Washington's birthday, 1778 -- The Winter of Red Snow

On February 22, 1778 a farmer in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania noted in his journal that it had been windy and dark all day. It was during the Revolutionary War and the Continental Army was encamped in this frozen valley. The farmer probably didn't know or care that this stormy Sunday also happened to be General George Washington's 46th birthday.

But Martha Washington cared.

When researching The Winter of Red Snow  for Scholastic's Dear America series, I was delighted to read that she had planned a surprise for her husband. Knowing that he loved music and loved to dance, she arranged for the army's artillery band to serenade him at Headquarters, a lovely stone mansion by the Schuylkill River. After supper that evening of the 22nd, the sound of fifes and drums drew the general away from his warm hearth.

Apparently Mrs. Washington stepped outside to thank the musicians. She took fifteen shillings from a tiny silk purse tied to her waist, paid the bandleader then invited them all inside. Young Abigail writes in her diary: Through the window I saw the General with his hands on his hips and his pigtail bouncing -- he was doing a jig!

This festive evening may have been the first public celebration of his birthday. As an author, it was great fun to image this party with dancing and a scrumptious dessert. In the back of the book, there's a recipe for "Martha Washington's Great Cake" thanks to The Women's Committee of the Valley Forge Historical Society. It must've been a doozie with its 40 eggs, four pounds of sugar, etc., and "fresh brandy."

Happy President's Day, everyone!

brownies for breakfast & other research: Bronte's Book Club

Today I'm meeting one of my research partners for lunch. She's the friend who suggested I include a brownie recipe in Bronte's Book Club. Pourquoi? It would encourage kids to read!

Hm. The logic sounded wobbly until she explained: As a girl she fell in love with books after finding a fudge recipe in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang by Ian Fleming. Inspired by the novel and energized by the fudge, she became a voracious reader. Made perfect sense.


So I agreed. My friend offered to help "research" the situation. We wanted something simple, that kids could whip up without ruining the kitchen. Something they might like to serve to friends if they were hosting their own book club. I forget how many boxes of brownies we tried. We experimented with marshmallows, nuts, applesauce, chocolate and butterscotch chips. Some batches were gross, others launched us into a sugar orbit. We begged neighbor kids and family to be taste-testers. Thankfully no one keeled over, in fact, after a few days they finally gave two-thumbs up.

In the story Bronte bakes brownies for her friends. At first no one shows up at her book club, so she freezes the treats for the next time. Eventually however, she eats them straight out of the freezer and needs to bake more. Personal research was helpful here.

Anyway, the recipe is printed in the back of the novel along with hints for getting friends together. Suggestion #9 is my favorite: In the author's experience, dogs are a welcome addition to book clubs. They're good listeners, they clean up spilled snacks, and they don't use cell phones.

book dedication to a beloved editor, Ann Reit

Ann Reit at Scholastic, early years

Seventeen years ago, Ann Reit and I met via a long distance phone call. She was to be my editor at Scholastic for a new historical series called Dear America. Talk about opposites! I was a California beach girl and she a native New Yorker. Ann was so direct with her opinions—in her strong New York accent—frankly, she terrified me.

But we quickly became friends. We had a blast brainstorming The Winter of Red Snow, and fifteen subsequent novels. She was not sentimental about killing off one of my precious characters.

         “Get rid of him,” Ann said.

         “How?” I asked.

         “Have him fall off his horse.”

         “But he doesn’t have a horse.”

         “Kristi! Just give him a horse, make him go riding somewhere and have him fall off.”

June 1999 with Ann & my sons, Twin Towers in background

Of writer's block Ann said, "Forget about it. Just tell the story!" Our talks would veer from manuscripts, to politics and world events, to family. She loved remembering her mother and grandmother and their New York neighborhood of the 1920s. She always asked about my sons Greg and Cody, recalling details that showed how much she cared. Ann was Jewish and deeply spiritual. Often she started our conversations by saying, “Let’s talk about God.” And we would.

The last time I saw her was a few weeks before she passed away of cancer. We met at our favorite diner, Café 82 on New York's Upper West Side. The place was packed, but she forged through the crowd with her cane, to wait for the booth she wanted. Ann stood for thirty minutes, leaning on that cane until a gentleman finally finished his sandwich. As the table was being cleared, she said “Sit down Kristi, this one’s for us.”

I love this memory of Ann. She was feisty and protective. She took Flintstone vitamins and drank hot water without a teabag. I miss her terribly.

Meanwhile the sequel to Red Snow, Cannons at Dawn, will be published this May with her name on my dedication page. I had the good fortune of working with another wonderful editor on this project, Lisa Sandell.

 

going to France with 30 teenagers & researching Eleanor of Aquitaine

La Cité Carcassonne, France

When Scholastic asked me to write about Eleanor of Aquitaine for Dear America's Royal Diary series I was thrilled. I couldn't wait to immerse myself in the Middle Ages and imagine what life may have been like for a 14-year-old aristocrat.

It happened that my son's French class was going to Europe over Spring break and would be touring the Aquitaine countryside. Greg graciously insisted he wouldn't mind his mom tagging along, so off we went with a gaggle of high-schoolers. It was fun seeing history through their eyes and to wander through medieval castles like Carcassonne, where scenes from Braveheart and Robin Hood were filmed.

I learned a lot traveling with these students. It didn't seem far off to think their concerns and interests were similar to teenagers from eight centuries ago: friendship, parental love, curiosity about their future, yearnings for adventure and, of course, cool clothes. The girls loved to shop and, as it turns out, Eleanor loved her beautiful gowns.

On a subsequent trip to Paris, my 17-year old son Cody helped me find Eleanor's crystal vase in the Louvre [photo right]. It's exquisite, about 16" tall. Most of the gems are the size of my thumbnail, in an array of blues and violets, set into silver. It's said that Eleanor was fifteen and newly married to King Louis VII when she gave this to him. The Latin inscription on its base states that after she presented it to Louis, he gave it to Abbot Suger, who then donated it to the Abbey of Saint-Denis in Paris. It's believed to be the only surviving artifact from the royal couple. [This appears on p. 176 of the book.]

It was a blast writing Eleanor: Crown Jewel of Aquitaine. Would I travel again with teenagers? Heck, yeah!

a Shoshone teenager teaches me about patience: The Legend of Jimmy Spoon [part two]

While researching The Legend of Jimmy Spoon, I volunteered as a tutor for the high school Indian Club. This was in Pocatello, Idaho, seven miles from the Shoshone-Bannock reservation. Basically I was a blond California girl who knew little about Native Americans, but wanted to learn. I was eager and cheerful. Also, I talked a lot.

Yackety-yack while helping students with English essays, blabbidybla while correcting math papers (which I knew even less about). One morning, a Shoshone boy named Kerwin Toane sat at the table across from me. He wore his hair in long braids and was quiet. I offered to help with his homework then chatted on and on about this-and-that. Finally I asked why he wasn't saying anything.

"I'm just waiting for you to finish," he answered.

Ouch.

Over the next weeks, Kerwin and I developed a friendship. When I remembered to keep my mouth shut, he talked about his tribe and traditions. The more quiet I was, the more I learned. He recounted going into the mountains with his uncle, to capture a sacred eagle feather. I took detailed notes. He translated Shoshone vocabulary for me.


So in The Legend of Jimmy Spoon, Chapter 21 describes how Nampa and Ga-mu ride their horses into the foothills with Jimmy. They teach him how the Teton Sioux catch an eagle without harming the bird.

It's one of my favorite chapters.

exploring the ghost town of Bodie, California for "Orphans Runaway"

ghost town of Bodie, California

At nearly 8,400' elevation, the old mining town of Bodie, California takes your breath -- literally from the altitude, but also from its stark beauty. It's high in the Eastern Sierra Mountains on a wind-swept plateau.

Getting there is tricky: 10 miles off Hwy 395 up a winding canyon, then another three miles of jaw-rattling washboard. There are no trees. When you finally arrive, you understand why this historical park is called a "real ghost town." The buildings are in a state of "arrested decay," meaning some day they'll just crumble into the sagebrush. The stores remain stocked with goods, just as they were when people up-and-left. A coat hangs from a hook in one of the homes, a hat nearby. A table is set for supper. It's eerie peeking in the windows. Visitors are instructed not to touch anything, but to leave every rusty can and fencepost in place for others to see.

In its boom years, Main Street was a mile long with 65 saloons. Shootouts, stabbings and stagecoach robberies added to Bodie's reputation as the most wicked mining camp in the West. There were brothels and gambling halls. Its Chinatown had opium dens. In 1879, a newspaper quoted a young girl who had learned her family was moving there: "Goodbye, God! We're going to Bodie!"

I had visited many times, but not until we took our young sons did I imagine this rough place through their eyes. Greg and Cody wished they could have roamed the hills without parents, smoked cigars and stayed up all night. That sounded like fun to me!

So on a subsequent trip, Dave Marquart and Susan DesBaillets from the California State Park Service, escorted us through Bodie's deserted stores, schoolhouse, morgue, hotel, and the frightening stamp mill. My copious notes became a middle-grade novel, Orphans Runaway. It was a lot of fun writing about two young brothers who tumble through adventures in this wild camp of 1879.

when a Mormon boy ran away to live with the Indians: The Legend of Jimmy Spoon [part one]

Shoshone Chief Washakie

When I read the memoir Among the Shoshones by Elijah Nicholas Wilson, I thought perfect -- an adventure for boys set in the 1850s! I contacted Nick's son, Charlie, an elderly gentleman living in the Wyoming town named for his father -- Wilson -- at the base of the Tetons. When I asked permission to write a biography, he was gung-ho. He mailed me his family's genealogy and recounted details of his dad's life with the Indians and as a Pony Express rider. I was thrilled.

After months of research & writing, my manuscript Nick, the White Indian Boy was accepted by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. As a final detail, HBJ wanted Charlie to sign a release. "No problem," I said. But his letter chilled me. I never gave you permission, he responded. You may not write about my father. I felt sick. Literally, I was shaking inside. When I calmed down, I phoned him. A caretaker explained that Charlie had just had surgery and "wasn't well." Translation: all our correspondence was null and void.

One of my favorite covers

Now it was HBJ's turn to say "No problem." They advised that I just rewrite it and change the names. Rewrite a novel? It was like pulling a thread in a patchwork quilt that made the whole thing unravel. One change led to another ... you get the idea. It was a ton of work, but the process actually freed me. I no longer had to be 100% accurate, as biographies should be. I could make stuff up!

What fun it was to find The Legend of Jimmy Spoonin my head. In a future "Notes From the Sunroom," I'll tell about doing research with teenagers from the Shoshone-Bannock tribe.