A New YA Novel!
I am working on a book called, “The Original.” Like “The Real Question,” it is intended for older readers. It is about Ron Hansen and his way-cooler identical twin brother Riley. Ron thinks of Riley as “the original” and himself as the copy. If Riley is Coca Cola then Ron is the cheap store brand imitation. If Riley is butter, Ron is margarine. Although they are “identical” Riley is taller, better at sports, and he always gets the girl.

What happens to the copy when the original disappears? Oh, maybe I should mention that this is a ghost story.

Another one from the neighborhood:
This is the book I should be working on right now, and I’ll get to it soon—I promise!

So many readers have written to me about the ending of “The Big Nothing,” asking, “What does Jemmie say to Justin when he tells her that he wrote that song for her?” Just for the record, I didn’t include it because I don’t think readers would have liked what she had to say. She appreciated the song, but she hasn’t yet figured out that she LIKES Justin. It will take her another book to realize that she does. I’ve also got to bring Duane home from Iraq. And what’s up with Ben and Cass and Anna and Mica? I hope to get all of that in too so stay tuned.

Also on the drawing board...
Every chapter book writer wants to try their hand at a picture book. Why should I be any different? I have two picture-books-in-the-works.

The Dog at the Door is about a stray dog that shows up at a boy’s house one morning and won’t go away. The boy’s father says, “We don’t need a dog.” And I guess he’s right. Nobody needs a dog. But as the boy points out, “Sometimes a dog needs you.”

The Hat is about what happens when Eddie Cooper—an ordinary kid—finds an old fedora in the closet: “The hat’s been waiting—most of the time in the dark—waiting for someone to put it on.” And what happens when Eddie puts it on? Plenty. I’ll hurry up and finish writing it so you can read it.

And last but not least, a book that owes a lot to Dr. Seuss…

I'm working on a book called, Poems that Hide Under the Bed, or maybe, Poems that Live Under the Bed, I can't decide. It's about the things that scared me as a kid (all right, some of them still scare me).

The scary list is pretty long: the stuff under the bed, the dark in the hall, missing the bus, being picked last at kickball, talking in front of the class, getting caught talking in class, being ugly, being weird, going to a new school, losing my best friend, eating the embarrassing thing my mother packed in my lunch in front of kids with normal lunches (it was usually a tongue sandwich), being the target in dodge ball, not being able to open the lock on my gym basket, running last doing laps, losing my lunch money, throwing up in class, dying, my parents dying, losing an eye, getting lost, never getting a dog, other girls whispering about me, growing up, not growing up…

I bet that some of this stuff scares you too, or maybe it's your little brother I'm thinking of. Anyway, I wrote a few poems and they seem to help. It's hard to be scared of something that rhymes. Here's one about that good-for-you green glop Mom wants you to eat.

The Food Poem

What is this stuff that’s on my plate?
I know it’s something I will hate.

It’s good for me?
Oh yeah, says who?
It smells just like a stinky shoe,
like moldy cheese,
or rotten bait.
I know it’s something I will hate.

Try one bite?
Sounds like a trick.
Bet eating it will make me sick
Should I throw up to illustrate?
I know it’s something I will hate.

Lumpy, slimy, wet, and runny,
With looks like that it’s gotta taste funny.
You say it’s worse if it gets cold?
Worse what way,
does it grow mold?

Wait—I think I saw it move!
You say it’s dead, but can you prove?
It slithered slyly cross my plate
I know it’s something I will hate.

I’ll sit here ‘til I eat it?
No!
I spoon it toward my mouth
real slow.
My jaw stays locked
I’ve lost the key.
Excuse me please
I’ve got to pee.

I sit until
my butt gets numb.
I poke the green mess with my thumb.
It spreads into an oozy splat
I try to feed it to the cat,
the dog, the gerbil, and the fish,
I find a star, I make a wish:

“Get this green glop off my plate.
I know it’s something I will hate.”