started making fun of it this October 1st with this cartoon:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9PlmgW-QxQALDL9RmX1RjRaNrW6PtY1Hy2uJpDGN6Jzpow4X5qz7VPWotOlUBAqrx1HkrHBU5cz9T3GsvGG3XHRZtu1j23c62CBrBkoLsDSEGIBd-fanSLN8vWHBLNm_GwlzSJM9wwhG/s1600/InkTuber.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9PlmgW-QxQALDL9RmX1RjRaNrW6PtY1Hy2uJpDGN6Jzpow4X5qz7VPWotOlUBAqrx1HkrHBU5cz9T3GsvGG3XHRZtu1j23c62CBrBkoLsDSEGIBd-fanSLN8vWHBLNm_GwlzSJM9wwhG/s400/InkTuber.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
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The next day I kept the potato theme going.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuM8jTXX2b47jfh1EN2ZdQvKA2Ugm4ZM7ezPhBT3LDhylhrnwKkL-AS9aeN-WFohHP0g2qBfbSOJ43fr4T6aPZnlCN-o1SCczZK8xPqjp0oY_PsoXvGiEiuwMMdkpknV6k1T7DQU1-FM3/s1600/Myopic+Potato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuM8jTXX2b47jfh1EN2ZdQvKA2Ugm4ZM7ezPhBT3LDhylhrnwKkL-AS9aeN-WFohHP0g2qBfbSOJ43fr4T6aPZnlCN-o1SCczZK8xPqjp0oY_PsoXvGiEiuwMMdkpknV6k1T7DQU1-FM3/s400/Myopic+Potato.jpg" width="275" /></a></div>
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By the third day I discovered that there were actual <a href="http://mrjakeparker.com/inktober" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">PROMPTS</span></a> for Inktober.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziI1X9mhGAyAMZbDDm2u32rk2VUM4_qV-ZytUAjCXrVg1aLA1AfGQ_cmMACSKztZZV9fEmdxcXmBavkjIO65BujrbuK6b0-8EC23Epozk-PZj9Lx90woFpOgf_3BMaouM189CzW4Yq0iW/s1600/Inktober3Collect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiziI1X9mhGAyAMZbDDm2u32rk2VUM4_qV-ZytUAjCXrVg1aLA1AfGQ_cmMACSKztZZV9fEmdxcXmBavkjIO65BujrbuK6b0-8EC23Epozk-PZj9Lx90woFpOgf_3BMaouM189CzW4Yq0iW/s400/Inktober3Collect.jpg" width="367" /></a></div>
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Then I did the next prompt.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyDCVp0WMUXfLz8I4BqCSCPCJegcbzk-NldtQqGLgkjh0nNVVL65SeiJuCWUA3Smu82-9XZWbA9Z_Xjlzn2giSH4_Zh2baBJJdmS8GXb38aRS9eHgIYMOujZAL9FHlX7T7Hs5RaVMpss0b/s1600/Inktober4Hungry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyDCVp0WMUXfLz8I4BqCSCPCJegcbzk-NldtQqGLgkjh0nNVVL65SeiJuCWUA3Smu82-9XZWbA9Z_Xjlzn2giSH4_Zh2baBJJdmS8GXb38aRS9eHgIYMOujZAL9FHlX7T7Hs5RaVMpss0b/s400/Inktober4Hungry.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And the next prompt...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3altoeT5ekquIGfGXPDsZL2wzIkw38c0x0zhFcL3_fbLQO09CqDYdwiEbUGqEghb_oRUWrKcetKyqa1j9fSQdj1YW93DpwcTzyizbSpqISFmtp24_t3O9uSdblNqrYu9WgzYAtl8OYy0/s1600/InkTober5SadTurtle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE3altoeT5ekquIGfGXPDsZL2wzIkw38c0x0zhFcL3_fbLQO09CqDYdwiEbUGqEghb_oRUWrKcetKyqa1j9fSQdj1YW93DpwcTzyizbSpqISFmtp24_t3O9uSdblNqrYu9WgzYAtl8OYy0/s400/InkTober5SadTurtle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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After the fifth day, I sat there staring at the list of prompts and I realized it was a story. I've been aiming towards doing graphic novels for a while now. I used to do comics when I was a kid and teenager, but moved away to illustration and children's picture books, but I've always done cartoons in my journal and I love good, old-fashioned pen and ink... </div>
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So I began a journey- a visual journey, using the Inktober prompts. These were all done quickly with a simple pencil sketch and no reference- they are all "out of my imagination." I didn't square things up- I wanted this to be more of a storyboard where the story is the most important part. I hope you like it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5dnz_OQhfUGivZPlomgQjdToE_moQBnWPWFfJvrzgzDIqV_gZJAQNzRgUNqCKZ8lDtQJLAQAJFpXa97APLjiOctiupR-UwUEwwQSxJk4gWM5HPECQnWgEHcdoXTzxR8ADb7qfmY3Io-b/s1600/InktoberHiddenLostRock16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5dnz_OQhfUGivZPlomgQjdToE_moQBnWPWFfJvrzgzDIqV_gZJAQNzRgUNqCKZ8lDtQJLAQAJFpXa97APLjiOctiupR-UwUEwwQSxJk4gWM5HPECQnWgEHcdoXTzxR8ADb7qfmY3Io-b/s400/InktoberHiddenLostRock16.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My Inktober message is to rescue and adopt animals... and to play visually.</div>
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Feel free to share this.</div>
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With Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-41622505255939718212016-03-22T12:24:00.000-07:002016-03-22T12:24:02.556-07:00Are We WHERE Yet?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been THERE, but I have not been HERE writing this blog for about six months. Life just got in the way, like it usually does when you juggle as many things as I do. At the end of September I moved my father into an Adult Family Home the same weekend that we had the funeral for my dear Mother-in-law. Then I spent months up to my eyeballs in filth and hoarded art, books, stuff- clearing out my father's mess, getting his condo fixed up (Thank you, <a href="http://www.manningsedgwick.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Manning Sedgwick Realty</span></a>) and sold.<br />
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Life is a crazy journey and my journey has been a very strange road trip. I dreamt of a wonderful creative life where I'd just be writing and illustrating and making books that people would love, and parts of that came true, but the way it happened wasn't very dreamy. It has not been easy juggling my career with my family, and I give birth to book ideas all the time, and then they have to sit and wait for me to be able to get to them.<br />
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"<a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/are_we_there_yet/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Are We There Yet?</span></a>" my new book, which just came out on March 1st from my longtime publisher, Chronicle Books, was no exception. I originally conceptualized this book in June 2006 while I was driving to our home on Lummi Island.<br />
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For seven years I took numerous detours and had to deal with family crises that I wish upon no one. I only had two books come out in those seven years, my baby book, "<a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/who_loves_you/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Who Loves You, Baby?</span></a>" and my cloth book, "<span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/button_nose/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Button Nose</span></a>.</span>" I kept writing during that time. I even wrote a novel.</div>
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Finally in 2013 I was out of the worst of the nightmarish period and I was finally THERE. I created these detailed thumbnails for "<a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/are_we_there_yet/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Are We There Yet?</span></a>" and submitted the book.</div>
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Then the journey took another detour that surprised me. I had submitted this book thinking that I was going to illustrate it, but I was not offered that opportunity. I was working on my "Peek-a Book" series at the time, so I let it go. I've been asked why I didn't illustrate it, and honestly, I don't have a good answer. What I will say is that <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.adammccauley.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Adam McCauley</span></a> </span>used my sketches as a launching point and added his cool details and did a masterful job. </div>
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I've had a lot of fun "performing" "<span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/are_we_there_yet/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Are We There Yet?</span></a>"</span> in schools over the past two plus weeks- I have the kids play "the kid" and I play "the mom," and they love asking "are we there yet?" over and over as we go deeper into the journey of imagination, and when reality returns, and it seems "boring," then they get to say, "let's do it again!" </div>
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I've also written the "<span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/are_we_there_yet/index.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Are We There Yet?</span></a>"</span> song- on my ukulele. When I get over being afraid of filming myself playing it, I'll share it here or there...</div>
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The next strange part of this journey is that there is another book of the exact same name coming out from Caldecott medalist, Dan Santat. I have not seen his book. I do not have his marketing, or his momentum. But I do have my own road and my own journey to stay on and enjoy the scenery- because the one thing I've learned after over twenty-two years of making children's books is that wherever you are, you are always THERE, and THERE is where you are meant to be.</div>
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I hope you will share some of my journey with me. </div>
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I love having you all along for the ride...</div>
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And YES, we are there.</div>
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Love, </div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-73073917683050148142015-11-01T13:06:00.000-08:002015-11-01T13:06:30.264-08:00Octoberpus: A Month of Octopuses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been ages since I've posted. No need to go into details, but there have been family crises and obstacles and to put not-too-fine-a-point on it, things have sucked. So I decided to pull myself out of the cave and the pity party and do something completely weird and creative. I invented "Octoberpus." I've always loved cephalopods and I challenged myself to draw or paint one each day and post it on Facebook. The experiment worked. The creative juices flowed thanks to these little suckers. They were done on the fly, in hotels, in doctor's waiting rooms, at night before bed, in between finishing the art for my next "peek-a book." Some are scanned and others are just taken with my iPhone. I hope you enjoy them- they are all the product of my strange imagination and various techniques that I play with as sketches- whether in ink or paint- these are not "finished illustrations."</div>
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On October 26 and 27 my plate was too full, so I posted two octopuses from the recent past.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYUjyhfeVwsIY95v-tjWnil8BKGYN6TQGpOVM3nET8s9Eak43VXwHwBncFLl5pF8jM30Lm8N3akYB37vfI6HaAgYRJnwp6eV2xXjGCfFD-WbbP9CEX-sS-oekZ2WltIMNC6MA2tUcgBKy/s1600/RuggedBeautyArt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJYUjyhfeVwsIY95v-tjWnil8BKGYN6TQGpOVM3nET8s9Eak43VXwHwBncFLl5pF8jM30Lm8N3akYB37vfI6HaAgYRJnwp6eV2xXjGCfFD-WbbP9CEX-sS-oekZ2WltIMNC6MA2tUcgBKy/s400/RuggedBeautyArt.jpg" width="278" /></a></div>
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I drew this Rugged Beauty for a line of jewelry I'm making.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQxABLf-PBheHFLfDlPY9Wd4yLyYHJBM4hg-DWOTGqBy3V9K35HZwXFoT5fqPqdXz3G0_d-qDMEuyFYME9tb0tnOuCzcFH5VesksjMbcp_2pNI2ayU9DqIgq_bEKZPSvW0I2pvairgEWx/s1600/FieldReportOcto.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQxABLf-PBheHFLfDlPY9Wd4yLyYHJBM4hg-DWOTGqBy3V9K35HZwXFoT5fqPqdXz3G0_d-qDMEuyFYME9tb0tnOuCzcFH5VesksjMbcp_2pNI2ayU9DqIgq_bEKZPSvW0I2pvairgEWx/s400/FieldReportOcto.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This one was a quick cartoon with an octopus riding a bicycle- my statement on how being on a device keeps you from seeing the world around you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIeYUp1iOB7EFX1R3ch_OrATQR52i569VRqa1RcVlIjz3YDgAIGE2EXuyyPvIBEMD_lHVnd8qiPGBylxWj080FDAF_YD4hrPFO-UxWDuGLVoW9OqgTEi4uCV-5FUjDW9JsKEk5FpyC0-V/s1600/Octoberpus10_31_15.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIeYUp1iOB7EFX1R3ch_OrATQR52i569VRqa1RcVlIjz3YDgAIGE2EXuyyPvIBEMD_lHVnd8qiPGBylxWj080FDAF_YD4hrPFO-UxWDuGLVoW9OqgTEi4uCV-5FUjDW9JsKEk5FpyC0-V/s400/Octoberpus10_31_15.jpeg" width="255" /></a></div>
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There you have it! Thirty-one days of octopuses. I hope you found some you liked... and I imagine this will be spawning future projects for me. I already have a picture book concept going. </div>
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I highly recommend doing something like this- whether you are sketching something or writing something every day for a month just to sharpen your imagination. </div>
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Happy creating!</div>
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Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-13653533390737491252015-02-12T09:57:00.001-08:002015-02-12T09:57:55.432-08:00In The Winter That Felt Like Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGOu_77N3demR8g1sKLqQoFPJnGRJ0Ofu6dhGi0UWWnwTbft7F-mE0euncDlbmWmcX61pbH7to9wLe-5m4qTE2ArSbrdy65FtpRNFQ_ZnjGJ5eWpjdGDM9-7tpHhji6uAkcjaJm8bqB_x/s1600/YogaPainting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGOu_77N3demR8g1sKLqQoFPJnGRJ0Ofu6dhGi0UWWnwTbft7F-mE0euncDlbmWmcX61pbH7to9wLe-5m4qTE2ArSbrdy65FtpRNFQ_ZnjGJ5eWpjdGDM9-7tpHhji6uAkcjaJm8bqB_x/s1600/YogaPainting.jpg" height="400" width="291" /></a></div>
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Yesterday I took a very long walk on the beach. On my way down the road I noticed that the skunk cabbage had come up. This has always been a harbinger of Spring. I took a photo to document that on February 11, 2015, Spring had arrived on Lummi Island. This disturbed me on so many levels. I have always felt a deep connection to nature, it grounds me and inspires me. This year the snows in the Northeast and the complete lack of snow here in the Northwest seem to be like yin and yang pulling apart. A de-polarization if you will. </div>
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As I walked on the beach a poem, or a song, came to me... so I stopped and pulled out my iPhone and opened the "Notes" app and tapped in the lines in my head. Then I kept walking and as other lines came to me I stopped and disconnected from my search for depth, meaning and treasure to tap in the other lines with my index finger. (I just can't type with my thumbs.) When I returned to my studio, the poem/song came to life in my journal, and then I edited it on my computer. I do want to put it to music, but there is also a part of me that wishes this could be a picture book. I think this is a subject that we all need to discuss. </div>
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Here is what I wrote. I hope it moves you.</div>
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Love, </div>
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Nina</div>
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IN THE WINTER THAT
FELT LIKE SPRING</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
In the winter that felt like spring</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The snows didn’t come</div>
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The birds never left</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The salmon didn’t run</div>
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The rains never stopped</div>
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The rivers flooded the land</div>
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We wondered what was next </div>
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In this godforsaken plan.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In the winter that felt like spring</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
The trees bloomed too soon</div>
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The bees didn’t come</div>
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No fruit hung in June</div>
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The moss grew like a carpet</div>
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The weeds didn’t die</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Land slid around us</div>
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Pollen filled the sky.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In the winter that felt like spring</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Followed by a summer full of
drought</div>
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There was record-setting heat</div>
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And algae-blooms, no doubt.</div>
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Many crops were ruined</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Rivers ran too low</div>
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Electricity prices climbed</div>
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Solar power needs to grow.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In the winter that felt like spring</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Would anyone heed the warning</div>
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These signs are all pointing</div>
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To certain global warming.</div>
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The tides are rising higher</div>
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The forest is on fire</div>
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Science is no liar</div>
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The situation is dire</div>
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Better set things straight</div>
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Before it is too late</div>
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Or there will be no songs to sing</div>
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In the winter that felt like
spring.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
©Nina Laden 2015</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-28175246990487072382015-01-04T15:14:00.000-08:002015-01-04T15:14:00.222-08:00Tiny Little Resolutions: Painting My Way Into the New YearI run hot and cold on the idea of New Year's resolutions. After almost 53 years on this planet I pretty much know what I should or shouldn't be doing, but I have to admit that last year took a bit of a toll and some things slid. I decided that I would paint my resolutions instead of just writing them down.<br />
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These are all painted on tiny (2" x 3 1/2") pieces of cardboard. They are the exact same size as a business card, in fact they came between business cards that I had printed for me about 25 years ago. Back in the day of real offset printing, when you printed on glossy card stock, any printer worth his salt (this was Brad Moon of Printing Dispatch) would put cardboard between every printed piece to prevent the ink from bleeding on to the card on top. I saved the stack of cardboard, and over the years I've done little paintings on the pieces.<br />
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In doing these seven "tiny little resolutions" I did not do any sketches or drawings. I randomly chose background colors, painted the words for the resolution, and then picked up my paint brush, squeezed out blobs of Holbein Acryla gouache and just painted whatever came to mind. These were not only exercises in resolving to do better in the next year, they were also exercises in not over-thinking the imagery. These are done in the spirit of fun and folk art, a style I adore because it gets the message across without being fussy or too darn finished.<br />
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I hope you enjoy my "Tiny Little Resolutions" and take some of them to heart.<br />
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Love,<br />
Nina<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifIMwRMY4Qo3QlKcbT9rIeuSlJSIzgqN7NyNduZaPw-uE6ClXR0n5Ef823jm18YcskwCKI5MgvaVU5qz-VfJMYm-kGc-UmYz7VIPrWumEPxqmxfAuA7_1zPHQdwCS-y_qR1BYTCGQ4_4fZ/s1600/2GoodVicesNotDevices.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifIMwRMY4Qo3QlKcbT9rIeuSlJSIzgqN7NyNduZaPw-uE6ClXR0n5Ef823jm18YcskwCKI5MgvaVU5qz-VfJMYm-kGc-UmYz7VIPrWumEPxqmxfAuA7_1zPHQdwCS-y_qR1BYTCGQ4_4fZ/s1600/2GoodVicesNotDevices.jpeg" height="267" width="400" /></a></div>
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#3<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6uOGPASOZbJvNBue16sSBvS8bJxgOU9NqEwsvKLpCWffaTn8Oh61Fm6FgKDyHToMFysi2hyUCQLaXofmXJJrHXPuSG3cx11DU1BYbdLmAH3N87X1AhwCRK5tvTsPRVJdx9YLZ2iW99We/s1600/3WorkingOutNotJustWorkingIn.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6uOGPASOZbJvNBue16sSBvS8bJxgOU9NqEwsvKLpCWffaTn8Oh61Fm6FgKDyHToMFysi2hyUCQLaXofmXJJrHXPuSG3cx11DU1BYbdLmAH3N87X1AhwCRK5tvTsPRVJdx9YLZ2iW99We/s1600/3WorkingOutNotJustWorkingIn.jpeg" height="261" width="400" /></a></div>
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#4<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdOzAgmdMH_Lh1GTeMtb3Cxgcp37NNAq2Jewsh3pnW4m1zbvcFtgnxXndJ_G7u5d_FPfIZicM_pAm2e0UmVX2PchRTeclsiM4JB6YDBcLrfyd37IWG1_L1Ty812W8t_kbLeEitP8CBZfV/s1600/4MoreReadingLessWeeding.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdOzAgmdMH_Lh1GTeMtb3Cxgcp37NNAq2Jewsh3pnW4m1zbvcFtgnxXndJ_G7u5d_FPfIZicM_pAm2e0UmVX2PchRTeclsiM4JB6YDBcLrfyd37IWG1_L1Ty812W8t_kbLeEitP8CBZfV/s1600/4MoreReadingLessWeeding.jpeg" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>
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#5<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMErnxcYoslIbfMOV5xU8FfXh9LX-CbCNcvU472FDVoLP_lD5D8Vl6v_DUGkuKsf3Dxp047MZslngXekPNnHdWwlnfGpCnMXjyOLq63JS2Jx9qNe2KyYducdrOIxzLbXH19PKvZLwA2upz/s1600/5MoreActionLessDistract.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMErnxcYoslIbfMOV5xU8FfXh9LX-CbCNcvU472FDVoLP_lD5D8Vl6v_DUGkuKsf3Dxp047MZslngXekPNnHdWwlnfGpCnMXjyOLq63JS2Jx9qNe2KyYducdrOIxzLbXH19PKvZLwA2upz/s1600/5MoreActionLessDistract.jpeg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div>
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#6<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcK6VgVKqcKw-h_Dqav27Kx9dfLdGmYdRj1jbOvNin7IHPCS94SkCFWsAkOnsf1cd4aFVLfT7xH8Z7RqALs90Y5cit5vtIUWcuaP21vZc3bc7FxlsHOhBM064CNdO2wk68S18ql9Xli_t0/s1600/6GrowFoodFriendsIdeas.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcK6VgVKqcKw-h_Dqav27Kx9dfLdGmYdRj1jbOvNin7IHPCS94SkCFWsAkOnsf1cd4aFVLfT7xH8Z7RqALs90Y5cit5vtIUWcuaP21vZc3bc7FxlsHOhBM064CNdO2wk68S18ql9Xli_t0/s1600/6GrowFoodFriendsIdeas.jpeg" height="277" width="400" /></a></div>
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#7<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOvZf4QEsg3omgoTxcKi3ERDE6mPT1O9Olun-tCFBZffqVdOPA29924yf6e8zpOhDkkVX6F8rpSxwjTAo22wEC-rCrxt_DNcPMxfvIsdK5k9IXEG70jwlNJ4KtsSj2HAUkIjEPYF_pXpd/s1600/7LoseYourselfInNature.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOvZf4QEsg3omgoTxcKi3ERDE6mPT1O9Olun-tCFBZffqVdOPA29924yf6e8zpOhDkkVX6F8rpSxwjTAo22wEC-rCrxt_DNcPMxfvIsdK5k9IXEG70jwlNJ4KtsSj2HAUkIjEPYF_pXpd/s1600/7LoseYourselfInNature.jpeg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-52631550616424601102014-11-18T11:28:00.000-08:002014-11-18T11:28:12.323-08:00pLAying: exploring imagination<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_xVHzUdJ516bAxaCV7Y-V6SiiwRBzgJ27K5ZaHeL3_NGstEfmVMrsl2jrUtKjXN1ZruTyu-6rg7XzNrwGCi020B6hgmedajeX5kM5CH2UFWcSBEeLxSXLua2kkhFjW2Or_EQtLBNzhk1/s1600/NLadenLA1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_xVHzUdJ516bAxaCV7Y-V6SiiwRBzgJ27K5ZaHeL3_NGstEfmVMrsl2jrUtKjXN1ZruTyu-6rg7XzNrwGCi020B6hgmedajeX5kM5CH2UFWcSBEeLxSXLua2kkhFjW2Or_EQtLBNzhk1/s1600/NLadenLA1.JPG" height="400" width="295" /></a></div>
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Getting out of your home and your routine helps foster creativity. At least that is how it works for me. I took off for a brief trip to LA six days ago for a book event and to catch up with one of my childhood best friends. I also knew that I needed to have "fun" and break the stranglehold of stress that had been permeating my life. I brought a pouch of multi-colored pencils and a Japanese brush pen.</div>
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The brush pen immediately spoke to me and said: I am the calligraphy of palm trees. You are in LA. You need to pLAy... so I began pLAying with palm imagery and the LA or in some cases, CA (for California) sound.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qSQDBU-WWPCLS8MLmWtX0c7kVkiY-r7GRrR-T6YF44SdBvqsLMwlBf2uKe1a7to6x4PvH3n0sVI1ajG2RST-ZVMyo-3zOBzvtT_Kz3AvwUpKWodJ-Ir1k8udMk13SI8TO8ldbBQ81hSa/s1600/NLadenLA2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9qSQDBU-WWPCLS8MLmWtX0c7kVkiY-r7GRrR-T6YF44SdBvqsLMwlBf2uKe1a7to6x4PvH3n0sVI1ajG2RST-ZVMyo-3zOBzvtT_Kz3AvwUpKWodJ-Ir1k8udMk13SI8TO8ldbBQ81hSa/s1600/NLadenLA2.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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The journey began with an "imaginary LAndscape." And then it started to get surreal.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5TOl2ogCsdJop12qjj2NtHagHBX1GlaYifOnRw1Jg1npreVvb9MkuCyaSGTNx71G-b_F2LcdtzIBHMAB5WsEO2kfeyUWaqv4Rb04KAe0a60J_HC8kuurqqyiyH9qWS9_Q7PuaCFLn07c/s1600/NLadenLA3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5TOl2ogCsdJop12qjj2NtHagHBX1GlaYifOnRw1Jg1npreVvb9MkuCyaSGTNx71G-b_F2LcdtzIBHMAB5WsEO2kfeyUWaqv4Rb04KAe0a60J_HC8kuurqqyiyH9qWS9_Q7PuaCFLn07c/s1600/NLadenLA3.JPG" height="400" width="320" /></a></div>
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The multi-color leads led to fantastic color possibilities.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAM6bMGX4GZHZcgZP7DXe217c-f1v6ytcQ-6I6AeVZX0r_TipsVLJMBUxJMoIh3dFA5sDnaAPRh1x5gzy9pXN1XoTdlRLbVfRtHJSPFxy9Vc2gPK7gV0QmyWM3c9DkI0sGV4ZEBhyphenhyphenruglt/s1600/NLadenLA4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAM6bMGX4GZHZcgZP7DXe217c-f1v6ytcQ-6I6AeVZX0r_TipsVLJMBUxJMoIh3dFA5sDnaAPRh1x5gzy9pXN1XoTdlRLbVfRtHJSPFxy9Vc2gPK7gV0QmyWM3c9DkI0sGV4ZEBhyphenhyphenruglt/s1600/NLadenLA4.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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The thesaurus helped me name this one, "ObLAtion"- or offering.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91HCwo5S4ORPnPqVpofRSRsYDJj_-Xxzjy8YVZte4UFLAhs2PGoJbMq42nUdsdnShH-rjuFV_tlYXavpTCelBQX3kmyC6kue1sbydRvLQsgA5FUW8DLiAHVukV-Bi0G1ELgN75jxgQXHT/s1600/NLadenLA5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91HCwo5S4ORPnPqVpofRSRsYDJj_-Xxzjy8YVZte4UFLAhs2PGoJbMq42nUdsdnShH-rjuFV_tlYXavpTCelBQX3kmyC6kue1sbydRvLQsgA5FUW8DLiAHVukV-Bi0G1ELgN75jxgQXHT/s1600/NLadenLA5.JPG" height="400" width="307" /></a></div>
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I love to pLAy ukulele... and so does my friend Judy's step-daughter, Alice. I was staying in their home, so I drew another version of this and gave it to Alice.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsaVewEOaA37ZsPhJGhuxN5sIbSmO8qKigerKt9Db4B5XRLenB9ONzjIVeE0CoRMHh_nNhGvYQVyx03WgZqtfF0uIpX5DT7fZ8LylhWWs17ZpuEJngNEtn2WotB9dZRKMr0ANdHgLUZlx/s1600/NLadenLA6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsaVewEOaA37ZsPhJGhuxN5sIbSmO8qKigerKt9Db4B5XRLenB9ONzjIVeE0CoRMHh_nNhGvYQVyx03WgZqtfF0uIpX5DT7fZ8LylhWWs17ZpuEJngNEtn2WotB9dZRKMr0ANdHgLUZlx/s1600/NLadenLA6.JPG" height="400" width="303" /></a></div>
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Judy's other step-daughter, Emma is making a documentary on the Pantone color system. So I drew this for her. I used to work with Pantone all the time when I was a graphic designer.</div>
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After three and a half days in LA I was on the plane headed home... and sketched the whole way.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCYG8DVlEPsQaTRvimflslnlOlC-0S0vBq7GUSojkV8SzQ4xC91ld1cxnAnZJNLcZA10KkW3Hq2PSMxG8YFUv-LMTkyxhDwB4_AL3GXm0Gx8egnxkzRIBhvHRL0NfLWFxpC0hWvu3yDiz/s1600/NLadenLA7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCYG8DVlEPsQaTRvimflslnlOlC-0S0vBq7GUSojkV8SzQ4xC91ld1cxnAnZJNLcZA10KkW3Hq2PSMxG8YFUv-LMTkyxhDwB4_AL3GXm0Gx8egnxkzRIBhvHRL0NfLWFxpC0hWvu3yDiz/s1600/NLadenLA7.JPG" height="400" width="270" /></a></div>
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I had been in LA for the "<a href="http://alettertomycat.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">A Letter to My Cat</span></a>" private book launch party. I contributed a letter to the book. Cats were on my mind, and I missed my dear kitty, Marley. This is a "CAt"- a California cat.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lnhZYhGzjV0OZnqlECve2BZuoGQqeMDAqRNdqcxZ9LpkLQgKKkt_KHrvzJevG3ISUqgKv3yCpFZB4iPTk3JaLqucX9vbHVzy0xzNsh6S62TBTk3EAX_SzpkpxvLWNWLXMjvR6lnj8W4k/s1600/NLadenLA8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lnhZYhGzjV0OZnqlECve2BZuoGQqeMDAqRNdqcxZ9LpkLQgKKkt_KHrvzJevG3ISUqgKv3yCpFZB4iPTk3JaLqucX9vbHVzy0xzNsh6S62TBTk3EAX_SzpkpxvLWNWLXMjvR6lnj8W4k/s1600/NLadenLA8.JPG" height="400" width="273" /></a></div>
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As we flew further away, palm trees were receding in my thoughts, so I started playing with other things- taking names like "cock tail" literally.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedRAPer8y2hIj0P1lNRqV8CrOTpyIkJeQc3pjPZS6tD13HEbx7nDLKbyW8sz-Com2NUlQPwjI3nXNF7b8a4xLq2I4EdFzfGkN6WuNhxdPQeuLGFhSvj5Zzt3CCACNs8N04WMfhRsTYkYM/s1600/NLadenLA9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedRAPer8y2hIj0P1lNRqV8CrOTpyIkJeQc3pjPZS6tD13HEbx7nDLKbyW8sz-Com2NUlQPwjI3nXNF7b8a4xLq2I4EdFzfGkN6WuNhxdPQeuLGFhSvj5Zzt3CCACNs8N04WMfhRsTYkYM/s1600/NLadenLA9.JPG" height="400" width="255" /></a></div>
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But the palm trees came back once more as I thought about the delicious uni Judy and I shared at The Hungry Cat restaurant the night before. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0RwUmAp2eYJOaiGbtk7PRtiLf9Rv48ytkJ5MH-EbtOLoYop67fE7r0iFPx1HlDlg7qIMKkR1LXtx5coQ2HwlZYEv4qEWT8uYEw3AYzOQV96arcKhpdtbZJwrgzDWjIPKmRUvcGh2yI_x/s1600/NLadenLA10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0RwUmAp2eYJOaiGbtk7PRtiLf9Rv48ytkJ5MH-EbtOLoYop67fE7r0iFPx1HlDlg7qIMKkR1LXtx5coQ2HwlZYEv4qEWT8uYEw3AYzOQV96arcKhpdtbZJwrgzDWjIPKmRUvcGh2yI_x/s1600/NLadenLA10.JPG" height="400" width="280" /></a></div>
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As we flew over the Cascade Mountains towards Washington I thought about our pine trees and our amazing apples...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMlBvsskyaVTGi6rz2SpnaGsgnauJVcFqEi99pfQzqDtN2CcYtysw-ardITXHmLZ1H9bnEXNsGa4MTBGxSbyeyImQUTo673zwO8zYFjpPKGedrckeUFkllAXm-1l1emhyK_m3j7kroeNt/s1600/NLadenLA11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMlBvsskyaVTGi6rz2SpnaGsgnauJVcFqEi99pfQzqDtN2CcYtysw-ardITXHmLZ1H9bnEXNsGa4MTBGxSbyeyImQUTo673zwO8zYFjpPKGedrckeUFkllAXm-1l1emhyK_m3j7kroeNt/s1600/NLadenLA11.JPG" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
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...and as we began our descent into the Seattle area, head still in the clouds, I put my pencils and pen away knowing that this journey was over, but the journey of imagination would never end.</div>
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Wherever you go- in reality, or in your imagination, I hope you have a great trip!</div>
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With Love, </div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-4431618956179529512014-10-06T10:30:00.000-07:002014-10-06T10:40:50.634-07:00Produce & Poetry: An Exclamation Point!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_KWj6fNiNaI7whMKydF7JQDEQCJ6w_0f-oM5Ag3slM83nvKyHOcZVYKIYEu1nHN1QYK5xGmTLaLYd8Bl-SmHF6tcs1kaQl-kNFXo5yaEJppQ2xOMBQYLyYFYTem-a4hmPMws0Ym6Rokn/s1600/PoemSign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_KWj6fNiNaI7whMKydF7JQDEQCJ6w_0f-oM5Ag3slM83nvKyHOcZVYKIYEu1nHN1QYK5xGmTLaLYd8Bl-SmHF6tcs1kaQl-kNFXo5yaEJppQ2xOMBQYLyYFYTem-a4hmPMws0Ym6Rokn/s1600/PoemSign.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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An apology for not posting anything since June 14th. It has been a long summer of producing a new board book, producing and harvesting two home gardens of fruit and vegetables, and dealing with more curve balls from the school of life. Yet here I am. My "To-Do list" is never-ending. I have books to dummy-up and create sample illustrations so my agent can submit them. I have school visits and events coming up- including the celebration for the <a href="http://www.spl.org/about-the-library/library-news-releases/washington-state-book-awards-1010" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Washington State Book Award:</span></a> my book, <a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Once Upon A Memory"</span></a> is nominated in the picture book category. I need to update my website to include my new <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.chroniclebooks.com/titles/peek-a-who-matching-game.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Peek-a Who? Matching Game."</span></a> </span>I must order more <a href="http://us.moo.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Moo cards</span></a>; I'm almost out. And four different people want blog interviews from me and I haven't update my own blog in four months. </div>
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Somehow life goes on.</div>
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Yesterday, I went to the Ballard Sunday Farmer's market to buy produce and see my friend Elizabeth Parker. (and buy more of her <a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/TwoBirdsTrinkets" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">beautiful jewelry</span></a>) I love supporting Elizabeth- she has been through a lot- she is a veteran and so very talented, but she has been homeless frequently in the past few years. I don't get to the Sunday market very often, but I know Elizabeth will be there and we talk about life, gemstones and mental illness. Booth walked with me to the market, but after I filled our bags with poblano peppers, delicata squash, fresh roasted peanuts, corn, white chanterelles, porcini mushrooms and a bottle of hard cider he did his sherpa duty and hauled it all back up the hill, leaving me to my own devices. </div>
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That's when I found them.</div>
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There were two guys with typewriters. They had a sign that said, "Poems - Your Topic - Your Price." The dark-haired mustachioed guy on the right was busy. He received repeat orders while I stood there and watched. One patron came by to pick up a love poem he had ordered and then requested a second one. A couple standing there asked for a poem about "goats." I decided to request a poem from the "other" poet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgxG7CVGre87JwvRDzxNUmm_dkL3Zu08hECbWgPJVOJxalTF78gnvRU2fVIVB1fzsrMSVKVwNWFel4HK8vrikAPHXeaSSU8xufju28RmKN4P34gGVz1QFah0eTeUAEDBLMsWhxKmW8G-2/s1600/TripPoem1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgxG7CVGre87JwvRDzxNUmm_dkL3Zu08hECbWgPJVOJxalTF78gnvRU2fVIVB1fzsrMSVKVwNWFel4HK8vrikAPHXeaSSU8xufju28RmKN4P34gGVz1QFah0eTeUAEDBLMsWhxKmW8G-2/s1600/TripPoem1.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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He was wearing a black fedora, suspenders, and he had a very red beard, plus an assortment of crude, perhaps self-inflicted tattoos on his fingers and hands. His right fingers spelled out "J A S S." I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be "J A Z Z" and he did the "s's" backwards? He was typing on an old Olivetti portable, like the one I had growing up, only mine had a script font.</div>
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I handed Trip, he said that was his name, a ten dollar bill and requested a poem on "writing." He paused and started typing and then he stopped. "I just want to let you know that I don't have an exclamation point," he said. For one second I thought we were in some parallel universe where people speak in punctuation, but then I realized what he was saying.</div>
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"Yes, you do," I told Trip. He looked at me like I was an alien life form... I pointed to the Olivetti, "what you do is type a period and then backspace and type an apostrophe- voila'- an exclamation point!"</div>
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It was an epiphany for Trip, and I high-fived him. He said I was sent to him, "like a winged-Hermes"- or something like that. Then he made his partner-in-poetry try it on his skeletal Olympia, too. They were both in "exclamation point ecstasy." I felt like I was sent to them to re-discover this long forgotten experience from growing up which combined my love of writing and typewriters. </div>
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Then Trip got down to business and wrote my poem. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieShBCIASyesE0syEo2zq9YrUOqSDGtYk1jxhaxKJDK9iKHg8zvzkyNj3JLC_wXPEWhW-KoXzakFQ5M372HUeB6fM6i1-2lpHdWBmwfCbTryO-P-X4s7uusLhe3kCNW4ZKp3G6TSViD_f8/s1600/TripPoem2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieShBCIASyesE0syEo2zq9YrUOqSDGtYk1jxhaxKJDK9iKHg8zvzkyNj3JLC_wXPEWhW-KoXzakFQ5M372HUeB6fM6i1-2lpHdWBmwfCbTryO-P-X4s7uusLhe3kCNW4ZKp3G6TSViD_f8/s1600/TripPoem2.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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I stood there in the sunshine and watched as people and dogs swarmed like bees. Two little dogs took shelter under Trip's table and chair. He didn't seem to notice. He was producing- full of words like an apple tree full of ripe fruit, the keys falling on the small slip of paper. He was a two or three finger typer and I could tell that he was jazzed (or jassed?) by the newly discovered exclamation point because he typed four of them in my poem.</div>
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When the poem was done, he asked me if he could date it. I said, "of course, and please add your name." So he put the paper back into the Olivetti sideways and typed his name and the date. It wasn't until I got home that I noticed what "date" it was. It was still October 5th, which it truly was... but it was 1972. I'm not sure why Trip picked 1972; he wasn't even born then. But I was ten in 1972. (and I had chosen to pay him ten dollars for the poem) I also noticed that he used a capital "I" for the "1." He knew that trick already. </div>
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I walked home with a fresh poem in my bag and a feeling of pleasant punctuation, an exclamation of enjoyment in a surprisingly delightful day.</div>
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Here is the poem that Trip wrote for me: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpsPJQ_CthnTnlXmLUU2sGch9mi_c0FIUktjKc3FBH34ew3wbPOo-vB9xF90QGKSMMNn6WJeWgb2HSqr6bI8lU3tlTPeCDEkH76ihRYpMeM3c6W3v2HUjpR0tcEZw8pM4bxbuJLY3JgAE/s1600/TripWritingPoem.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPpsPJQ_CthnTnlXmLUU2sGch9mi_c0FIUktjKc3FBH34ew3wbPOo-vB9xF90QGKSMMNn6WJeWgb2HSqr6bI8lU3tlTPeCDEkH76ihRYpMeM3c6W3v2HUjpR0tcEZw8pM4bxbuJLY3JgAE/s1600/TripWritingPoem.JPG" height="400" width="326" /></a></div>
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With Love and Poetry,</div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-42615167552434117422014-06-14T12:31:00.003-07:002014-06-17T12:17:41.885-07:00My Father: Portrait of the Narcissist as an Old Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jAENxn8_ALT76O8MBfkmLf4oMyqpiE1ZErb2yq4QzIMR_DLh_7csPIm8TGdtPeTjABgMLAt-HIKH-1BRrU4IBz7zhOu34AYf269L0mizQqMKiAVe6vraIH4JqPomKjWyLZIfMGYFScMi/s1600/Dad_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jAENxn8_ALT76O8MBfkmLf4oMyqpiE1ZErb2yq4QzIMR_DLh_7csPIm8TGdtPeTjABgMLAt-HIKH-1BRrU4IBz7zhOu34AYf269L0mizQqMKiAVe6vraIH4JqPomKjWyLZIfMGYFScMi/s1600/Dad_web.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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It's that time of year again. The time of year that I want to tell the media to shut up already. I don't want to hear about celebrating dad and I don't want to see all of the loving photos my friends post of their wonderful fathers. Truthfully, I am jealous. I don't have a father in the real sense of the word. After all that I have learned in my fifty-two years on this planet- I have a sperm donor, a tormenter, an ugly and evil competitor who only cares about himself. This is not someone you fete with a barbecue and gifts of bathrobes and slippers. This is someone you spend thousands of dollars on psychotherapy to rid your nervous system of the anxiety and nightmares that he has caused over the course of your lifetime.</div>
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If you have read some of my old blog posts, like<a href="http://thenightifollowedtheblog.blogspot.com/2012/06/father-from-truth.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"> this one</span></a>, and <a href="http://thenightifollowedtheblog.blogspot.com/2012/08/off-his-rocker-two-sides-of-one-man.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">this one</span></a>, you will know that my father is bipolar with psychotic episodes of mania that last for years. You will also have read that I saved his life when he was in his last depression, moving him out his crumbling home in Mahopac Falls, NY, and into my home- nursing him back to health only to have him turn on my husband and me in a violent way. We caught him and we released him. He loves his mania. He even tattooed it on his arms.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRisxSvdHJ93T4O6SAN4CDmHMWfFub7An3ZhD4hncNjs7d05ZRl32PslPAds0DoD0oGW1nwSlWOBURLqVOiXTjVs4nfNczAJGiNS-jKm9kudhKtvomxmyKYeCQ_Nlft7uxIG7Xpqzpokk/s1600/BlobDevilTat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRisxSvdHJ93T4O6SAN4CDmHMWfFub7An3ZhD4hncNjs7d05ZRl32PslPAds0DoD0oGW1nwSlWOBURLqVOiXTjVs4nfNczAJGiNS-jKm9kudhKtvomxmyKYeCQ_Nlft7uxIG7Xpqzpokk/s1600/BlobDevilTat.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
The devil on one side....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MZ7XzRMb2PwQbf43TaiinkoxriGrYiuJTjUaCPJQmuMHsozgF-yuKcNQyTU562KoNYgtTtTAk3WCoCk4Z74F54fc2mH9cZS3C1W2wg6g7FXJ27yAc9QPRR2I5mnhbCz5KNlsNmbfl6gj/s1600/BlobBuddhaTat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5MZ7XzRMb2PwQbf43TaiinkoxriGrYiuJTjUaCPJQmuMHsozgF-yuKcNQyTU562KoNYgtTtTAk3WCoCk4Z74F54fc2mH9cZS3C1W2wg6g7FXJ27yAc9QPRR2I5mnhbCz5KNlsNmbfl6gj/s1600/BlobBuddhaTat.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
...and a laughing Buddha on the other.<br />
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My brother took those photos- this was right around the time my father was sending toxic mail and throwing things that looked like bombs in my yard.<br />
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I have not seen my father "officially" since he crashed my <a href="http://thenightifollowedtheblog.blogspot.com/2013/12/once-upon-memory-release.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">book launch for my book "Once Upon A Memory"</span></a> on December 3, 2013. He came to make the event about him, but we were prepared and we used a secret weapon- my beautiful friend Teresa- to defuse him. Teresa used her wile and wit and she caught the nasty fly and held him captive, away from my reading until the very end. Then I had to face the enemy- and he was full of himself and full of smoke and weed- his t-shirt had burn holes, and an image of Frida Kahlo that he had written on- to add my mother's name, which was Frieda Savitz, and her birthday, which was the very day of my book launch. It was a disgusting display of vulgarity. He hurt my mother so badly that he destroyed her. She died 28 years ago this past January.<br />
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My father did not come to have me sign a copy of "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" to him. No. He had bought a copy himself, in advance of the signing, and <b>HE</b> had signed it. He drew a picture of the Oscar® that he had been nominated for- and told me to "remember that Oscar® had visited him twice..." (he didn't win either time) and he wrote other gibberish that was all about how great he is. I tried not to let him ruin my book launch, but he definitely left a horrid metallic taste in my psyche after it was over.<br />
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After that December day, my husband and I would spot him occasionally. He lives in our neighborhood in Seattle, about a mile away and we walk our errands all of the time. One day this spring he walked right past us, but didn't see us there. I drew this in my journal after that:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcibnquYtj0LB6FuzO4yYL4cdn7nfu3r37VXXZxZ8KvIf2o9kdiikOSPWIvtZPXPyqYynJbmDAItAQiJTWJcIcK7s5DA1eyFNwV9J7IhtKUE2xG7POg4c56YBrXE4YBPSoUjU_9ZTbmM0/s1600/BobOblivious14NLaden.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcibnquYtj0LB6FuzO4yYL4cdn7nfu3r37VXXZxZ8KvIf2o9kdiikOSPWIvtZPXPyqYynJbmDAItAQiJTWJcIcK7s5DA1eyFNwV9J7IhtKUE2xG7POg4c56YBrXE4YBPSoUjU_9ZTbmM0/s1600/BobOblivious14NLaden.tiff" height="640" width="411" /></a></div>
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Then about three weeks ago on a Friday evening- the same day that I had given a live interview on CNN International about the <a href="http://thenightifollowedtheblog.blogspot.com/2014/05/once-upon-nightmare-amazon-situation.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Hachette-Amazon battle</span></a>, Booth and I were walking home from a lovely dinner in Ballard. It was a gorgeous late spring evening and people were out and enjoying the weather. There was a crowd in front of the bar Hazelwood, which is next to the the Anchor Tattoo parlor. As I walked right next to the bar crowd, I looked up and there was my father- looking very clean-shaven, wearing hipster glasses, hitting on a 30-something woman, talking to her non-stop. I stared at him- and then watched as he quickly glanced at me and Booth walking by, and then went right back to chewing the woman's ear off, wishing he was chewing on the rest of her. He had no idea who we were. Booth turned around to see if he did a double-take, but he did not. We both laughed. I felt a sense of relief that I didn't have any anxiety. Sure, it was sad and pitiful, but it had not hurt like in the past.<br />
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I have spent my entire life trying to please this man- wishing for his love, for him to be proud of me, but over and over I have been screwed- not only by him, but by others in his new family circle after he left my mother. I have worked on the puzzle that caused so much hardship in my life and when I was 35 and had fallen into major clinical depression I figured out that he was bipolar, which shed light on why he was the way he was. He has refused treatment, fighting it vehemently. But even the bipolar diagnosis did not explain his lack of love and empathy. My mother was also bipolar, but she loved my brother and me and even though she was broke and dying, she loved us and said we were her "greatest achievements." Last week I stumbled on a website that dealt with <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.lightshouse.org/index.html#axzz34RsKT0LM" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Toxic People,"</span></a> </span>and my eyes were opened - it was like discovering another planet- not one that supported life, though- I read a description that fit my father so aptly; it was as plain as the enormous nose on his face: My father has <a href="http://www.lightshouse.org/the-narcissistic-parent.html#axzz34RsKT0LM" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Narcissistic Personality Disorder</span></a>.<br />
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This doesn't absolve him of his sins. However, now I have context and I understand what I have been dealing with. A long time ago I had a <a href="http://www.astro.com/astrology/in_pa_jung_e.htm" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Jungian Astrological reading</span></a> done and the report said that my parents were "Beauty and the Beast." I didn't understand that then, but it has come true in so many ways, except I do not love the Beast. I will not celebrate him on Father's Day. Do not cry for him, though, he has built yet another world of adoring fans and as long as they agree with him and do his bidding, he will shower them with his incredible presence. Or if they are a pretty young woman, he will try to get them into the shower with his tattooed 82 year old body.<br />
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I will celebrate Father's Day with my husband, who is a great father. I will also remember both of my grandfathers, Sam and Ralph, who were great fathers. I will also work on healing myself from my painful past. I still thank my father for so many lessons that he has taught me- most of them on how "not to be..." But as a <a href="http://www.lightshouse.org/things-narcissists-do.html#axzz34v7X9NEc" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">narcissist</span></a>, he will claim credit for how I've turned out and what I've done.<br />
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What I've done is let him go.<br />
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With Love,<br />
Nina<br />
<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-57006762731279638602014-06-10T12:48:00.001-07:002014-06-10T12:48:41.701-07:00Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA Residency: Communing With Book People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was thrilled when the <a href="http://www.nila.edu/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Northwest Institute of Literary Arts </span></a>asked me to teach at their <a href="http://www.nila.edu/www_mfa/residency/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA Residency</span></a> this August. They not only dangled the literary carrot of getting to hang out with other writers and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">characters</span> who love writing and books, but they also enticed me with the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: lime;">setting</span> of gorgeous Whidbey Island and the <a href="http://www.captainwhidbey.com/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Captain Whidbey Inn</span></a>. Now that the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">plot</span> is thickening and the <a href="http://www.nila.edu/mfa_nondegreeresidency.htm" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">registration period</span></a> is still open (until June 15th) I thought I'd lend my <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">voice</span> to help promote it by answering the five questions that <a href="http://www.nila.edu/www_mfa/residency/august-2014-guest-faculty/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Guest Faculty </span></a>were given to answer.</div>
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1. <b>What's your favorite thing about teaching writers?</b></div>
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Getting to check out their glasses and writing tools. No, seriously, I think my favorite thing about teaching writers is sharing a love of story. Stories are how we communicate and how we share our experiences, and though themes may be similar, we all bring something fresh to the table. </div>
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2. <b>How would you suggest students approach a writer, agent, or editor they admire? </b></div>
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With dark chocolate, a glass of wine, and don't ask them to "help them get published." I am half-joking of course, but I wasn't joking about the "getting published" part. Students seem to want to put the cart before the horse, and not the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">art </span>before the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">course</span>! (I just made that up. <i>The last part, that is</i>.) Don't put the emphasis on being <i>published</i>. Approach writers, agents and editors as "someone who wants to learn." There is much you can glean from those who have been there and done that, but have a "beginners mind" and stay open and curious. There is no "one way" to get to your destination- there are many ways, so take a light-hearted approach and make friends with writers, agents and editors, but please don't force them to read your manuscript immediately, and don't tell them that it is "guaranteed to be a bestseller," or that your kids or grandkids loved it. </div>
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3.<b> How about a sneak peek of what we can expect to learn from you in your sessions at <a href="http://www.nila.edu/www_mfa/residency/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Whidbey Writers Workshop MFA</span></a>?</b></div>
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I am teaching two workshop sessions. Here are the descriptions that I wrote for them:</div>
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<b>“WRITING FRICTION:
Why You Need Conflict in Children’s Books”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Children’s books, especially picture books seem deceptively
simple. People want to know “how many can you write in one day?” (Can you hear
me laughing?) In this workshop we will explore the need for conflict in
children’s books and how you can increase the tension in order to create a
page-turner for the grade school set. Bring a pencil and journal and your
imagination as we brainstorm up some good “frictional” ideas.</div>
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<b>“The 1<sup>st</sup>
Person, The 2<sup>nd</sup> Person & The 3<sup>rd</sup> Person Walk Into a
Book”<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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The 1<sup>st</sup>
Person says, “I want to be the main character.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The 2<sup>nd</sup>
Person says, “You don’t have what it takes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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The 3<sup>rd</sup>
Person says, “They always make a mess of things.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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In this workshop we
will discuss voice in children’s books.</div>
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We will be writing,
and we will be talking!</div>
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4. <b>Tell us what "literary community" means to you.</b></div>
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If you look at the sketch at the top of this post, you will see that I can sometimes take things literally. But the truth of the matter is that I love the world of books. Everything about books- from scheming up ideas to polishing them until they shine, to working with other writers and artists, to hanging out at bookstores and breathing in volumes of words and stories, to going to conferences and meeting like-minded individuals who all would rather be wearing sweats, sitting on their butts and making things up, to getting to know publishers, editors, agents, art directors, bookstore owners and clerks, teachers, librarians, to standing in the aisle at Office Max and imagining how each pen would feel touching the paper in my journal, to dreaming that one day my books would get published and I would share them with people around the world, to waking up and finding out that dream came true.</div>
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5. <b>When not teaching or working at your "day job," you can be found...</b></div>
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(deep breath)... hunting for agates and other minerals, foraging for mushrooms and wild edibles, cooking everything from scratch, preserving and canning things I grow, taking long walks on the beach and writing in my head, working out with a body ball, taking care of two homes, my beloved husband, my sweet rescue cat, playing guitar and ukulele, dreaming of skiing next winter, kayaking around our Lummi Island waters, reading great books, wondering what I forgot to list here, and sleeping.</div>
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<b>BONUS QUESTION:</b></div>
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<b>The <a href="http://www.nila.edu/www_mfa/residency/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">MFA Residency</span></a> includes a FREE POLAR BEAR PLUNGE in which we all jump into the lovely, refreshing waters of the Puget Sound. On a scale of 1 - 5, with 5 being the most likely, how likely are you to participate?</b></div>
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I hope that this has piqued your interest and that you will want to sign up for this incredible workshop- at very least to see me in the Salish Sea in my bathing suit.</div>
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With Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-13226266556485680182014-05-29T12:54:00.000-07:002014-05-29T13:18:27.039-07:00Once Upon A Nightmare: The Amazon Situation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvbhaNt6g3-k7mR-1myZ7Plyt7FAKQWER_abdoiSr-ig96XawlIaMeie_HYxKrbwsjQlQM4TNwG3K4WSG_aVzlBox214_zVgxunGqpBODfqqTXiM05idpgGb4qlr_jZ0SE_QwYo4zVE1J/s1600/8850-munch-the-scream-e1336013995741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvbhaNt6g3-k7mR-1myZ7Plyt7FAKQWER_abdoiSr-ig96XawlIaMeie_HYxKrbwsjQlQM4TNwG3K4WSG_aVzlBox214_zVgxunGqpBODfqqTXiM05idpgGb4qlr_jZ0SE_QwYo4zVE1J/s1600/8850-munch-the-scream-e1336013995741.jpg" height="311" width="400" /></a></div>
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You may or may not be aware of the battle going on between <a href="https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Hachette Book Group</span></a>, who owns <a href="http://www.hachettebookgroup.com/kids/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Little Brown Books For Young Readers</span></a> who publishes my book "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>," and discount digital giant Amazon.com. I became aware on May 9th when an email from Little Brown publisher Michael Pietsch explained the "situation," which sent me clicking over to Amazon to see for myself. Lo and behold! There was the sales page for my book, "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-Memory-Nina-Laden/dp/0316208167" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>," which had been selling well after winning the <a href="http://thenightifollowedtheblog.blogspot.com/2014/05/once-upon-kite-crystal-kite-award.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Crystal Kite Award</span></a> for the West Region, and now it was hardly selling at all. Amazon had removed the usual discount (which people seem to demand) and raised the book to its full cover price. That in itself was not terrible. What was terrible is that they placed a banner over the book touting books that were "similar but lower in price," and they were saying that the book would ship in 3-5 weeks- even though it was available and in stock.</div>
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This was Amazon's way of negotiating for lower prices and bigger profit margins from Hachette- in effect using books as collateral. I was furious. I was frustrated. In the dark of night, in my office, by the light of my laptop I typed up a complaint letter and submitted to Customer Service at Amazon, knowing full-well that no one would read it. Sure enough, the next morning I received a "robo reply." However, that did not thwart my efforts. I had copied the letter and I had also decided to share it publicly on Facebook. Little did I know that it would go viral. Here is the letter that I shared on May 16th:</div>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica, Verdana, Arial;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">I have supported Amazon for as long as Amazon has existed. I've been published for 20 years now and you have sold so many of my books. I am frankly shocked and angry at what you are doing to my new book "Once Upon A Memory" which has just won the Crystal Kite Award and is published by Little Brown. You are punishing me- the author- because you want a deeper discount from Hachette- this is deplorable. You want authors and illustrators to suffer being used as pawns and we have nothing to do with this. Your actions to raise the prices of our books, place banners touting books that "are similar but lower in price" and saying that our books will ship in 3-5 weeks when they are in stock is not only a disgusting negotiation practice, but it has made me tell my readers to shop elsewhere- and they are and will. Authors and illustrators struggle to make low percentage royalties. We are not "big businesses," yet we are the mainstay of what you sell. Do you really think that this will endear Amazon to us, or do you- does Jeff Bezos- truly not care? It's all about money, I am sure. You make more and we make less. Not a recipe for good will, but perhaps you don't care about that. As a Seattle resident I am doubly upset at you, Amazon for doing this. I am going to share this letter and I hope others will share it, too.<br />
I'm sorry that I've supported you in the past.<br />
You have let me down.<br />
Children's Books Author/Illustrator<br />
Nina Laden</span></span></span>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">Over 470 people shared it- and it was tweeted. (Not by me, I'm not on Twitter.) Then on May 23rd it was quoted and linked in the <a href="http://bits.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/05/23/amazon-escalates-its-battle-against-hachette/?_php=true&_type=blogs&smid=fb-share&_r=0" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">New York Times Blog</span></a>. On the morning of May 24th I had an email from a producer at Bloomberg Tech News. I did an <a href="http://www.bloomberg.com/video/amazon-hachette-battle-is-painful-author-laden-eUQotO9uT~6o~kQoIIK5gw.html" target="_blank">i<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">nterview with them via Skype</span></a> and that aired online. Then my agent called and told me that CNN International had contacted her and wanted to send a Town car to take me to their Seattle affiliate to do a live interview with their London correspondent Richard Quest for his show "<a href="http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/business/2014/05/23/qmb-nina-laden.cnn.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Quest Means Business.</span></a>" I was so nervous but I kept my wits, even when he baited me with a question about whether the US Government should step in. (This is not my area of expertise and I deflected.) I also did a phone <a href="http://www.marketplace.org/topics/business/amazon-and-publisher#.U3_JintkUwA.facebook" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">interview with APR Marketplace</span></a> reporter Sabri Ben-Achour that aired that evening.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">The next day, Saturday, I was quoted in the actual New York Times. I still have not seen the paper. I was at our island cottage and our store doesn't sell The NY Times. This morning, May 29th I was on <a href="http://www.npr.org/2014/05/29/316891536/authors-angered-over-amazon-s-dispute-with-publisher-hachette" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">NPR's Morning Edition </span></a>in a very short clip with Arts Correspondent Mandalit del Barco. Mandalit told me that her daughter loved my book, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://ninaladen.com/books/roberto/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Roberto the Insect Architect</span></a>.</span>" I enjoyed talking with her; we talked for about ten minutes, but only ten seconds were used in the actual piece.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">The media exposure- a complete shock and surprise to me- has garnered me many new friends and followers on Facebook, most of them fellow writers, illustrators, teachers, book people, and I've had a lot of positive feedback. I have no idea if this will help make up for lost sales from Amazon.com for their tactics against Hachette. What I have also done is to become an "<a href="http://www.indiebound.org/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">IndieBound</span></a>" affiliate- a wonderful organization that will find all of the independent bookstores that carry books you are searching for- near you. You can purchase my book "<a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780316208161?aff=LaNina" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" this way. Many independent bookstores, like the <a href="http://www4.bookstore.washington.edu/_trade/SearchUBS2.taf?_function=list&_searchsrc=external&_start=1" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">University Bookstore</span></a> in Seattle, even offer free shipping. Other bookstores: please chime in here in the comments and add your links!</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">But at this point I've done all that I can do and I just have to re-focus and get back to the business of making books, letting the giant corporations deal with their stalemate... Pawns, such as myself, don't usually get to "Checkmate." I just hope that my next royalty check will not reflect this ugly game.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">Thanks for your support, dear friends!</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">With Love, </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px;">Nina</span></span></div>
Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-60032801250447014372014-05-06T10:58:00.001-07:002014-05-06T16:58:33.011-07:00Once Upon A Kite: The Crystal Kite Award<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzWg9KftSdknML-NRRL-F0_O6GQWyKmQOlERaoiHXP-ceykEO1W3jEdnRWhDktN0kiAvUhDlIXyOY-0kC1nt6Eb1wqf1bXRkV9vaV3OxhSdu0_0Bizw_m-Sp9kacbQ7Abz-28PIFTM0FO/s1600/OnceUponAMemoryCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzWg9KftSdknML-NRRL-F0_O6GQWyKmQOlERaoiHXP-ceykEO1W3jEdnRWhDktN0kiAvUhDlIXyOY-0kC1nt6Eb1wqf1bXRkV9vaV3OxhSdu0_0Bizw_m-Sp9kacbQ7Abz-28PIFTM0FO/s1600/OnceUponAMemoryCover.jpg" height="400" width="307" /></a></div>
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On Friday noonish I was sitting on the dock at Gooseberry Point waiting for the ferry to arrive and transport us to <a href="http://www.lummi-island.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Lummi Island</span></a>. I was listening to our new rescue cat, Marley softly meowing her discontent at being stuffed in a cat carrier for the two hour drive, and I was scrolling through email. When I saw an email from "Lin" with a subject that said "Hooray- Great news!" I squealed with delight as I opened it and read the first line, "Congratulations! Your book <a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">ONCE UPON A MEMORY</span></a> has been awarded the<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"> <a href="http://www.scbwi.org/round-one-voting-for-crystal-kites-opens-april-1/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Crystal Kite</span></a> </span>from your <a href="http://www.scbwi.org/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">SCBWI</span> </a>region."</div>
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This email was copied to illustrator <a href="http://www.renataliwska.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Renata Liwska</span></a>, editor Connie Hsu and our <a href="http://chinookupdate.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">local SCBWI </span></a>Regional Advisors, Dana Armin and Brenda Winter Hansen. I also forwarded it to my lovely agent, Laura Rennert. I sat in that ferry line, oblivious to the sun sparkling on the Hales Passage, and emailed back and forth congratulating Renata and Connie, and thanking Lin, our incredible SCBWI President... and wanting to thank all of the West Region of the SCBWI who had voted for our book... but I had to wait until it was announced officially on Monday.</div>
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The <a href="http://www.scbwi.org/round-one-voting-for-crystal-kites-opens-april-1/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Crystal Kite Award</span></a> is a different sort of award- it is not like the <a href="http://www.ala.org/alsc/awardsgrants/bookmedia/caldecottmedal/caldecottmedal" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Caldecott</span></a>, which is chosen by a committee of fourteen librarians... it is more like the <a href="http://oscar.go.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Oscar®</span></a>- it is chosen by a large group of your peers, in this case they are the members of the SCBWI from your region. There are fifteen international regions in the SCBWI. The West Region comprises: Alaska, Washington, Oregon, Northern Idaho, Montana and North and South Dakota. </div>
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I have won awards before, like the Parent's Choice Gold Award, Smithsonian Notable Book of the Year, a Silver Medal from the Society of Illustrators in New York... and others. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OBTZS1FWjp0qOVjXHhmmipXqp9yw67SmPf9s3z1NCuMElbhSrme6hkZYH5VUn-OIzxZOWn2J3ytBtipBRc-3f51FofpbiKNUxLAlkthpTrU4jKjVsQEUMFgAhGz1Tzm7CTZaENkwUdC6/s1600/Unbearable+Bird-Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OBTZS1FWjp0qOVjXHhmmipXqp9yw67SmPf9s3z1NCuMElbhSrme6hkZYH5VUn-OIzxZOWn2J3ytBtipBRc-3f51FofpbiKNUxLAlkthpTrU4jKjVsQEUMFgAhGz1Tzm7CTZaENkwUdC6/s1600/Unbearable+Bird-Cover.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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When I was a child, I decided by age nine- when I created this book, "The Unbearable Bird," that I wanted to be a children's book author and illustrator. I also dreamt that someday I would win a Caldecott award. After twenty years of having my books published I let go of that dream. I realized that it was a very arbitrary goal, and it was counterproductive. What mattered most to me was that my books were loved, and that they sold and endured. I found much more pleasure in experimentation- both in illustrating and writing. I kept trying to spread my wings and fly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyIL0pCbwm-WpFk8eNSz0CjslfoCJ_yqWFoBdivNvfZ6yXrnNyUiO7mdvwCaRLF7d7-EP3MZtXC6VA4N7zY75ZYTNNziEVe5JWoLnC2GnYEHxR77smDD8ciiQSjosLI4QrEy0PRWZ9-ws/s1600/FeatherDummycover.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyIL0pCbwm-WpFk8eNSz0CjslfoCJ_yqWFoBdivNvfZ6yXrnNyUiO7mdvwCaRLF7d7-EP3MZtXC6VA4N7zY75ZYTNNziEVe5JWoLnC2GnYEHxR77smDD8ciiQSjosLI4QrEy0PRWZ9-ws/s1600/FeatherDummycover.tiff" height="400" width="392" /></a></div>
When I first submitted "Once Upon A Memory" the original title was "Does A Feather Remember?" I still love that as the title, but creating a book is a team effort and I've learned to be a good team player after all these years.<br />
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I also had to let go of doing the illustrations, which is very ironic for me. I come from a fine art background. My mother was an abstract expressionist painter. My father is a sculptor/collage artist and retired special-effects make-up artist. I majored in illustration in college, but I've always written: stories, poems, songs, concepts, whatever inspires. However, I thought of myself as "an artist who wrote." Funny how the tides can turn. Now I think of myself as "a writer who is also an artist." The truth is that is is <b>ALL ART</b>.<br />
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It was a truly incredible experience to collaborate on "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" with <a href="http://www.renataliwska.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Renata Liwska</span></a>. I think I can safely say that we both respect and love each other. Each of us brought so much to creating this book, and it could not have happened without the brain and vision of our editor, Connie Hsu at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers. I also must thank the amazing art director Patti Ann Harris, who I adore and respect. "<i><b>Does a book remember it once was a word?</b></i>" has so much meaning to all of us as we worked to fit the pieces together, which wasn't easy, but now looks seamless. Publishing a book requires magic and wizardry and so much talent- and then when the book comes out- you have to let it go- like a kite- and see if it will lift and fly...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2P5xoB1Lc0wTFFuAlfG2qkhoxITgKSEiP4S5Zx3k3eBhxJ0tuV6L2EuSQeqBDY-w8h5xJ6mZL_kV79g-x-TJ4ziVR7P-p4_7WXq9MIug-8THZ7Rf1xU05i1ljc9aQaZA56ec7fmMQIQ5R/s1600/MV+Kite+Fest82.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2P5xoB1Lc0wTFFuAlfG2qkhoxITgKSEiP4S5Zx3k3eBhxJ0tuV6L2EuSQeqBDY-w8h5xJ6mZL_kV79g-x-TJ4ziVR7P-p4_7WXq9MIug-8THZ7Rf1xU05i1ljc9aQaZA56ec7fmMQIQ5R/s1600/MV+Kite+Fest82.tiff" height="400" width="287" /></a></div>
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I have always loved kites. In 1982 I was twenty years old, and I was a waitress on Martha's Vineyard. I was asked to create an illustration for the t-shirts and posters for the annual Kite Festival held in Oak Bluffs near the famous gazebo.<br />
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The SCBWI had called its' <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.scbwi.org/online-resources/scbwi-bulletin/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Bulletin</span></a> </span>"The Kite," and I don't know when the actual words, "The Kite" were dropped, but now each issue has a different illustrator who interprets their own idea of a kite for the full-color cover. I was honored and thrilled when SCBWI Presidents Lin Oliver and Stephen Mooser asked me to create a Kite Cover for the March-April 2010 issue.<br />
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Lin told me she loved my book, "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/pigasso_mootisse/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">When Pigasso Met Mootisse</span></a>," so I decided to use them in a creative kite battle scene.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkqwj7oxYbJ7KF4JEyVACVFuMHL6gs2ixhlTceixO9z6oZJ19f4OlEfW47pj9TXWyyDRi_OFEK9KST_w55FUfZfNLaRAEcIySGrNDh_k8WG-IgohottOOIJntUGPfYyrbjI4kkpgZH80A/s1600/SCBWIbullCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkqwj7oxYbJ7KF4JEyVACVFuMHL6gs2ixhlTceixO9z6oZJ19f4OlEfW47pj9TXWyyDRi_OFEK9KST_w55FUfZfNLaRAEcIySGrNDh_k8WG-IgohottOOIJntUGPfYyrbjI4kkpgZH80A/s1600/SCBWIbullCover.jpg" height="400" width="351" /></a></div>
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The <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.scbwi.org/round-one-voting-for-crystal-kites-opens-april-1/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Crystal Kite Award</span></a> </span>is just what it sounds like- a beautiful, large crystal kite. It is quite heavy, though, and won't fly.<br />
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But that doesn't matter to me because that "Kite" has already made my spirit soar. It is such a magnificent feeling to feel the lift that all of my friends and peers have put under the sails of "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>." I'm so happy that you have chosen this book to win the award for the West Region. This is one memory that I will never forget, and I send you all deep gratitude and hugs.<br />
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With Love,<br />
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NinaNina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-32856638637541453662014-03-25T13:06:00.000-07:002014-03-25T18:19:49.544-07:00Where Have I Been?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGq6cAjEqaPcYv7MKfZaLCNg5z_oAN-I7GKzrzQd3LsIaSILy14eJw4U-TYjtlBqc1wVSKThB6kPL0bmeIqvKLYtCDh_VRdaXHM2kjinweVfp_GSNWxSnKlG08L_Wd1HBiLkFxNzE7Kzr/s1600/KauaiRainbow14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGq6cAjEqaPcYv7MKfZaLCNg5z_oAN-I7GKzrzQd3LsIaSILy14eJw4U-TYjtlBqc1wVSKThB6kPL0bmeIqvKLYtCDh_VRdaXHM2kjinweVfp_GSNWxSnKlG08L_Wd1HBiLkFxNzE7Kzr/s1600/KauaiRainbow14.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
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I haven't been here in over three months. But I'm still here. I've been there, too. Somewhere over the rainbow on the island of Kauai on a much needed and long over-due vacation where I finally learned to snorkel without drinking copious amounts of sea water, and I swam with reef fish of all colors, tribes, nationalities, circling me as if I was the new aquarium attraction.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGpnDrX3q6NrC9Wfa_79GjzIJeFjyyu-PHBajtQLYCDBg5GwrLMxfvIcduhSr-XzaUgXESlcfJBiI2KeZLHhxJIxi1k1g4b5lsZT7G-bs3ZvAuW2N58M-Pw3n9eH2M_IBamg3a5OQZ9r3/s1600/PoipuPalm14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEGpnDrX3q6NrC9Wfa_79GjzIJeFjyyu-PHBajtQLYCDBg5GwrLMxfvIcduhSr-XzaUgXESlcfJBiI2KeZLHhxJIxi1k1g4b5lsZT7G-bs3ZvAuW2N58M-Pw3n9eH2M_IBamg3a5OQZ9r3/s1600/PoipuPalm14.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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I tried to remember how to relax, even though I wrote a new picture book text on the flight over the Pacific, flying on the same exact day that Malaysian Flight 370 disappeared, flying into oblivion. I followed the news while on vacation, filled with anxiety about the return trip home. Life is so fragile. This time on Kauai, unlike our trip there over two years ago, we heard sirens every day. A man drowned as we drove past the beach where first responders gathered. We were going to get sushi rolls at a food cart at the National Tropical Botanical Gardens, and he was revived by the medics, only to then die of a heart attack immediately afterwards. He was 79 and his granddaughter had to witness this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJuWtPmihe-sZmBq-K9EifgVdJLSvhzSsa6MNIOsnWr_nWWkYEyeus1Ac7kfDvZYOQS0PFL4idmIZAMfDFSEViZ_SqvnAst8TSx9R2lixnTzi_kQIhrITLlG0PcsHlF4gJuAq_U9zCBl-/s1600/LummiSnow14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJuWtPmihe-sZmBq-K9EifgVdJLSvhzSsa6MNIOsnWr_nWWkYEyeus1Ac7kfDvZYOQS0PFL4idmIZAMfDFSEViZ_SqvnAst8TSx9R2lixnTzi_kQIhrITLlG0PcsHlF4gJuAq_U9zCBl-/s1600/LummiSnow14.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our world can be so beautiful, yet sometimes so deadly. We left for Kauai after a huge snowstorm blanketed little Lummi Island, followed by winds that snapped branches and took down trees, and left us powerless for days. There was joy in the simplicity of life without conveniences, but after a day or two of cooking with headlamps on the propane stove and moving the contents of the refrigerator to the snowy deck, we were ready to rejoin the modern world. We are lucky to have all of these connections, and it is interesting to imagine where we would be without electricity. Perhaps this is why I prefer to write in my journals with pens. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Vzzft_PrtjW6vUSRfHFeAKwCbFBltx5PeYydrAFOVFVEng7NV88gA6wUEYCDOWrCPFohc2H8dfRDxfCSOW3VJ5hebKabdXxNUYa_3tJUjiYXZmPrH_5bgiRE_sbJIsaVtbL2Pb4DRZxP/s1600/HeartRock14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Vzzft_PrtjW6vUSRfHFeAKwCbFBltx5PeYydrAFOVFVEng7NV88gA6wUEYCDOWrCPFohc2H8dfRDxfCSOW3VJ5hebKabdXxNUYa_3tJUjiYXZmPrH_5bgiRE_sbJIsaVtbL2Pb4DRZxP/s1600/HeartRock14.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
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I may have been away from this blog, but I have not been away from the one thing I count on to take me places, and ground me simultaneously: my imagination. I've been writing. Four picture books to be exact. Two are completely new and two are older ideas that I finally figured out after years of revising and stewing. I have learned that time is an essential element in some stories, and timing is sometimes even more critical. My agent has been submitting my novel, "Jacked" after a hiatus, hoping that the timing is right for it now. I continue to hope that it will find a place on some editors' list and eventually it will find a place in readers' hearts.</div>
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I also have two new books that came out on March 4th, 2014:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZh3ejTTIe-fYkqHNMI8-wHRy61YN5Hb10BAteXpJKGc5NluRmd3JzyCQ_6qCXN5fmNrAZFA8SgOCKn-OtJV31WCx7s-HUmXfWAb8Wv8Gb0RbDFFZ9pt-YV6uMoJSlNSEOtD4dl40t5Lc/s1600/Peek-a+Zoo_FC_HiRes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZh3ejTTIe-fYkqHNMI8-wHRy61YN5Hb10BAteXpJKGc5NluRmd3JzyCQ_6qCXN5fmNrAZFA8SgOCKn-OtJV31WCx7s-HUmXfWAb8Wv8Gb0RbDFFZ9pt-YV6uMoJSlNSEOtD4dl40t5Lc/s1600/Peek-a+Zoo_FC_HiRes.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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"<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/peek_a_zoo/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Peek-A Zoo!</span></a>" is the follow-up to my 2000 release, "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/peak_a_who/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Peek-A Who?</span></a>" which has now sold a million copies. I explained in an <a href="http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/childrens/childrens-book-news/article/61178-more-than-a-decade-later-a-peek-a-who-follow-up.html?utm_source=Publishers+Weekly&utm_campaign=1d790c38d1-UA-15906914-1&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_0bb2959cbb-1d790c38d1-304475497" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">interview with Publishers Weekly</span></a> why it took me fourteen years to do the next book. "Peek-A Zoo!" went into a second printing before it came out and already has 65,000 copies in print. My publisher, Chronicle Books also did an adorable "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yndlBe2HqRo" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">book trailer</span></a>" for it that you can watch <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yndlBe2HqRo" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">here</span></a>. You can buy my new books through all of the standard book sellers, including great <a href="http://www.secretgardenbooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Indie stores</span></a>, who I support with my heart and my wallet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavQqZH4rN19nugQDdRDX4Qd5opjeAWTFla0XfAHkuYHfK9JMPWAhTK9s-_ef-aVN8r1_0ViWoWt639YL5NZQIobXTKVTPHen6kTwse0bXPlN1DwjX-Ntp8e8B8LR28X315-zllu7xir0H/s1600/Daddy+Wrong+Legs_FC_HiRes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjavQqZH4rN19nugQDdRDX4Qd5opjeAWTFla0XfAHkuYHfK9JMPWAhTK9s-_ef-aVN8r1_0ViWoWt639YL5NZQIobXTKVTPHen6kTwse0bXPlN1DwjX-Ntp8e8B8LR28X315-zllu7xir0H/s1600/Daddy+Wrong+Legs_FC_HiRes.jpg" height="400" width="248" /></a></div>
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My other new book, "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/daddy_wrong_legs/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Daddy Wrong Legs</span></a>" also came out on March 4th, 2014. (It was a great day to "March Forth.") I love this book; it splits in half and you can mix and match tops and bottoms of assorted "daddies" of all kinds. There is a poem that I wrote to go with it, of course. I hope that kids and adults will enjoy not only reading, but playing with this book.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfZ13P_o0ZO6nwc0oBwp7cELNa_LYD010TB9ciEFZNMLvTfodXAXzjlgQOvkq6SnMKqaZJHGXAdvSKc27JG18TOzO9u1JMFNVc2DGq33YKoMSla4r6V4fSzK6LxtUgX4JuGeIVVWxc_gn/s1600/OnceUponAMemoryCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfZ13P_o0ZO6nwc0oBwp7cELNa_LYD010TB9ciEFZNMLvTfodXAXzjlgQOvkq6SnMKqaZJHGXAdvSKc27JG18TOzO9u1JMFNVc2DGq33YKoMSla4r6V4fSzK6LxtUgX4JuGeIVVWxc_gn/s1600/OnceUponAMemoryCover.jpg" height="400" width="307" /></a></div>
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There is still great news for my book, "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" which published on December 3rd, 2013 with the incredible <a href="http://renataliwska.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Renata Liwska</span></a> as illustrator: we just found out today that <a href="http://bankstreet.edu/center-childrens-literature/childrens-book-committee/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">The Bank Street College Children's Book Committee</span></a> selected it as a 2014 Best Book of the Year! Also, both Renata and I will be giving a master workshop together at the <a href="http://www.cvent.com/events/23rd-annual-writing-and-illustrating-for-children-conference/event-summary-0904b113bc5c48679288c065d709a123.aspx" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">SCBWI-WA Spring Conference</span></a> in Redmond, WA April 12 and 13, 2014.</div>
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So I have been here. And not here. I will also be <a href="http://villagebooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">here </span></a>on <a href="http://www.villagebooks.com/event/nina-laden-4/5/14" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">April 5th at 11am</span></a>, (at <a href="http://villagebooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Village Books in Bellingham, WA</span></a>) reading and signing all of my new books. I will be at some schools, too. And I hope to be in my studio. I have a lot of sketching to do; new dummies to create, sample illustrations to bring to life, and a new board book to paint, too. </div>
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If you don't see me, know that I'm still around, and I hope you are around, as well.</div>
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Thanks for not forgetting me.</div>
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With Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-7982574924736619852013-12-20T12:36:00.000-08:002013-12-21T11:32:57.599-08:00Once Upon A Memory: A Release<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlhtpztcq5vlAssizQay-P1s21pR5XZkZKS0Uqv894cgvkpiV0Asb1hmYkuKDYHONoHEBJZkwrSB_TN48cUCQhVgRkaX_77tCEdBojjs-dWRxmg1WVY1x47QqHoZfdMX_17nwj345SM4L/s1600/OnceUponAMemoryCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtlhtpztcq5vlAssizQay-P1s21pR5XZkZKS0Uqv894cgvkpiV0Asb1hmYkuKDYHONoHEBJZkwrSB_TN48cUCQhVgRkaX_77tCEdBojjs-dWRxmg1WVY1x47QqHoZfdMX_17nwj345SM4L/s400/OnceUponAMemoryCover.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
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He said his name was Mack and he came from Bahstan, and as I started to call him Mack I realized that his name was actually Mark. Mark was a congenial man a bit older than me, which would put him on the upper end of middle age. He told me that he had been following my books and he was at my book signing for "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/bad_dog/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Bad Dog</span></a>" which came out in 2000. This was a loyal fan, and he was out on a night that snow was predicted, and he was eagerly awaiting my event for "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" at the <a href="http://www.bookstore.washington.edu/home/home.taf?" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">University Book Store</span></a>. He was early, and he was alone. </div>
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Many people think that book events are glamorous things- akin to movie premieres. That may be true if you are<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"> <a href="http://www.jkrowling.com/en_US/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">J.K. Rowling</span></a> </span>or <a href="http://www.neilgaiman.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Neil Gaiman</span></a>, but for the majority of us, it is hit and miss. We want to celebrate our books and we want others to celebrate our books, but mostly we want them to find their way into readers' hands and hearts. That process is a gradual one, sometimes glacial, as word-of-mouth spreads, or if you are lucky, as buzz begins and the media helps your book take wing and fly.</div>
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It is hard work to create a book, and it is even harder work to launch it. There are untold folks along the way who breathe life into this, your creation, and help it pass from the reaches of your imagination into a solid and tangible object that people would love to own and cherish. The list begins with agents and editors, art directors, production people, printers, proofers, people bringing coffee, spending countless hours in meetings, publicists, marketing gurus, sales people, distributors, truck drivers, warehouse workers, container ship captains and crew- as most books are printed overseas and then journey far and wide to find their homes again, independent bookstore owners, managers from large store chains, purchasers for online stores, reviewers for magazines and newspapers, bloggers, and the list continues with friends, who I call "my secret sales force" who turn the cover face-forward in shops, who tell stores to order it, who give it as gifts. So many hands turn these pages and they deserve recognition and gratitude. </div>
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"<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" has taken this journey, and it has not been solo. Both <a href="http://www.renataliwska.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Renata Liwska</span></a> and I are on it together. We had not met in person, nor talked during production of the book. All correspondence went between us and our esteemed editor, Connie Hsu at<a href="http://www.hachettebookgroup.com/kids/" target="_blank"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Little Brown Books for Young Readers</span></a>. As the December 3rd launch date approached and I was working with my local independent bookstore, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.secretgardenbooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Secret Garden Books</span></a> </span>to create a beautiful event, I hatched a plan to get Renata to come to Seattle from her home in Calgary, Canada. The plan worked and I was very excited to be driving to SeaTac Airport on a chilly, but clear early December morning to bring Renata back to my house. </div>
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Renata and I bonded, as I had hoped we would. We were both artists, and my three-quarter Polish-Russian heritage and her 100% Polish origin made me feel like we were connected before we met. We walked to coffee shops and drew things, bought art supplies and clothing... we talked about books, characters, animals, stories, and we prepared for our Tuesday evening launch for "Our Book."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8FieNDa2o6WRK2fYn3tyBC3ph6hpRrmvCBEP6HNFmxf613LTI49hB9OajntQiovdHtVemrwmtL7-i4XPJBTyGLtuWdG8fG6ETtr3tdZEZOPAqHogWmGIoot-lFOul0iLEcb3MgQNyYqv/s1600/OwlBookmark.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8FieNDa2o6WRK2fYn3tyBC3ph6hpRrmvCBEP6HNFmxf613LTI49hB9OajntQiovdHtVemrwmtL7-i4XPJBTyGLtuWdG8fG6ETtr3tdZEZOPAqHogWmGIoot-lFOul0iLEcb3MgQNyYqv/s320/OwlBookmark.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A lot of work went into the launch. In advance I had made around one-hundred-and-fifty paper owl feather bookmarks and cut them out with a scissors while sitting next to our wood stove. I sent out Evites, and created an event on Facebook, cross-promoted it with my different writers groups, and I worked on the window at <a href="http://www.secretgardenbooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Secret Garden Books</span></a> with help from Dawn who works there.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTO0rDioTEkeSMapUOjZW6qHP6uPtH9z8PCXKQh5VyPhjs7csgHIu9xEixRRMP9nngVVWWXWTo_o2SUwdEs0PvG0zaS1bCOZsDgiOtp6dk4pa6QV3UPaLkf3O3SXH8SaNppVSgUmd1MS34/s1600/SecretGardenWindowMara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTO0rDioTEkeSMapUOjZW6qHP6uPtH9z8PCXKQh5VyPhjs7csgHIu9xEixRRMP9nngVVWWXWTo_o2SUwdEs0PvG0zaS1bCOZsDgiOtp6dk4pa6QV3UPaLkf3O3SXH8SaNppVSgUmd1MS34/s400/SecretGardenWindowMara.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I made signs and baked brownies. I bought apple cider and Portuguese vinho verde. I asked my amazing neighbor and friend, Savitri Parsons (I dedicated the book to Savitri, her husband Jon, and especially to their son, Miles.) to bake cookies (she baked these incredible almond ball cookies dusted with powdered sugar) and take photographs because she is a pro. My friend Teresa Bledsoe brought quiche and fruit, and she took on a very special mission, one that I didn't know was going to be part of book launch planning. I won't go into details in this post, saving it for the future, but I will say that my mentally ill father, who had threatened me not too long ago, made an appearance just as the event was underway, but with advanced warning from the store, Teresa worked her charms and kept things on a very even keel. </div>
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The launch of "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" went beautifully. There were probably sixty or seventy friends and guests in the cozy store and we all had fun.<br />
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Everyone was patient and waited in line while Renata and I signed and chatted. <a href="http://www.secretgardenbooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Secret Garden Books</span></a> owner Christy McDanold joined in the celebration: she is wearing the red sweater above.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJLPC2qURI_eqo-jZrvadJFsEaIuo7oZI3-SjZWx5qTPA80Y3yhDVH7UXh99S9xxfxtcwNON4gzbqr9CyMWbE5b1w-mJRg0_T9jvO803UQahIL83OgU73-DesARJTHLMy6pELxwlU29Cq/s1600/IMG_9333lr.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJLPC2qURI_eqo-jZrvadJFsEaIuo7oZI3-SjZWx5qTPA80Y3yhDVH7UXh99S9xxfxtcwNON4gzbqr9CyMWbE5b1w-mJRg0_T9jvO803UQahIL83OgU73-DesARJTHLMy6pELxwlU29Cq/s400/IMG_9333lr.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Renata and I were exhausted but so thrilled to launch "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" together. We stayed up talking in my living room until past midnight buoyed by the energy of the evening.</div>
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The energy from our book launch has continued and so has the buzz. "Once Upon A Memory" has received many incredible reviews including a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/nina-laden/once-upon-a-memory/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Starred Review from Kirkus Magazine</span></a>,</span> a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/features/will-you-remember/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">beautiful blog post from Kirkus Blogs writer Jules Danielson</span></a>,</span> who also created this lovely post on Renata's gorgeous illustrations on her "<a href="http://blaine.org/sevenimpossiblethings/?p=3284" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">7 Impossible Things Before Breakfast</span></a>" blog. It is an "<a href="http://www.bookweb.org/node/27986" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Indie Next Pick</span></a>," and it received a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/minhle/best-picture-books-of-201_b_4378532.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Picture Book of the Year Honor</span></a> </span>in the "Heartfelt category" from the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/minhle/best-picture-books-of-201_b_4378532.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Huffington Post</span>.</a> Super-Librarian Nancy Pearl said this on Twitter: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Once Upon a Memory: Another winning picture book from the ever inventive Nina Laden. And the illustrations by Renata Liwska are marvelous. √ it out. </span></span>Many <a href="http://readertotz.blogspot.com/2013/12/more-more-more-once-upon-memory-by-nina.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">friends</span></a> who blog have also given it <a href="http://joannamarple.com/2013/12/book-recommendation-one-upon-a-memory/#comment-60015" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">rave reviews</span></a>. All of this warms my heart, especially since the book is 18 days old as I type this. Yet, I know that isn't really true. Years have gone into making it. </div>
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This brings me back to Mack, I mean Mark, who was waiting for my book event at the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.bookstore.washington.edu/home/home.taf?" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">University Book Store</span></a> </span>last night. Mark was the ONLY person waiting. There was no one else, save for both Anna and Lauren who work there. Poor Caitlin was out with a cold and Duane had been working since 8am and couldn't be there at 7pm. Maybe it was the forecasted snow. Maybe it was the fact that everyone was off doing their pre-Christmas whatever-you-do-pre-Christmas-things. It didn't bother me a bit. I knew I would sign the University Book Store's huge stack of books and that they would sell them in short order. And Mark? Mark had a magical evening one-on-one with the author. </div>
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Mark's eyes lit up as he told me how much "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" meant to him. It was like watching that scene in "<a href="http://movies.disney.com/ratatouille" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Ratatouille</span></a>" when hardened critic <a href="http://pixar.wikia.com/Anton_Ego" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Anton Ego</span></a> tastes the ratatouille and it immediately transports him back to his childhood. "This page especially," Mark said as he pointed to the page "Does work remember it once was play," "this brings me back to my childhood and our sugar maples," he told me. "I loved playing in those leaves," he said dreamily. "I still like raking leaves because of that," he added. Then he told me, "of all of your books, this one is my favorite." </div>
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This may not have been my biggest book event, but seeing how "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/once_upon_memeory/index.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Once Upon A Memory</span></a>" touched one man, I must say that I will never forget it. This is the reason I love to create books. This is the incredible release I get when my book gets let out into the world. It's not about the big buzz or the hype. It is about hard work, and quiet love. Thank you Mark, for coming to my event. And thank you all for reading my books and this blog. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.</div>
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With Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-89786059615427547802013-12-01T14:58:00.000-08:002013-12-01T14:59:42.800-08:00Oh, My Dear Cali...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We lost our sweet girl, Cali yesterday. She flew away and now is free of pain. I want to share a letter that I wrote to her a couple of weeks ago. It will be included in a future book called, "A Letter to my Cat" which is going into production soon. It was a coincidence that the letters for the book were being compiled and a dear friend of mine, Karin, knew the woman who was doing the book.</div>
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Here is my letter, which is helping me grieve the loss of our "Little Bird."</div>
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<i>She is sitting in my lap right
now and I want to remember the warm rhythmic faint purring, the pointy ear
tufts, the gorgeous orange, black, tan and white velvety-soft fur, but she is
not comfortable. She is circling, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt.
She is breathing a little harder, a trilling sound, which must be the pain. I
started calling her “Little Bird” yesterday because of that sound and because
she has become so tiny.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Oh, My Dear Cali, </div>
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Cancer brought you to us, and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>now cancer is taking you away. My heart
is breaking constantly. </div>
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I will never forget the day we met.
You were on the corner of our street and you ran out to greet us, my husband
and me. You meowed and meowed so many different sounds. You were telling us a
story but I didn’t speak cat. After you followed us for a mile on our walk, we
kept looking back and you were still there, I decided to ask the guy in the
house that you greeted us in front of what your story was. By then I knew your
name was Cali. It was printed on your tag.</div>
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The man in the house, Jason, told
us that you were three years old and you had come from Chicago all the way to
Seattle because your first “person,” Jason’s sister-in-law, had died, very
young, from cancer. You needed a home because you didn’t get along with Jason’s
cat, so he had put you outside. That was not good enough for a feisty feline
such as yourself. You wanted your own house and family and you chose us.</div>
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Dear Cali, you got much more than
you could have imagined: a big, old city house with three floors, two
out-buildings, three boys growing up, and soon a cottage on an island. You also
got my husband and me: both self-employed, so we were always around and we both
loved to cook- this was a house full of good food, and bonus: there were no
other cats or dogs!</div>
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I grew up with a menagerie of
animals: cats, dogs, rabbits, birds, turtles, fish, and whatever I brought home
from fields and woods: frogs, snakes, bugs… but my husband only had dogs when
he was a kid. He claimed to not like cats, the nerve! You saw that as a
challenge and you worked him good. It turned my heart into a mushy puddle
watching you use your wiles and ways. He was soon talking to you in baby-talk
and letting you sleep on his chest. You have magic charms, my dear Kitty-Kitty.</div>
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For so many years we were a family
unit: five humans and a feline. You sat on a high stool while we cooked and
ate, and you always participated. Our friends fell in love with you, even the
ones who didn’t like cats. You talked to them; you paid attention to them; you
took their laps for a test drive, and they always left saying that you were
“the only cat they liked.” Having had both cats and dogs, to me, you exhibited
more dog-like behavior: you came when you were called, you were very
people-oriented, and you memorized the sound-signature of my husband’s car, bicycle
and later, the Triumph motorcycle, and you would race out the cat-door to greet
him as he pulled up. You had such a crush on him, I must admit that it made me
jealous. He kept saying, “it’s because I’m the Alpha-male.” But it was beyond
that. You worshipped his smelly socks, you gave his fingers and toes little
love bites, and you licked his armpits! Even I wouldn’t do that, and I’m his
soul-mate.</div>
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But things weren’t always so rosy,
yet you not only stayed when things got truly stinky, you rose to new levels
and performed your duty over and over again as a nurse-cat. You weathered the
first storm as my husband got very sick and was diagnosed with Celiac disease.
Then you became a recovery cat when two of our family members wound up addicted
to drugs and we helped get them clean. You watched like a hawk and alerted us
if they tried to leave the house. You provided warmth, love, and you were on
top of whoever needed you the most. Your next patient was my mentally ill
father. He had refused to shower, but that did not bother you one iota. You sat
in his lap like a queen. And then last winter when my husband almost died from
heart disease and had a triple-bypass, botched surgery, an emergency room visit
and then thoracic surgery to remove a blood clot you would not leave his side,
his shoulders, or his lap. You gave and gave.</div>
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I was lucky to not need your nurse
services, but you have provided me much more, my dear little whisker-face. You
give me inspiration. Since I am a children’s book author and illustrator, this
is very welcome. I know there are dogs in my books, and termites, pigs, and
bulls… and there is a cat book you inspired that I have not sold yet, but
someday I will, and you will be immortalized. In my heart and mind you already
are. I never get tired of you interrupting my painting to ask to sit next to
the propane stove in my studio, although you hate when I have to talk on the
phone and you try to meow over my voice so that I can’t hear the other person.
I have drawn you, painted you, photographed you, written about you- for
fourteen years now. I’ve watched you go from a spunky three-year-old to a
chubby middle aged purr-son, and now you are my fragile “little bird.”</div>
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I wish I could have read your mind
or your actions when you started acting so strangely four months back. You were
howling, eating constantly but losing so much weight, and you were pulling the
fur out of your right rear hip. You had also licked the emulsion off of a
Christmas photo-card from our librarian friends in Bend, Oregon. The vet said
you had hyper-thyroid and fleas. So we treated you and the howling stopped. You
started eating and sleeping better. You didn’t pull out so much fur. We thought
we had it all figured out, but then your right rear leg started sliding out
under you while you sat. This was the beginning of the slide down the slippery
slope. You were also trying to give us a message when you were pulling out that
fur. You didn’t have fleas. There was a tumor growing in your leg. By the time
we discovered it, it was too late. Our hearts were broken as the vet told us
that at your age it was not good to go down that long road of oncologists and
test after test, but we understood. All we could do is love you and treat the
pain. </div>
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We are treating the pain and it is
helping you a little, but we know the end is coming soon, and the pain from
that knowledge is killing us. Little Bird Cali- we will have to give you wings
when we know that you hurt too much because that is the best we can do to make
your journey easier. Our journeys are not over yet, but I hope that we can all
find each other someday somewhere where there is always good food and no one
gets sick.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignNchQaozdTVi13l0E8pRYCvKx2Odj5uOV9lx9wF7k8rjO-8UT5JdXoy-QvsIKdfRTioCT9iyEHahXE8cLv1BgfrWFXR9_lJm-HgmkoxXiwMeNsANWnKWZXEnrpbctGqacgGOTyQp0_Zb/s1600/CaliHighDive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEignNchQaozdTVi13l0E8pRYCvKx2Odj5uOV9lx9wF7k8rjO-8UT5JdXoy-QvsIKdfRTioCT9iyEHahXE8cLv1BgfrWFXR9_lJm-HgmkoxXiwMeNsANWnKWZXEnrpbctGqacgGOTyQp0_Zb/s320/CaliHighDive.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
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Last night you climbed into bed
with us for the first time in months, laying down between our shoulders, and
you stared deeply into both of our eyes. At that moment we both felt your love
and it made us so incredibly happy to be able to be there- all together. You
have brought more to our lives than so many people, including members of my own
family. I wish that there was a way we could talk, just for a little bit, but I
know that isn’t possible. I tell you all of the things I want you to know even
if you can’t understand them. I’m writing this letter so that I can share my
love and my pain knowing you can never read it. </div>
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Yet, I know life is mysterious and
if there is a way, I want you to know that you are in my heart. Forever and
always.</div>
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Your human,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Nina</div>
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Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-72555720285749910652013-11-04T12:09:00.001-08:002013-11-04T12:10:00.977-08:00The Things That You Are Looking For Will Find You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VWW4Za_7re5y2xoZj0Vz6NFYNb1dfkyeI1Xu-ZJOvIwO34dpjShr6LMsVdJhkvi7PkcL3D0Kqb6p3ZgFZPjUS2kiw4L6LzKNjwnrhv2z1XmqKwSeXLWzkydzaae1nSv0q82HVpQtc7c-/s1600/TypewritersBallard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-VWW4Za_7re5y2xoZj0Vz6NFYNb1dfkyeI1Xu-ZJOvIwO34dpjShr6LMsVdJhkvi7PkcL3D0Kqb6p3ZgFZPjUS2kiw4L6LzKNjwnrhv2z1XmqKwSeXLWzkydzaae1nSv0q82HVpQtc7c-/s400/TypewritersBallard.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Five months have slipped by. A summer of painting new books. A summer of detours around fallen bridges and traffic circles. A fall of harvesting, canning, preserving, creating, sharing. Time has been in short supply and yet so much has been accomplished. Ideas and poems have been written. Work has been submitted.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYvx0hTSDjIjoLoTqobAdV5rfntlmKTlK9AQ58CiTu0wMQFJylNj5qsBz2om_q3iTJcaf_xXx4Q46O0wtl6GBuzRaJYLC4odz8mEH789_ACXbSbTTQosuuUlKEG6bpdXWAPbxt9Ue5Mc0/s1600/OwlsNordstrom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYvx0hTSDjIjoLoTqobAdV5rfntlmKTlK9AQ58CiTu0wMQFJylNj5qsBz2om_q3iTJcaf_xXx4Q46O0wtl6GBuzRaJYLC4odz8mEH789_ACXbSbTTQosuuUlKEG6bpdXWAPbxt9Ue5Mc0/s400/OwlsNordstrom.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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A new toy has come out. The new <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1579823211/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=ninaladencom-20&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=1579823211&adid=1EF9NEXSQ67843DXV4EM&&ref-refURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ninaladen.com%2Fhome%2Findex.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">PEEK-A WHO OWL</span></a> manufactured by <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.merrymakersinc.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">MerryMakers, Inc</span></a> </span>is soft, sweet and adorable, and it happened almost magically. There was no searching or seeking- the time was right and the right people were there. OWL is in the world and I hope love will follow. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXP9MoKPglfRTBSBu3JVM8a3Hsx3oOL5dsD21ik9Aq-VD9RHWS8wJ-8lkme3YLMWiZczxogANSdat-QZoCb2H7dZkDVdd0Bi0vBRXOIO9ErXxx3kOU8DzyooA0hGXbJXLU_VITUraKoO3/s1600/OnceUponFirstCopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiXP9MoKPglfRTBSBu3JVM8a3Hsx3oOL5dsD21ik9Aq-VD9RHWS8wJ-8lkme3YLMWiZczxogANSdat-QZoCb2H7dZkDVdd0Bi0vBRXOIO9ErXxx3kOU8DzyooA0hGXbJXLU_VITUraKoO3/s400/OnceUponFirstCopy.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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The first advanced copy of my new book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0316208167/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=ninaladencom-20&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=0316208167&adid=09D5S104FNP23265A37D&&ref-refURL=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ninaladen.com%2Fbooks%2Fonce_upon_memeory%2Findex.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Once Upon A Memory"</span></a> arrived with a sweet card from my editor, Connie Hsu. Prosecco just happened to be in the refrigerator. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKDf_lv7awSW-kUVxfLv1XR9FPnFLOC8Mq7RaiyZAll6NCRCuwpCwzqkX4ClUax4x9wSSWoXXuBOcZ0B9krRv7dJT2JgTaUhoaSWZlBRjm-GJWRQWmc65ZwYzF5EQTxPTv0eOK_51V4Le/s1600/FeatherWhiteLummi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKDf_lv7awSW-kUVxfLv1XR9FPnFLOC8Mq7RaiyZAll6NCRCuwpCwzqkX4ClUax4x9wSSWoXXuBOcZ0B9krRv7dJT2JgTaUhoaSWZlBRjm-GJWRQWmc65ZwYzF5EQTxPTv0eOK_51V4Le/s400/FeatherWhiteLummi.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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The book that began when I found an eagle feather on the beach is about to take flight. It already has a <a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/nina-laden/once-upon-a-memory/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">starred review</span></a> in <a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/nina-laden/once-upon-a-memory/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Kirkus</span></a>, and a Winter Indie Next Pick for 2013-2014. This beautiful book launches on December 3rd, which is a very special day for me. Little, Brown & Company picked this date and they had no idea that it was my mom's birthday. She will be there in spirit. We will have a party that night at <a href="http://www.secretgardenbooks.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Secret Garden Bookstore</span></a> in my Ballard neighborhood in Seattle at 7pm. Everyone is invited. (There is a rumor that the incredible illustrator, <a href="http://www.renataliwska.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Renata Liwska</span></a>, who made this book so heavenly and heartfelt visually- will be there!) Letting go and letting <a href="http://renataliwska.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Renata</span></a> take the reins has taken my life to a new level.</div>
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There has not been time for the long beach walks I love, but beauty has still found me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_697cV5jh-jsynVk4LpFlxPeTXchkc1NMOgkzrqw9d35fT0RjNbyLxo74mBJenFPY-DBQVnLjk2LB4ubYF0sYOUzaeUJyBcp1LEICa4GW-37nhbVbLJ4KkvJUK7r-RHVpop3slOFlrQjv/s1600/LeavesBallard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_697cV5jh-jsynVk4LpFlxPeTXchkc1NMOgkzrqw9d35fT0RjNbyLxo74mBJenFPY-DBQVnLjk2LB4ubYF0sYOUzaeUJyBcp1LEICa4GW-37nhbVbLJ4KkvJUK7r-RHVpop3slOFlrQjv/s400/LeavesBallard.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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Leaf color this year has been off the charts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjmPLE5Bw5vtl6LJ9ULSZL2NQ4lhBcGbSwcJg8tQKqouhiVEe2gfFzl9_qIECamoueixl3pXK06SkkRyB-Z0hzpuHcS9YpafHA1K-jWCWEzRURy8acJkg3dqiIuL-HeK3cMhzk_Nl38r1c/s1600/NestBallard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjmPLE5Bw5vtl6LJ9ULSZL2NQ4lhBcGbSwcJg8tQKqouhiVEe2gfFzl9_qIECamoueixl3pXK06SkkRyB-Z0hzpuHcS9YpafHA1K-jWCWEzRURy8acJkg3dqiIuL-HeK3cMhzk_Nl38r1c/s400/NestBallard.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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As the leaves dance away in the wind, nests are revealed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic12ZK3w5MfZIZ55elIch0LA5vg_DNlBWndk-Gmdi4cgbP4162RQ29i8LfJaDuEaILjfAHMnB8iF9cw3BmgQDb3O8Gu6HGdeqbFMWbp74xb_zv52UoexkJIsBl6l6_DqO0ftL0Sd3IEzc8/s1600/PorciniBigBallard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic12ZK3w5MfZIZ55elIch0LA5vg_DNlBWndk-Gmdi4cgbP4162RQ29i8LfJaDuEaILjfAHMnB8iF9cw3BmgQDb3O8Gu6HGdeqbFMWbp74xb_zv52UoexkJIsBl6l6_DqO0ftL0Sd3IEzc8/s400/PorciniBigBallard.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We did not have a chance to go foraging this season, but my husband spotted this: the biggest porcini mushroom we have ever found (<a href="http://botit.botany.wisc.edu/toms_fungi/sept98.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">boletus edulis</span></a>) in our city neighbor's yard. The cap is thirteen inches across. This monster was too old to harvest but there were "babies" nearby.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIQphA6M9EhLXoZNmrObobf3lHm0qYK1QwPtBwbMf2wL1d3W2lqWEEkYpQBF_qV2IKBEf1idX1rPUvZoNQ0sKGSGOyRFLz3vGx_9oLjynSENVPWklRmqVb4A4RZp31un2QGv96Xn0KPEX/s1600/BallardPorciniSmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBIQphA6M9EhLXoZNmrObobf3lHm0qYK1QwPtBwbMf2wL1d3W2lqWEEkYpQBF_qV2IKBEf1idX1rPUvZoNQ0sKGSGOyRFLz3vGx_9oLjynSENVPWklRmqVb4A4RZp31un2QGv96Xn0KPEX/s400/BallardPorciniSmall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Three perfect porcini found me. I had already let go of looking for them and there they were. Lessons have been learned through these past few months: sometimes you have to stop telling yourself that you should keep seeking. Things that you are in alignment with will find you if you can only let go of the need to control. This has been such a blessing and it will be a lesson to keep practicing over and over.</div>
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The things that you are looking for will find you. </div>
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You just have to let go, and look around.</div>
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Thank you for finding me here.</div>
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With Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-17925194946166865432013-06-13T09:00:00.000-07:002013-06-13T09:38:02.863-07:00All Sorts of E-nnouncements!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_Nd0wf7Q8zySf0I90L13R5PiRAmTFWa9-F17SkjEla3RSMVL5flJBYRJ8443lv1vBhdP1M_WcNayCPHoqJZscpEXF6Pvy7463v67z2UArtVoEjVLVCzsv0BA6ik3Q7u2hh7Vn_MgCkCs/s1600/+E+for+Ewe.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc_Nd0wf7Q8zySf0I90L13R5PiRAmTFWa9-F17SkjEla3RSMVL5flJBYRJ8443lv1vBhdP1M_WcNayCPHoqJZscpEXF6Pvy7463v67z2UArtVoEjVLVCzsv0BA6ik3Q7u2hh7Vn_MgCkCs/s400/+E+for+Ewe.jpeg" width="396" /></a></div>
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While I've been on book deadlines painting away with tiny brushes on real paper, things have been happening in the E-World. Things seem to change in a nanosecond out there in cyberspace, and frankly, I've been hiding under my Old School rock pretending that I wasn't going to put "E's" and "i's" in front of E-verything i-Do.<br />
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I know I should just surrender. Truthfully I can't imagine living my life without the internet as a valuable tool for so many things. I do love my laptop and my iPhone. My husband also bought me a Kindle Touch and an iPad Mini. The Mini doesn't have wireless, so I still have not found its ultimate purpose. I am not a gamer. I am not a television watcher. I don't walk and text at the same time. I love nature...<br />
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But I will confess that I spend too much time on Facebook. I have found it to be an amazing way to network with artists, writers, editors, librarians, teachers, parents, friends from my past and new friends. I have found great articles that my friends have shared. I have learned about events and I have helped out others in need. I've also slowly started promoting my own work there. Though I'll be published for twenty years next year, I have only been on Facebook for almost three years now with a "friends only" page. I also have a <a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">website</span></a> that I have not updated in about six years. (I promise to do that soon!)<br />
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Things have changed. I have changed. I have many new book projects brewing, and some exciting E-announcements. So I'm jumping into the E-pool, and I hope I can swim with the currents!<br />
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First up: I now have a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NinaLadenBooks" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">public page</span></a> on Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NinaLadenBooks" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Nina Laden Books</span></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OMMkrn1t0A2pq_1wGgL7yiI72hXdRqRdgrgOAn8JhlTc7vWlOghqY9yaWtmpBif1gBBK4pa83wWQuWckDQZCTRizjQYA5ESpZJJ5NagxaXxpInBzwlp8M_qPeTvqre5ibmjhI9N4z7OQ/s1600/sally-field-you-like-me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4OMMkrn1t0A2pq_1wGgL7yiI72hXdRqRdgrgOAn8JhlTc7vWlOghqY9yaWtmpBif1gBBK4pa83wWQuWckDQZCTRizjQYA5ESpZJJ5NagxaXxpInBzwlp8M_qPeTvqre5ibmjhI9N4z7OQ/s320/sally-field-you-like-me.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
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Please <a href="https://www.facebook.com/NinaLadenBooks" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">LIKE</span></a> me. Pretty please?<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/NinaLadenBooks" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">LIKE</span> </a>me<br />
(I feel like Sally Field here.)<br />
and you can keep up with all of the cool things going on with my books (and there is going to be a toy, soon, too, shhhhhh!)<br />
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I will also GIVE THINGS (like signed books) away from time to time.<br />
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And I'll post photos from events, news from the book world, illustration world, writing world...<br />
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But I won't post what I cooked for dinner.<br />
I do that on my personal page.<br />
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I am planning on diving into the <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Tumblr </span></a>soon, too. The jury is still out on <a href="https://twitter.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Twitter</span></a>. I'd rather be writing and drawing than tweeting at this point. If you can convince me of some good reasons to tweet, I may grow wings. We'll see. In the meantime, I have the real E-News to dish:<br />
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I have E-Books!<br />
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Yes. My books are starting to come out as E-Books.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzXVrWTtdDYTlSJ8X9E5SUZItYu9Qes8kPsz6zOUSyxdTdjeCS-4HTxMUxIb8a5PeGAwtXo2zxfgQ-fIvcdUlxnRtRNLWSTJ_MKkhydYxmUs-YNsARJDlyQ3XQTGnJP7n5RM-__ToyOKJ/s1600/Ready,+Set,+Go!+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtzXVrWTtdDYTlSJ8X9E5SUZItYu9Qes8kPsz6zOUSyxdTdjeCS-4HTxMUxIb8a5PeGAwtXo2zxfgQ-fIvcdUlxnRtRNLWSTJ_MKkhydYxmUs-YNsARJDlyQ3XQTGnJP7n5RM-__ToyOKJ/s200/Ready,+Set,+Go!+cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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For books that are out of print, this is a godsend. "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Romeow-Drooliet-Nina-Laden/dp/B000W90522/ref=sr_1_1_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1371081196&sr=1-1&keywords=romeow+and+drooliet" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">ROMEOW & DROOLIET</span></a>" has been in that state of limbo and it will be out in E-Book form mid-summer.<br />
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"<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0811826015/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=ninaladencom-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=0811826015&adid=1NVRXJQWKX5JX2Z7YF5P" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">READY, SET GO!</span></a>" has been out of stock for a while. I never got the story why it wasn't reprinted, but the good news is that you can buy it NOW on all E-Book platforms. (or so I have been told- I don't own all of the devices...)<br />
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Here is the link to buy it on Kindle:<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0811826015/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_til?tag=ninaladencom-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=0811826015&adid=1NVRXJQWKX5JX2Z7YF5P" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">READY, SET, GO!</span></a><br />
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But the very E-xciting news is that "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C3SAHMS/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=211189&creative=373489&creativeASIN=B00C3SAHMS&link_code=as3&tag=ninaladencom-20" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">ROBERTO THE INSECT ARCHITECT</span></a>" is not only available as an E-Book on Kindle...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_7qbX72w0f_gTrMsWFyJPaQYGeBAmCS1StwIdU2Kmq2EcuoHcif29Sac1XsqIuOAUDFOp-mmb8NsWt2zZ_2OdksMFCOkQ5bbJC-hnRrqJpvNik5fVelcHoeyWTgOAnLSpYhrpdkHkuf3/s1600/Roberto+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_7qbX72w0f_gTrMsWFyJPaQYGeBAmCS1StwIdU2Kmq2EcuoHcif29Sac1XsqIuOAUDFOp-mmb8NsWt2zZ_2OdksMFCOkQ5bbJC-hnRrqJpvNik5fVelcHoeyWTgOAnLSpYhrpdkHkuf3/s320/Roberto+cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It is on promotion from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00C3SAHMS/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=211189&creative=373489&creativeASIN=B00C3SAHMS&link_code=as3&tag=ninaladencom-20" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">TODAY, JUNE 13th until JUNE 24th and you can get it for $1.99</span></a>! That's almost free. It's definitely cheaper than a latte or a beer. I'm not all that tech-savvy, so I hope that link works. </div>
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Just so you know, I'm never ever giving up on real books.<br />
I love the smell, the feel, the intimacy of a book...<br />
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But I have embraced this new world of technology.<br />
It saves trees.<br />
It enables you to bring dozens, if not hundreds, of books with you on a trip.<br />
It can make reading interactive, educational, and fun...<br />
It's the future and we have to keep looking ahead.<br />
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I hope you will allow my books to come along on your electronic journeys- wherever they take you- inner space, outer space or cyber space...<br />
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With Love,<br />
Nina<br />
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-69598078181794787682013-05-08T17:51:00.000-07:002013-05-08T17:53:25.745-07:00Being Your Own Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's that painful time of the year again. The time when the constant bombardment of ads for flowers, jewelry, brunches, cheesy cards, keeps telling you over and over not to forget "Mom." Sometimes I just want to scream at whatever media is flashing their reminders that, "NO, I'll NEVER forget her. Ever." It's hard to watch others toting their moms around and celebrating them. I never really had that chance.<br />
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My mom died six days after I turned twenty-four. I was barely an adult. She was barely fifty-four and she had had a very difficult life, which turned for the worse when I was eleven and my father, her husband, ran off with my brother's first grade teacher. We lived at the poverty level for years, and if it weren't for her parents who paid our heating bills, our taxes, helped with food and clothing, we would most likely have been on the street. Things turned rotten when mom was diagnosed with cancer, multiple myeloma, right when I graduated from college in 1983 when I was twenty-one. Mom had no health insurance. I wish, so much more in retrospect, that I could have done something.<br />
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With Mother's Day approaching I think about my mother more than usual, even though usual is every day. I talk to a painting of her- one that I did above- from memory- and one that a painter friend did of her from life. I tell her what is going on and how much she would love some of the things, and how much she would hate the others. "The others" being the horror show that continues to play in my life, starring my estranged father who recently threw something that resembled an IED onto our porch.<br />
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But despite my mothers' failing health and her lack of material resources she tried so hard to bring beauty into my life. It was embarrassing to me at that age- twenty-two, when she would mail me books that she bought used for pennies and stuffed them with letters in which she'd ramble on and on.<br />
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Now I am so happy that I saved them. The books and the letters. They live inside whatever book she sent me, and when she died and I inherited all of her books- and there were hundreds... I would constantly find things stuffed in them: clippings from the New York Times with articles about whoever the subject of the book was, gallery invitations for a book about a certain artist, a stray list of errands, and letters.<br />
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It has been twenty-seven years since my mom died and in the past seven years I have had so much turmoil in my own life that I didn't think about those letters and what they said...<br />
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But today, after I went to visit my Mother-in-Law with my husband to treat her to a lunch of sushi rolls, ("What is this? It looks very interesting. How do you eat it?") I was needing to mother myself, so I pulled out the letter that my mom wrote to me and saw that the date was April 22, 1984.<br />
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It was this time of year. It was stuffed into the book of Whitman poetry twenty-nine years ago, and it resonated even more now.<br />
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This is what my mom, Frieda Savitz Laden wrote to me twenty-nine years ago when she sent me "Whitman:"<br />
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<i>Nina-</i><br />
<i>Thought you might enjoy this- the notes are <u>not </u>mine- it is a sample of his work- you already know-</i><br />
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<i>I send you flowers- poems- & love- the sweetness- the beauty of life- and, all the eye can see- that is the fulfillment of living- to see- & to express it- & to become part of it- without doing- it is there- you do not have to "pick it"- "take it!"- "record it!"- it is there- it will always be there for you- as long as you are!- It is my gift to you- you wear it well, my beautiful daughter-</i><br />
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<i>I never expected you- I have never expected anything- really in life- I did not anticipate who you would be- you are far more wondrous to me- then I could imagine- if I had imagined-</i><br />
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<i>In time you will meet- what people can be- you have already- to a degree- in both directions-</i><br />
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<i>You are magnificent- and I am fortunate- you couldn't be anyone else- never stop writing- a small poem will do- or, drawing- a small one will do- or, thinking- a small thought will do- but your's is yours- & no one can say it that way- it is your wonderment- the ugly- the cynic- will always draw the crowd- the ability to break down- to destroy appears to the many- to the big- to the popular- but the other grows in a corner- out of sight- small & very beautiful- all encompassing with the heart & mind!</i><br />
<i>The softness of a petal of a flower- you are! Happy spring!</i><br />
<i>Love, Mom</i><br />
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Mom was right. In so many ways. And I try to heed her words, her thoughts, her unconditional love. She isn't here anymore in a physical sense, but I do bring her with me wherever I go. I remember hearing people say how horrible it was to "become your mother." I know I can never be her- exactly her, but I can become the mom/woman/artist/friend she was- to me and to others. </div>
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And that is a gift. </div>
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So be your own mom.</div>
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To others and to yourself.</div>
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And share the beauty of who you are.</div>
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With Love,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Nina</div>
Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-683009048998032562013-05-01T10:14:00.000-07:002013-05-01T10:14:30.200-07:00It's Not A Woodcut: Inventing a Technique<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Many times I am asked if I created the art for my book, "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/peak_a_who/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">PEEK-A WHO?</span></a>" with woodcuts. I did not. I love wood and linoleum and I've used those techniques in the past. I was also very into scratchboard at different stages in my life. When I came up with the idea for "<a href="http://www.ninaladen.com/books/peak_a_who/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">PEEK-A WHO?</span></a>" I did some art samples in gouache, but they just seemed ordinary and rather lifeless to me. I loved the vibration and edginess that wood, linocuts and scratchboard achieved, but they were problematic: I had a die-cut which needed an exact registration. Wood and lino can be very tricky to work with and I didn't want to have to cut over again if I screwed up. Scratchboard was not simple to add color to...<br />
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So completely by accident- or perhaps it wasn't an accident- I experimented with faking a woodcut style. To my delight and surprise it worked better than I expected. I loved painting this way. Even though the art and colors were bright and simple, the art had texture and movement. Was it a success? I'll say! "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">PEEK-A WHO?</span>" came out in 2000. It has now sold almost a million copies. I know it's not only the technique I created- it is so much more... but as I'm in the middle of creating two more books like "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">PEEK-A WHO?</span>" which will publish in Spring '14, I thought I'd share my technique here.<br />
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I truly believe that artists should share their discoveries. We all have our own styles, our own voices. Everyone brings their own individual DNA to whatever we do. So, in doing this, I'm not saying, "go copy me," I'm saying "if you want to play with this- go have fun, and take it in your own direction."<br />
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Of course I start with a sketch, an approved sketch if it is going in a book. I'm not going to show the sketch here. We have other fish... or frogs to fry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnzhd-fEMEQdSznmCNBazu4U0MKTuItpsdsTU1wPd-oDLZxpErESMHMxkjvUJV9lmFBBNj6FgCtiMVZy1JvMy23liKK4y62n2fbuinMBhM4oYCH_GEB_fkN8KJvEgUy-0mS-vxzHf56JX/s1600/Frog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOnzhd-fEMEQdSznmCNBazu4U0MKTuItpsdsTU1wPd-oDLZxpErESMHMxkjvUJV9lmFBBNj6FgCtiMVZy1JvMy23liKK4y62n2fbuinMBhM4oYCH_GEB_fkN8KJvEgUy-0mS-vxzHf56JX/s320/Frog1.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
In advance, I take my Arches hot press watercolor paper and I paint the live art area black. I use <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.holbeinhk.com/catalog/category.php?id_category=18" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Holbein Acryla Gouache</span></a> </span>for my paint. It has characteristics of both gouache and acrylic.<br />
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Once the background is dry I transfer my drawing using white chalk. Plain old blackboard chalk on a sheet of tracing paper placed under the sketch which is properly lined up, of course.<br />
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I will always keep a folded sheet of tracing paper under my right hand as I work on my illustration so that I don't make a mess of things. That was a lesson I learned when I was working with charcoal and pastels.<br />
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Next, I choose my color palette, and using a very fine brush, I go in and outline where the color block areas will be, leaving a funky black outline in between the color. This is actually working both the positive and the negative space at the same time. My brain loves things like this.<br />
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I also fill in a few of the lighter colors as I go. I don't have a sink in my old city studio- I have to go outside and into the house in order to change my brush water- so I've learned to work from lighter to darker colors so that I don't corrupt my paint, but when I am working on color block areas, I change my paint water for each color.<br />
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My new studio (which I hope to move into in June) has a huge work sink. (some of my friends have dubbed it "the wet bar.")<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipa0SabcMjyWaquaSZgNv2WmUFGxQsJUoMDse3uIZXHtPcZf3wP3AYLWoZnJruoreyPP8Jo3LXB9yzYWZId-Zbq1Pm2U4u5VJwwJMZKhovRFatAXbv8OtzOocKU0PIA_j7gaKKZkT3884t/s1600/Frog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipa0SabcMjyWaquaSZgNv2WmUFGxQsJUoMDse3uIZXHtPcZf3wP3AYLWoZnJruoreyPP8Jo3LXB9yzYWZId-Zbq1Pm2U4u5VJwwJMZKhovRFatAXbv8OtzOocKU0PIA_j7gaKKZkT3884t/s320/Frog3.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
This next step is small, but so necessary. I get a clean cup of water, and using a wide flat brush, I clean off all of the chalk residue on the whole piece.<br />
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Now I can see my outlines clearly.<br />
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Now the fun begins: I start filling in color areas, but using my brush strokes, I leave little "nick marks" that remain black. This gives the art a woodcut look and makes things look like they vibrate, or move.<br />
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I try to keep a nice balance of marks so that areas don't look too busy.<br />
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Then I start adding in the background, again, not concentrating the little marks in any one spot, but using areas around the frog in a more accentuated way as to give some action- especially around his arms where he is playing the banjo.<br />
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With the background in place, if you look closely you will see that the colors are not quite opaque enough. So now I paint everything over again! Yes. A second layer of the same colors.<br />
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It may seem tedious, but this is when I really get to choose which nick marks stay and which ones get covered over. At this point it is wise to have some excellent music playing on your music player so you can just get in the zone and paint.<br />
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It's looking better, but I'm still not done.<br />
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One last very important detail: I go back in with the original black paint and clean up every single black line to make them pop. (not the nick marks... don't worry- I don't repaint them.)<br />
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And here he is: a frog playing a banjo with a tadpole audience.<br />
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Very simple, but very fun.</div>
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I hope you enjoyed this!</div>
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With Love, </div>
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Nina</div>
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Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-56596360803053158822013-04-07T14:50:00.000-07:002013-04-07T14:50:35.574-07:00Remembering Melvina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqX3Nwwxh8VxSbfHlE_wdMCTsf207Bmd7fQhEdsEtcs1juHsLdv9uFBWORTJeyaOvlg2HgJgFhDGtP4Yk9S3tCBzp9_G42WMurftvsoGywLX8Ly4kx-NVD1LZM4dBX3H8dpbuBzn8A02f/s1600/MelvinaProgram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqX3Nwwxh8VxSbfHlE_wdMCTsf207Bmd7fQhEdsEtcs1juHsLdv9uFBWORTJeyaOvlg2HgJgFhDGtP4Yk9S3tCBzp9_G42WMurftvsoGywLX8Ly4kx-NVD1LZM4dBX3H8dpbuBzn8A02f/s400/MelvinaProgram.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
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Melvina passed away, flew out of her wheelchair, grew eagle wings and soared on April Fool's Day. It was fitting that she chose that day in her fifty-eighth year to leave. She left behind a large and beautiful family, all wearing purple and black at her funeral. She left behind some of the most incredible beadwork, some of which I will share with you if you will bear with me, and she left me behind, the fool that I am, finally realizing that there are many sides to the stories that this beautiful and tortured Lummi-Tlingit woman told- and only some of them were true.</div>
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For the eleven years that I have lived on Lummi Island I became fascinated by the tiny First Nations woman in the wheelchair who rolled over to the ferry dock in all kinds of weather, pitching her beadwork and sad stories of bad health and woe while it stormed, froze, blew and roasted her. Her work was exquisite, though, and as an artist, I couldn't believe that she asked that little for what I knew took so much time to create, so I started buying her wares, listening to her tales, and we became friends of a sort. She reminded me so much of my artist mother who had died broke, with no health insurance, of cancer at age fifty-four. My mom didn't weigh eighty-six pounds like Melvina, but she did get tiny at the end.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8FiBQcIIoazCl9XBMXe2BuB8mQKgVEiBAzyPbfj1F_mAYYYk92SpHn3kjXW0wrtGe3PP7lib_YVxJm2AUo4tEV5gVKlNKdlQ7ldexST3tljDKd27wRyZfns5NoIhs7s1LicR948Q18JX/s1600/MelvinaFeathers2pair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_8FiBQcIIoazCl9XBMXe2BuB8mQKgVEiBAzyPbfj1F_mAYYYk92SpHn3kjXW0wrtGe3PP7lib_YVxJm2AUo4tEV5gVKlNKdlQ7ldexST3tljDKd27wRyZfns5NoIhs7s1LicR948Q18JX/s320/MelvinaFeathers2pair.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The first two pairs of Melvina's beaded earrings I bought over a decade ago were these feathered pieces: drums with leather she had sewn, and the other pair had malachite beads in addition to the glass seed beads. But what Melvina was known for were her hummingbirds. Most of my friends on the island called her, "The Hummingbird Lady." Over the years I bought many pairs of her incredible hummingbirds. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpAgJFDG3PHvfMYCBz3cXbK-SPlx-XZ8DQR3qvKl98NUWVdK9aE-rCJL7W2q4eWzxprYjKii5mxE92BDvC7KDR9ZKaLg6dxv_VVF_Y3JlndxSulewdUkZ2stQyy7k5456E4JxKbRaAdqT/s1600/MelvinaHbirdEarrings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpAgJFDG3PHvfMYCBz3cXbK-SPlx-XZ8DQR3qvKl98NUWVdK9aE-rCJL7W2q4eWzxprYjKii5mxE92BDvC7KDR9ZKaLg6dxv_VVF_Y3JlndxSulewdUkZ2stQyy7k5456E4JxKbRaAdqT/s400/MelvinaHbirdEarrings.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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She would charge $25 or $30 for them in the beginning. They became harder for her to make as her health got worse, and she charged $40 for them later on. I told her she was a treasure and hoped that she was passing this skill on to other family members.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnj1DToqk-RzKo8cMDeS8MWdQaSK60kWQZQHC4XRQcjH3m76iphyECuvzPpQxIZ2OroRMjc40L-3viVCO-5G0MQCMTdpWrIAOQO7I25ZMeNqrov7gzs9hto13J-SGkLp1xlBa50tX1BWA/s1600/MelvinaHbirdCU1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnj1DToqk-RzKo8cMDeS8MWdQaSK60kWQZQHC4XRQcjH3m76iphyECuvzPpQxIZ2OroRMjc40L-3viVCO-5G0MQCMTdpWrIAOQO7I25ZMeNqrov7gzs9hto13J-SGkLp1xlBa50tX1BWA/s320/MelvinaHbirdCU1.jpg" width="320" /></a> She never really answered that question. She did say that she had a neurological disorder that came from a car accident and that she knew that soon she would lose the feeling in her hands and wouldn't be able to do this work anymore.<br />
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I felt bad for her and tried to help anyway I could. I drove over to her small, but comfortable duplex up the hill in the housing complex and brought her food and jewelry supplies a few times. I gave her strawberries from Mounts Strawberry stand on Slater Road. She loved strawberries. And I bought her jewelry and I commissioned pieces.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhP-iRa5Hdt5QTxrlxp_Rojdu2Aku9UKxBAVYBCClcVQ6YL-3ZhM1sVXfHnMw60oZmsFwXcN1-iUX59kUS32IRootWZENs1gKREwF3-1bdyStffoAmI22OCZ_KYXPHPJPObJhOv_WVz4v/s1600/MelvinaRoseEarrings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhP-iRa5Hdt5QTxrlxp_Rojdu2Aku9UKxBAVYBCClcVQ6YL-3ZhM1sVXfHnMw60oZmsFwXcN1-iUX59kUS32IRootWZENs1gKREwF3-1bdyStffoAmI22OCZ_KYXPHPJPObJhOv_WVz4v/s320/MelvinaRoseEarrings.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
I asked her for rose earrings and she made them. She was so happy when I picked them up. She proudly told me that she had made them for another woman and that woman had worn them in Paris. Her roses were in Paris! It was like Melvina herself went to Paris. I have worn mine in Seattle, Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, and Mexico.<br />
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Many islanders own her pieces and wear them proudly. I'm sure others have commissioned Melvina to do work as I did. A lot of people worried about her sitting there in the bad weather, and so many of us thought that she was abandoned by her family. Melvina told stories of a family that didn't help her or care. She talked of a son who was an addict and stole from her. She had two sons, one very successful, and she never talked about him.<br />
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As I got to know her, or the person she wanted me to know, I started to tell her about my family and our big problems.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRqxrxHEjc_FV4aZqm12shBjmEaGa-OaW1VJ6kaawOxTdyhKLSluFC3b4-A0hvKx37JOvB5vo9WkWhGtxeChLRrMtcfpCouohDFwwURAvk9YrxZT8DmJAQlTWqVux5bGdzpYgf_n9qzn5/s1600/MelvinaWreathEar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRqxrxHEjc_FV4aZqm12shBjmEaGa-OaW1VJ6kaawOxTdyhKLSluFC3b4-A0hvKx37JOvB5vo9WkWhGtxeChLRrMtcfpCouohDFwwURAvk9YrxZT8DmJAQlTWqVux5bGdzpYgf_n9qzn5/s320/MelvinaWreathEar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I bought her amazing beaded Christmas wreath earrings about five years back, around the time that we discovered that we had two sons addicted to opiates. Melvina and I commiserated. I understood what it felt like to have your own family steal things from you. As we struggled to figure out how to get our sons clean, our time on Lummi Island became the very small refuge in what became an epic storm. Melvina was always there, like a buoy marking the channel. Her pain always seemed greater, but she carried on.<br />
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I kept supporting her. Secretly wishing she would offer to teach me how to do this beadwork. I knew how to use a bead loom...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzgoot_zaBtMKh9Zrjpjh3H5UzFtbIXwk60amA9gBrezgta7d73nXiFLP24bC2MycYdi4p6T7OAX0hTblHqGjBVrkZRalWseF84YN5TDbtukz0xvBFwj_9L_0p2nC-kaFYNlhGz-y6uku/s1600/MelvinaDreamCatcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkzgoot_zaBtMKh9Zrjpjh3H5UzFtbIXwk60amA9gBrezgta7d73nXiFLP24bC2MycYdi4p6T7OAX0hTblHqGjBVrkZRalWseF84YN5TDbtukz0xvBFwj_9L_0p2nC-kaFYNlhGz-y6uku/s320/MelvinaDreamCatcher.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
She made me a beaded dreamcatcher. I did not expect there to be a perfect beaded eagle in the center. Melvina told me that the white feathers were eagle downy feathers.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW_JZpLHlQMKA936xDatOFsk7BJHjQzxOLoMmSAnr3J0NSgipQEyne6VcCAm93ZFGOIqbOz9R27AUXk8K5uxAPClw0OKzApvwSnh_0LVZBICn3OjROnWlFQklyMBioDCBfh3qSvXMOBOh/s1600/MelvinaPaddleRoseEar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeW_JZpLHlQMKA936xDatOFsk7BJHjQzxOLoMmSAnr3J0NSgipQEyne6VcCAm93ZFGOIqbOz9R27AUXk8K5uxAPClw0OKzApvwSnh_0LVZBICn3OjROnWlFQklyMBioDCBfh3qSvXMOBOh/s200/MelvinaPaddleRoseEar.jpg" width="160" /></a><br />
Then she told me she wanted to make me paddle earrings because I told her about how much I loved kayaking. She put lavender roses on the front of the paddles. The beads were so tiny and her work was unbelievably tight.<br />
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But it didn't stay that way. There were periods when I didn't see her at the ferry landing and worried about her. She told me that she needed heart surgery, but they didn't want to operate because she wasn't strong enough. At another point she told me that she needed her pain pills- her oxy, but the doctor on the reservation wouldn't give them to her. That should have been a red flag to me... but I didn't see it waving.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPP2gBKFzv7fqcTmjyvblP4il1FqSp9utMqHa4bFCUBlOVwHzgbQz-GYtZPQA8KJc0k2nr7cQR6rx3bOj3JxZipZmn3SqeIYOrHw_yRmDDJJ58T4DbhQAbkNfeuoFv-G-1NrIXWYO1YQEA/s1600/MelvinaPointsettias.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPP2gBKFzv7fqcTmjyvblP4il1FqSp9utMqHa4bFCUBlOVwHzgbQz-GYtZPQA8KJc0k2nr7cQR6rx3bOj3JxZipZmn3SqeIYOrHw_yRmDDJJ58T4DbhQAbkNfeuoFv-G-1NrIXWYO1YQEA/s200/MelvinaPointsettias.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I saw that the red poinsettias she made for me were not as well-made as her past work. She made them on what looked like electric guitar strings, which was clever, though. Melvina was a creative scrapper and I liked that about her.<br />
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The past few years her work was just not so good and I knew it was a sign. We all did.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl1MsLPg_p8GCnxEDDRoIg5LhY4gHJg4jjeWl1rUtygNuxIFnmf71c0kmGgxUh36sjXWE70cmIhseUBIG0iEnRCGy-ovSCSjynbCbbR3xVqAWfPptv1gzWnjNTyNVi2_X9Nj889aJ2GPi/s1600/MelvinaDreamEarrings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl1MsLPg_p8GCnxEDDRoIg5LhY4gHJg4jjeWl1rUtygNuxIFnmf71c0kmGgxUh36sjXWE70cmIhseUBIG0iEnRCGy-ovSCSjynbCbbR3xVqAWfPptv1gzWnjNTyNVi2_X9Nj889aJ2GPi/s320/MelvinaDreamEarrings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
She made me Dream Catcher earrings- it was her idea to make them, but they didn't seem finished. I had wished that she had added her beaded feathers hanging from the bottom. Yet, they are still beautiful. Melvina's spirit was in them, and I always felt compelled to buy what she offered me because I knew she put her soul into the work.<br />
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One day I saw these very detailed tiny hoops on the cardboard sheet of earrings that she showed to each car in the ferry line.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAbVO821_4oAhFiYEynTOGkB9yGy25-ITBtTxETkGZzcR9nEwkMedphWsThTZ6HF0KOhhZbZ5j7aH9K2CUaDxd5UI7KEgZ1mprFOvcqbwP2qZvt92PHFj73ryW_8LJ8m5sIWkQMFzqceT/s1600/MelvinaHoops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAbVO821_4oAhFiYEynTOGkB9yGy25-ITBtTxETkGZzcR9nEwkMedphWsThTZ6HF0KOhhZbZ5j7aH9K2CUaDxd5UI7KEgZ1mprFOvcqbwP2qZvt92PHFj73ryW_8LJ8m5sIWkQMFzqceT/s320/MelvinaHoops.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
How she did this intricate work and charged next to nothing for it disturbed me. I offered time and time again to take her jewelry to museum gift shops. I told her that I could get her two or three times what she was asking. She never said anything. She just smiled that tight-lipped pained smile.<br />
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When we'd talk I'd look her in the eyes and tell her that I loved her. Sometimes I'd hold her hand. She had my cell number and she'd call me when she finished a piece, and I'd drive over to the ferry, walk on, and meet her on the dock and then take the next ferry back.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5inClwZRNODO7yIMKVVCoo-0xHOHA0j1L1Cg44ah8x9ens-xpOba2B85U7OyfEW8fkIXaaysfa3XQIM25IOqsq0woER2WUuQz6NmLhx6wLyuMGTN4Op300JQ36Rc0qDNMRYmJtF-iy_U6/s1600/MelvinaHbirdNeckEar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5inClwZRNODO7yIMKVVCoo-0xHOHA0j1L1Cg44ah8x9ens-xpOba2B85U7OyfEW8fkIXaaysfa3XQIM25IOqsq0woER2WUuQz6NmLhx6wLyuMGTN4Op300JQ36Rc0qDNMRYmJtF-iy_U6/s320/MelvinaHbirdNeckEar.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Her hummingbirds truly were her best work. I kept telling her that she could make them as a necklace- with just one hummingbird in the middle. So she made me this necklace. I didn't imagine the hummingbird to be so big, but Melvina was excited. "I had some big beads," she said. "How did you get the wings to stay open?" I asked her. "Oh, I put some glue on them," she said, "you can't see it, it's clear."<br />
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It was clear that there were so many things I didn't see about her.<br />
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This past fall my husband's health was failing. I didn't see Melvina. I didn't see Lummi Island. I spent most of November, December, January and into February hunkered down, either in Swedish Hospital or in our city home, nursing Booth back to the world of the living after he almost died.<br />
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I thought about Melvina on the few trips to the island in the winter, but didn't see her out there on the dock.<br />
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On March 20th, I drove to the island, riding through a storm so intense and dark, it was almost apocalyptic. When I got to the ferry dock the sun was shining and Melvina was there. It was lunch time and I had about a 45 minute wait before the next ferry. I rolled down the window as Melvina rolled over to me. "I haven't seen you in so long," she said. "I know," I told her. "My husband almost died." We talked and talked. She told me that she had a stent put in her heart, but that she had fluid in the pericardial sac around it. I didn't have to ask how she was feeling, I could tell by the pain in her eyes and by the simple earrings on her board. This was all the work she could muster. She told me that she really needed money. I told her that I liked the red glass ones. "Ten dollars," she said. I counted out a pile of singles and handed her ten. I wanted to talk more, but the ferry was coming, and so was the storm. She rolled away and I had no idea that would be the last time I would ever see her.<br />
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The next week we had a funeral to attend for former governor Booth Gardner who was my husband's second cousin, so we didn't go to the island. Then there was Easter and work... and then I found out that Melvina had died through our island community web network. I cried for two days on and off. I wore her earrings. I put together a vase of spray roses and decorated the bottle with plastic beads and gold ribbon. I wrote a heartfelt letter to her family and we went to her funeral at the Wex liem Community Center on Friday.<br />
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Seeing the outpouring of love and grief at her simple, but beautiful service, and listening carefully, a very different picture of Melvina came to light. The stories that I heard at the ceremony were of a beloved mother who made delicious chop suey, who sat in her wheelchair waiting for her son to return home in his fishing boat, of the grandmother who took everyone in, who loved her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Almost every woman there wore a pair of her beaded earrings or a beaded barrette. Her ex-husband spoke, although he had laryngitis, he said that they had gotten close again near the end.<br />
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I learned in the program that she was known as "Mama Kim" to her family. She has five sisters. She used to fix fishing nets and she attended Bellingham Vo-Tech in the auto-mechanic program.<br />
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Islanders thought that her family didn't love her. They did. So much so. But from what I could see, as the tiny beads came together and wove themselves into the story of her life- lately what they were giving her was tough love. That meant no money. No cash. Melvina needed cash and she was not the type to beg. She was strong and she was talented. She sold her beadwork to get cash for her own addiction.<br />
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It all made sense, and it didn't. But it didn't matter. She was free from her pain now. I could see her flying over the Hales Passage- without her wheelchair- the one that so many of her family and friends in the reservation used to help push up the hill to her home. She never asked. She always counted on them to be there to help her and they did.<br />
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Having been through what I've been through with family members addicted I should have seen the signs. They were all there... Melvina wasn't telling the truth on the ferry line. She was telling stories, but we believed her. I don't believe those stories anymore, but I do believe that she is now free.<br />
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I'm grateful to have gotten to know something of her- I wish I had known the real Melvina, but I will cherish her beadwork and love it as I have loved her. She was not her addiction, and I know there was nothing that any of us could have done to help her. What I can do now is share her beautiful creations and wear them for the rest of my days...<br />
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...and as the Lummi Elder who spoke at the end of the service said, I'm going to"stay behind the hearse. Don't race Death."<br />
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With Love,<br />
Nina<br />
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-11327949303487897472013-03-29T10:08:00.000-07:002013-03-29T10:08:05.605-07:00Jacked: Painting with Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know I have not posted in a while. I am on deadline, knee-deep in acrylic gouache, painting two new board books that will publish in Spring '14. This is good. I am loving being back in the studio, listening to music and moving paint around on paper.<br />
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My mind wanders when I paint. I start writing poems, songs. I get ideas for stories, all of which I write down in my journal or on the kraft paper covering my table. I also think about the past.<br />
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The past five years were the most difficult of my life. I had to deal with family crises involving drug addiction, mental illness, and near death. I couldn't produce my buoyant and bold children's books, in fact I have not had a new book out in all those years. That did not mean that I wasn't writing. I wrote like a demon in my journals. I processed the insanity that swirled around me. I took the poison and the pain and I wrote a novel. It is dark. It is different. It is nothing like my children's books. It is called "Jacked." It is about many things, but it is mostly about robbing yourself of childhood and finding your own voice. It is based on true events and situations, but the truth was not enough so I found a thread that came from an old Mother Goose rhyme which seemed to tie things together. That led me to creating a meta-narrator who was the son of Mother Goose, who I dubbed "The Universal Jack."<br />
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It took me four years of reworking and revising to get the novel where it is now. Where it isn't is sold. I wish it was. My literary agent sent it out on a limited basis, first to the Young Adult market (it was deemed "too adult") and then briefly to the Adult market. So far it has gotten some great rejections- some praised my writing but said the book was not "commercial." Another said the book was commercial, but it was not that particular editor's taste. For the time being, I'm trying to be patient. I have many other irons in the fire in kid's books... but still, I have hope that "Jacked" will find a home.<br />
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Meanwhile, a friend on Facebook suggested that I share an excerpt. I decided that was not a bad idea, so I've copied the opening of the novel for your perusal. A warning: this is intense and it is definitely R rated, but so is real life.<br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Old Mother Goose,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">When she wanted to wander,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Would ride through the air</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">On a very fine gander.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Jack’s mother came in,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">And caught the goose soon,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">And mounting its back,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Flew up to the moon.</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">THE UNIVERSAL JACK</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Who was Jack? He was nimble and quick. He stuck in his thumb and pulled out a plum and said, “what a good boy am I.” He climbed a beanstalk. He ate no fat. He built a house. He also fell down and broke his crown. He was everychild. He was no child. He jacked his own childhood. He was going to keep tumbling and I had to watch.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I had to watch them all. It was a curse. I was trapped in my own collection of nursery rhymes. Maybe it was because she deserted me. She left me there and took off on that goose. I tried to send a message. I really did. But they can’t hear me. She can’t hear me. I’d like to change those rhymes. Maybe then she’ll come back and get me out of this mess. In the meantime, I watch them. All the Jacks. Jack Be Nimble. Little Jack Horner. Jack Sprat. Jack and his Jill. Jack and the Beanstalk. Jack and the Giant Killer. Jack and the House he built. Jack Frost. Jack in the Box. One-eyed Jack. Jack of Hearts, and Diamonds, and Clubs and Spades. I am them. They are me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">There was one Jack who needed me more than the others. He was like me. He even knew my stories. His mother flew off like mine did, although it wasn’t on a goose. But I couldn’t stop him from falling down, as much as I wished I could. However, I watched it all unfold, and hoped that one day he’d sense my presence and free both of us. I wrote this for him. He doesn’t know it yet, but he will. Believe me, he will.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">And so it begins in the house. I didn’t build this house. Neither did he. But here we go, and it’s…</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">PRETTY UGLY</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There he is. Locked in the guest room in what used to be his home. The ceiling is high, inescapable. The walls seem to be placed too close to each other. There is no beanstalk out the window to climb, but it’s a good thing the bathroom is right there, one door away. That would be called a master suite in a fancy home, but not in this case. In this case it is one step away from prison. He, Jack Banks, is the inmate. Under ordinary circumstances he would get up to say, “hey,” in that sort of mumbled, barely audible tone he’s been using lately, but these aren’t ordinary circumstances. Cleo, the cat is outside the door, howling like she’s caught in a trap. His stepmother, Anna is howling, too.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Jack, let that cat into your room, she’s driving us crazy.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">Cleo paces around in circles, convinced that the world is coming to an end, and in some ways, it is.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>From what I can see, there are pieces of a puzzle scattered all over the floor. I’d ask him to help me make sense of them, but he’s barely coherent, and I’m not sure he’s ever been aware of my presence, except maybe when he was little. More about that later. Maybe if I describe the scene, we can put it together, at least in our minds. There is the requisite pile of clothing, color coordinated with a collection of expensive leather sneakers. Don’t mind the blood stains here and there. Extra bedding, as Jack seems to be hot and sweating profusely one minute, and cold the next, so the big, fluffy, flannel-covered down comforter is in a state of constant motion on the bed and off of it. There is a sizable amount of candy- hard and soft, chewy, chocolate-covered, sweet and sour- this is making me hungry for Christmas pie, but no plums for this Jack. This appears to be his sole source of nutrition. There is also an odd assortment of paraphernalia: lighters, tea-light holder-looking tins, orange plastic caps, half-empty pop bottles, a mostly empty pack of Marlboros, a thick black belt- already set for someone who has a waist as skinny as Jack’s arm, and his arms are pretty skinny. There is a knife, and a nail clipper. There is also a brand new composition notebook- the kind with the black and white abstract pattern- like looking at a Holstein cow through a kaleidoscope- and there are a few new pens, untouched. However, there is a well-used older Bic pen. It seems to be missing its ink cartridge. A tangle of cords runs over an assortment of DVD’s leading to a Playstation, hooked up to Jack’s old TV set. In some ways it could all seem fairly cozy- like being on a well-stocked sailboat heading out on a fantastic voyage. Only you’ll see, once you start fitting all of the pieces of the puzzle together, it is really rather frightful, and that sailboat is heading into the storm of the century. Hang on there, Jack, buddy!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There is something missing from the room, and it will soon become apparent that Jack is more than aware of this absence. That would be his wallet and his car keys. He surrendered them willingly not that many hours ago, but now he thinks he made a mistake. What was he thinking? Was he thinking? I don’t think he was thinking much, but from what I observed I sensed that he felt like a runaway train, and for some reason he pulled the emergency brake. To him the details may be fuzzy, especially now when it looks like he is going to crawl out of his skin. He’s wondering why he came home. He has an apartment. However he did ask for help. But now he thinks he can handle it. Maybe. Maybe if he calls Misty. Then he’d get a grip. Or maybe if he’s lucky he can get some Xanax or some Valium. Poor Jack, he looks like he’s going to implode. Or puke. Or scratch himself until he not only draws blood, but writes a ballad in it- a ballad dedicated to Misty. She’s the bitch who smashed his racing heart.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Speaking of writing ballads in blood, I see Jack is up and about, kind of tossing things in a frenzy. Must be looking for something. Not the car keys, they’re not there. Oh, he’s looking at the composition book. Be still my beating writer’s heart. Anna gave him that composition book. She also used to read him “my stories” when he was little. Well, I didn’t write them, Mother wrote them, but they were “about” me. You know, “Jack Be Nimble,” “Little Jack Horner,” “Jack Sprat,” “Jack and Jill,” “This is the House that Jack Built,” “Jack and the Beanstalk.” That’s when we first got acquainted. I recognized some of me in him even back then as he listened to each word. He didn’t know it but there were hidden messages in those words. They are still there waiting for him to decode. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When Anna gave him that Holstein cow patterned composition book she told him to document his recovery experiences. “Document?” he scoffed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, Jack. Write. Write about what you are going through. I promise it will help. I got you three different colors of pens- maybe you can use them for different moods.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What color do you use for THIS SUCKS mood?” he asked, but got no reply. Write? I can see him wondering what kind of insanity that is when he can barely keep one stray thought in his head for maybe a second. Can I see him holding a pen and actually using it for something besides a tool for snorting or smoking? Not write now. (Mother wasn’t very big on puns maybe that’s why I like them.) No, Jack my boy, you are too busy being miserable, being sick. But wait a minute. What is this? Are you really doing what I think you are doing? Maybe I am the one who is delirious. Hold on, hold on- don’t shake so much, I can’t read your handwriting. Let me try to translate:</span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">I’m supposed to write in this crappy-ass journal… I feel like total shit. What the hell am I going to write anyway? All I want, no, NEED, is to score. I’m going to be sick like any minute now. I can’t sit still. All I can think about is that little black lump, melting into the cooker, soaking it up and sucking it into the needle. That would be so nice… and Misty- she was such a piece of crap. She used me, so why do I still think about her? I’d take care of her. I’d be real, not like the guys she sleeps with. She only sleeps with them because they have more gear, more junk. She is just a slut. I thought we had something. I guess she showed me. What do I have? Nothing. Not a thing- and I need something, like right now. I am so cold. I itch like crazy. I’ve got to get out of here. Why did I do this? Why did I ask dad for help? That is like being put in the army jail. He doesn’t care if I smoke weed. Weed is cool with him- but there is no way he is going to get off my back with this- well, what he thinks is this- he thinks it’s oxy, but who cares, what’s the diff anyway? Oxy, smack, same thing. He thinks I’m just taking little ol’painkillers- stuff for little ol’ladies- that shit was too expensive, and the supply not good. But Boy, “H,” smack- is there and it’s cheap. Except that I’m frigging broke now. I want off this shit. I want out of prison. I want to go take my keys and wallet from his office- like he really trusts me, he thinks. I have enough cash, I can always take some out of dad’s change jar, he never notices. Just enough to score tonight- I’m going to die if I don’t I’m so goddam sick… Shit, Cleo- man, what is her problem? She is howling like someone stabbed her. She’s going to wake up dad and The Rules. Rob won’t give a shit- he’s probably out painting, tagging in some alley somewhere. Okay, cat in. Jack out.</span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Well, I’ll be. It’s not poetry. It’s a bit too blasphemous for my taste, but it’s definitely documenting what is going on. In fact, since Jack is now leaving the house with the keys to his car in one hand and his wallet in the other, I’d say it is true, and there isn’t a whole lot of truth in his life at this moment. But oh, should he be driving? It is no longer a question. It is a fact. It is the middle of the night and he knows the way. He knows the streets. He knows the sidewalks and the alleys and parks of Seattle. He knows them all like the veins on his arms. Soon he will be getting off that knife edge of anxiety- as soon as he can get that needle full of warmth, love and sweet sleepy syrup piercing through his skin cells, and on into the super-highway straight to his quivering brain. Only then will he feel well. Then he will go back home and sleep. Then we can start over. Then we can start documenting the story. If Anna thinks it will help, then maybe it’s worth a shot. Not that kind, but you know what I mean.</span><br />
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Whew. Now I need to get back to painting bright and brilliant gorillas, and bears, and frogs. Such is the irony and complexity of life. Sometimes I paint with brushes. Sometimes I paint with words. There is meaning in all of it and I am grateful for the chance to share it with you.</div>
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With Love,</div>
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Nina</div>
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Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7997554858270547282.post-19784577167328268142013-02-13T15:28:00.002-08:002013-02-13T15:33:27.100-08:00The Head and the Heart: A Valentine of Sorts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This year Valentine's Day is particularly poignant because Booth's heart nearly killed him, and mine nearly broke in the process. Every day has become Valentine's Day since we found out that Booth had "Left Main Disease," a genetic heart disease that is also known as "The Silent Killer" and "The Widow-Maker." We were lucky we caught the 90% blockage in Booth's left main artery and we were lucky that the triple bypass surgery fixed the problem. Unfortunately there were surgical errors which nearly killed Booth, collapsing his right lung and causing him to lose over two liters of blood, which also led to thoracic surgery to remove a blood clot that was almost a liter in volume. The blood clot scarred his right lung and the surgery punctured it. Every day we worried that there might not be a next day. Every day our hearts ached with fear of the loss of the love we have.</div>
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Booth is healing and I am trying to heal in a different way. I have learned a lot about many things during this arduous journey- things about the nature of love and sacrifice. I have learned so many things about our bodies, science, medicine, pain, signs and symptoms of shock, when to call 911, who to call to be with you when you have to drive to the ER at 9pm and stay in the ICU until 2:30am realizing if it wasn't for the fire department, the man you love would be dead.</div>
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I have also learned a lot about the heart itself. </div>
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When Booth's cardiologist, the wonderful Dr. Willems first came back after the angiogram to explain that Booth needed open heart surgery, he drew a heart. He drew it just like you would draw a Valentine, but then he drew the aorta coming from the lungs, and he drew the high pressure chambers of the left side which receive the fresh oxygenated blood brought from the aorta directly through the left main artery. He drew the lower pressure right chambers where the spent blood returns to circulate back through the lungs. He did such an efficient job of explaining these functions that we gained a new understanding of the heart as a pump, the arteries and veins as plumbing, and the cardio-surgeon as a plumber. A very high paid plumber. Booth's heart pre-surgery was only getting 10% of the freshly oxygenated blood it needed to supply his entire body. With the triple bypass, it is now happily pumping away to its hearts' delight.</div>
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This made me do some deep thinking about the heart. We talk about thinking with our hearts, not our heads when it comes to matters of love. Now I know that is just a figure of speech, a metaphor, but after this experience, I can't help but think of the heart as anything but a beautiful pump... a powerful, rhythmic, dumb muscle that does its job and keeps the incredible machine that is our body, going. And yes, our brains are a collection of cells and neurons firing, and a chemical balance that is beyond my comprehension. Our brains are not supposed to do the thinking in matters of love, yet they process it all using every sense that we have been given- some of it common, and some of it seemingly mysterious. When our brain chemistry goes awry, as is the case with my father's bipolar disease, we can be fooled into believing things and become delusional. I have realized that never in his entire life has my father told me, "I love you." He is incapable of that emotional connection. It was a painful realization, but my brain allowed me to process it and let it go. </div>
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With Valentine's Day we are bombarded with so many heart images and references it is truly a heart attack. I'm feeling a little gun-shy about this. I'm feeling the fragility of life itself as I ponder freshly oxygenated blood traveling through our arteries and veins. I'm feeling the intense love for the man I've shared the past twenty-four years with, hoping there will be twenty-four more, at least. But I don't think I'm using my heart. Or my head. I think I'm using my soul. I know our souls are connected, his and mine, and after this experience, I feel that connection even stronger. </div>
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So this Valentine's Day we will continue to do what we have been doing: sharing our love... heart, mind, body, soul, whatever you want to call it. There will be some chocolate, too. (I'll be making Flourless Chocolate Raspberry Cakes.) </div>
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My wish for you, my friends is to keep your heart healthy, your brain strong and balanced, and love with all your soul.</div>
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Happy Valentine's Day.</div>
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Truly, </div>
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Nina</div>
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<br />Nina Ladenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04394664738642340374noreply@blogger.com8