DWDLLC – Page 216 – Laurie Halse Anderson

May 13, 2006

Here are the photos you can vote on

I hate having my picture taken. Loathe it. Would rather have root canal. It brings up lots of old body image stuff for me and makes me feel like there is a colony of ants crawling under my skin.

And now I have this career where I travel a lot and many kind readers want to have their picture taken with me. When I get to meet my favorite authors, I like to have my picture taken with them, too, so I understand the impulse and I honor it. In fact, when I have my picture taken at booksignings and schools, I usually get goofy and act like a big ham. This is how I cover up my terror and discomfort.

Recently, readers have started pointing out that I no longer resemble my jacket photo, taken in 1999. And the goddesses in the publicity department have been grumbling, too. So I did a lot of research and found a photographer that maybe, just maybe, could take a picture of me that I could live with.

Last week BH and I traveled to Maine, to the studio of Joyce Tenneson, the photographer. Joyce and her assistant Raquel were the kindest souls imaginable. I was terrified, but they performed magic. We shot outside her studio, on a hill that overlooked a cove on the Maine coast. Joyce was able to make the sun shine on command and conjured the wind to blow a couple times. She sent us home with lots of shots to choose from.

Want to help me choose my next jacket photo?

May 13, 2006

Here’s the poll

May 12, 2006

Where did I go?

I spent the last couple days on the coast of Maine. Why? Getting my picture taken. It’s a long story and I promise details later. But for those of you who have told me – repeatedly – that my official publicity photo doesn’t look like me, take heart. I now have new “official” photos, taken by a photographer who is a magician.

Do you want to see them?

I have to take off in a few minutes for Cortland High School. This afternoon I’ll be signing books at the bakery in Homer, NY. Then I’ll be home for the weekend, getting ready for next week’s final trip of the season.

Thanks for sharing what you’re reading. On the plane I read Joyce Carol Oates’ new collection of short stories and a new memoir by Julia Cameron which still has me thinking.

May 4, 2006

The Dreaded Act of Suitcase Packing

I am oudda here again. This time it’s a trip south to speak at the PA School LIbrarian’s Association conference. My homies.

Not sure when/if I’ll have Internet from now until Sunday. Think of me fondly while I’m offline and read a couple pages in a book. For fun.

As a matter of fact, let’s make that the question you can answer for me: what are you reading now? Is it any good? Why/why not?

May 3, 2006

My dad

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

He turns 79 today, but that’s not how we’re supposed to say it. He prefers us to note that he is “beginning his eightieth year.” This way he gets to say he’s 80 a year early, in the same way I started calling myself a teenager when I was 12. But we’ll honor the request. After all, he’s almost 80. That counts for something.

My father has been a profound influence on my life and on my writing. He is a poet, first and foremost. This means he sees the world through the eyes of a child, and his heart is pure, and his feelings are easily wounded. He is an alchemist who transmutes emotion into words into laughter and tears. He rages against social injustice and corruption and he cheers good intentions. He is a hopeless optimist. He does not suffer fools gladly. He is committed to the life of a Christian seeker. He is not allowed to touch chain saws, but he makes great soup. (There was a time when he made Very Bad Soup. The scene in SPEAK where the dad buries the nasty turkey soup in the backyard was inspired by one of Dad’s earliest soup attempts in the early 1970’s.) He likes Harry Potter. He has never forgotten the lessons of the Great Depression. He gave a poetry reading last month that left the audience in tears. He loves my mother.

My father is a great man.

In all honesty, I have to report that I did not think this when I was 13 years old. Our family went through a very, very rough decade (more like 15 years) and through much of it he confused me, bewildered me, infuriated me. I am sure I did the same to him. There was love underneath it all, but lots of pain was smothering it. So if you’re having a hard time with your dad or mom or whoever today, take a deep breath and count to 80. Try to talk about it. The pain can be washed away and the love will grow.

My dad.