German Graphic Novel of Can't Get There From Here

From Germany comes news that their version of Can't Get There From Here (German title: Asphalt Tribe) is now a graphic novel. The artist, Stefani Kampmann, worked on it for something like two years and did a meticulous job. Bravo, Stefani!

FAMOUS is Now Available

Suppose I told you that I was once famous. People on the street recognized me. They asked for my autograph, and to pose for photos with them. Suppose I told you that there were stories about me in magazines and newspapers, and interviews on TV. Suppose I told you I rode in limos, flew first class, and hung out with movie stars. Cool, huh? Being famous like that. All that attention. All those people knowing who I was. I mean, can you imagine? Only whatever you imagine, is so not the way it really is.

FAMOUS in Vietnam

With the official US pub date still five days away, FAMOUS has garnered its first translation deal ... in Vietnamese.

School Visit Update

"Your visit was wonderful. Our students were so engaged and are still talking about you and your books. The teachers who attended your writing workshop loved your approach and decided to use some of your techniques in their classes. As usual, you were able to connect with our students and captivate their attention with your humor and inspiration. Our students felt very comfortable with you and even our reluctant readers continue to come to the library seeking your books. We thank you again for a very special day that was both informative and fun." Rosemarie Scutero, Literacy Resource Specialist, Louis M. Klein Middle School, Harrison, NY (914) 630-3059, scuteror@harrisoncsd.org

WISH and BLOOD Named ALA Quick Picks!

From the American Library Association comes news that WISH YOU WERE DEAD and BLOOD ON MY HANDS have been named to the 2011 "Quick Picks list, presented annually at the ALA Midwinter Meeting suggesting books that teens, ages 12-18, will pick up on their own and read for pleasure."

In addition, the trade paperback of IF I GROW UP has now gone into a fourth edition.

Mal Pais Journal #5

Having not had enough room to pack Geoff’s 8 ½ foot Al Merrick, John’s 9 foot Rusty, and my 9 ½ foot Donald Takayama boards for the trip, I have been forced to temporarily rent a seriously inferior plastic Bic board. I did find a much better rental board down the road in Santa Theresa in an establishment that is half coffee shop, half surfboard rental. The problem, I’ve been told by Dwayne (who runs the coffee shop) is that yesterday and today the young man who is in charge board rentals has chosen not to come to work. Dwayne took today off to move himself to a new apartment.

On the subject of surfboards, one visual diversion is to observe the entertaining means by which locals try to transport them, especially when bicycles and scooters are involved. Some enterprising young surfers have welded surf racks to the sides of bicycles, but more often bike riders steer with one hand and hold the (short) board with the other. Things get more creative on scooters and smaller motorcycles when there are two passengers and two boards. One configuration has the driver driving and the passenger sitting behind holding a board under each arm. But last night we saw two young men on a motorbike with the passenger balancing two long boards on their heads. Seemed fraught with potential disaster, but this morning on the road we did not find any broken boards, so perhaps they made it to wherever they were going.

Update: Was able to get the board I wanted and John and I had a wonderful Sunday morning session, probably the best in many years with each of us getting several very long rights and slightly shorter but still excellent lefts on large, glassy waves. We also both got pounded hard when we missed, but that’s surfing.

We ate at a wonderful smoke-filled open-air Argentinean restaurant with an open hearth last night. The grill was an old bed spring. Like most local establishments the roof was corrugated metal. Rather than employing a tradition chimney, smoke from the hearth was allowed to rise to the roof and then funnel out of openings at either end. The crowd was mostly Americans, Europeans and South Americans..

Later, we walked back along the road, headlights, dogs, and couples on motorbikes coming out of the dusty dark like specters out of a mist – a reminder that we were nowhere near home. Sometimes it’s good to be far, far away.

Mal Pais Journal #4

Finding the surfing still uninviting this morning we jumped into the car and headed north to Playa Hermosa, a vast, flat mostly uninhabited sand beach where the surf was much better – overhead sets coming in every three or four minutes -- and we were able to paddle through the waves to the outside of the break from where we could catch a few waves. Unfortunately the waves jacked up fast, more suitable for short boarding than long boarding, and we spent more time below the waves then on them. But, as always when you’re in Costa Rica, it was good to be in the water. Even the dreadlocked young man who took off near me and snapped his short board in half seemed relatively unperturbed. He’d come prepared and had another board in his car.

The road north from Santa Theresa is unpaved dirt with craterlike potholes and ridges deep enough to repeatedly leave an impression on our car’s undercarriage, but I found both the dust and bumpy ride oddly reassuring. Telecommunications and the Internet may (now and then) reach Mal Pais, but many of the rest of society’s comforts, such as paved roads, has not. In addition to cars and trucks, much of the traffic – yes there is some of that – comes in the form of small motorcycles, bicycles and ATVs, often ridden by young men and women wearing ski goggles and either bandanas or painter’s masks covering their noses and mouths.

The clouds of light brown dust settle on everything near the road. Cars and car windows are covered with it, and using the windshield washers only makes it worse, creating – when sun dried -- an opaque brown cement which requires hammer and chisel to remove. Here at The Place most horizontal surfaces are wiped down at least twice a day. In the morning when coffee is available, the little pitchers of cream are covered with plastic wrap except for the very tip of the spout, as are the otherwise open bowls of sugar. While here I thumb my nose at Pledge and other dust-removal products.

As we encounter more and more exotic flora, fauna, and geology, one wonders how long it will be before we can take a photo of some mysterious creature, plant, or mineral with our cell phones and receive instant identification. The information will soon be instantaneous, but we will lose the conditioning to research. In the future I wonder if Internet failures will be considered major disasters comparable to hurricanes and earthquakes. Maybe they already are.