Robert Young

A Year Without Christmas?

Christmas is one of America’s most celebrated holidays. It’s hard to imagine a year without it. But that’s what happened back in 1918. Almost.

The United States was at war, World War I – the Great War.  To assist the armed forces, President Woodrow Wilson created The Council of National Defense, made up of six key members of his cabinet. Wilson charged the Council with the essential task of allocating national resources for the war effort. One of the Council’s ideas was to ban the sale of toys for Christmas in 1918.

When U.S. toy manufacturers learned about this, they knew they had to act. Not only was the future of Christmas in jeopardy, but their businesses as well. They decided someone would have to go and plead their case to the Council. The toymakers chose A.C. Gilbert.

Alfred Carlton Gilbert was one of the foremost toy manufacturers of the day. His construction kits, called Erector Sets, had been introduced in 1913, and helped launch the American toy industry. No longer were toys made at home or imported form Europe. Gilbert’s toys had educational value, too.

When Gilbert arrived in Washington to speak to the Council, he had a plan and a sack filled with toys. When it was his turn to speak,

Gilbert told the men about the value of toys and the great influence they have on children. He told them about the role toys play in helping children choose careers that support the nation. And then, he took the toys out of the sack.

The toys transformed the meeting.  Men became boys again as they took to the floor and played with the toys.  Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels took to a toy submarine, Commerce Secretary William Redfield played with a steam engine, all of the men talked and laughed.

The meeting scheduled to last fifteen minutes went on for three hours. At the end, the Council voted against banning toys for Christmas. The next day the Boston Post reported the results of the meeting on its front page, along with a photograph of A.C. The caption read “The Man Who Saved Christmas for the Children.”

A year without Christmas? It’s still hard to imagine what that would have been like. But, thanks to A.C. Gilbert, we don’t have to.

A.C. and Me

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I visited with some seventh graders last week and talked about “the writing life.” Today I received a packet of thank-you notes in the mail. Here’s one of them:

Dear Robert Young,

I love writing and I have never met a author and I really wanted to. I really enjoyed when you gave the pros and cons of being an author. I will strive to be the best one I can be.

Sincerely,

Savannah

Feedback like this is one of the reasons I visit schools. Thanks, Savannah!

Last week I extolled the advantages of the writing life: choice, variety, being your own boss, choosing your own hours. Notice that I did not mention fame or fortune. That brings us to the other side of the writing life. The not-so-good side.

Let’s get the fame and fortune part out of the way first. The chances you will become rich and famous by writing is…well..a longshot, to put it mildly. “But what about Stephen King?” you say. “What about J.K. Rowling?”

Those are the exceptions. Thousands upon thousands of people compete to get their works published. A small percentage are successful. I feel grateful to have had more than twenty of my manuscripts made into books. This, however, has not led to fame nor fortune.

Of all those authors who are talented and fortunate enough to have their work published, only a small percentage of them are able to make a living from it. That’s why most authors have other jobs, to pay the rent and buy food. For me, it’s been teaching. Not only do I feel like it’s a worthwhile career, it keeps me in contact with the audience (kids) for whom I’m writing, and it offers lots of free time (summer break, holidays) to write.

Writing takes lots of time. And patience. Imagine having an idea for a book, then working on it every chance you get for a year, or even more. When you’re done, you send the finished work to agents or publishers. They hang onto it for six months, maybe longer, then send you a generic postcard or letter saying your manuscript is “not right for our list.”

That’s what usually happens to most writers. And not just once. Over and over and over. Twenty-five times, fifty times, until you either find your manuscript a home or you give up.

So, why bother if it’s so frustrating and your chances are so slim in becoming successful? That’s a question that every writer has to answer. Every writer also must decide what “success” is? For me, it’s not about the money or the notoriety. I’ts about contributing my ideas, sharing my words, and encouraging thought, curiosity, and exploration. That won’t pay the rent, but then it doesn’t have to.

It’s only when a season ends that I am able to properly reflect upon it. Since we’re officially into fall, summer is open for mental business. As for the summer of 2013, I am proclaiming it “The Summer of the Biting.”

It began with a bite, a real bite, by a real dog. It happened while hiking, one of my favorite pastimes. I had wandered off the main trail onto a path that looked to be getting some new wear. I had heard about a homeless camp nearby and thought I would investigate.

The path wound through a stand of fir and scraggly oak trees. About a quarter mile in, I heard a man’s voice. “Come on up,” he called.

The path led uphill to tents – three of them – spread across a small clearing. “Don’t mean to intrude,” I said as I closed on the camp and saw a bearded, middle-aged man standing by one of the tents. Then I heard the dog.

It barked furiously, flew out of one of the tents, and ran straight at me. It was a pit bull, thick and powerful, and not the least bit happy. The man grabbed for it, but it darted from him, raced back behind the tent, and charged me from a different angle.

I braced myself and planted my walking stick in front of me, hoping to deter the dog. Instead, the stick enraged it and the dog lunged and snapped at it. I backed away, shouting at the man to get a hold of his dog.

He scrambled for the dog, but it escaped him again and came straight at me barreling past the stick, lunging, and ripping into my leg with its teeth. I swung the stick hard, but the dog was already retreating, barking, and snarling all the way.

I grabbed my bear mace (which I should have done earlier), snapped off the safety and was ready for another charge. “Get a hold of your dog, or I’ll spray it!” I shouted.

“That’ll be the last thing you do!” the man retorted.

Oh, great, I thought, the guy’s not only got a vicious dog; he’s got a gun too. As I slowly backed away, the dog retreated and the man grabbed and tied it. The pain in my leg felt searing and I lifted my shorts to view the wound. It didn’t look too bad – the skin wasn’t torn open – but there were holes, teeth marks, and blood.

And that wasn’t the end of it, either. There was more: getting seen by a doctor (who examined too little and charged too much), reporting to the animal authorities, spending days trying to track down the dog’s immunization records. Money, time, and stress, but no infection. And no rabies.

If only that was the end to the biting, I wouldn’t be writing this. But it wasn’t. Life takes bites of its own. Less than two weeks after the dog encounter, I was scheduled to fly to Africa to meet my son for a once-in-a-lifetime trip. I missed the flight (another story in itself). The following day, as I drove to the airport in the early morning, a deer ran at me and smashed into my car. The deer disappeared into the darkness and the damage to my car substantial, but nothing was going to stop me from boarding the plane for the 28-hour journey. The events leading up to this point had me shaken and wondering if they might be a preview of what was to come.

They were not. In fact, during my time in Africa I learned more about biting – that I can bite, too. I can take bites out of life by stretching my limits, moving out of my comfort zone, and feeling the joy that comes with it. Like, hiking three-and-a-half hours into Bwindi Impenetrable Forest of Uganda, up and down steep slopes, through dense foliage, and along ant-infested trails to catch a glimpse of endangered mountain gorillas. Not only did we glimpse these gentle giants, we got close enough to smell them, hear their subtle sounds, and see the tiny insects that swarmed them. An incredible experience!

So were the visits to two of the best animal reserves on the planet, despite the interminable bus rides over dusty, brain-jarring, and dangerous plowed pathways they call roads. The reward was viewing magnificent beings: giraffes, elephants, wildebeests, leopards, lions, Cape buffalo, crocodile, hippos, rhinos, warthogs, chimpanzees, baboons, and a rich variety of beautiful birds. Spotting these creatures is a joy surpassed only by the opportunity to watch them in their natural environment.

And then there was the rafting on the mighty Nile River, which courses more than 4,000 miles, making it the world’s longest. We met the river early in its journey, near Lake Victoria, where it demonstrates its many moods, from slow and sullen to fast and ferocious. We entered the rapids at the river’s mercy, having prepared but not planned for the fury to come. And come it did, bouncing the raft, turning and twisting it, and finally flipping it over and dragging us under with its might. Resistance is impossible so you wait patiently for the river to release you and allow you back to the surface. The breath you took when you break that surface is unlike any other, and the clouds and the sky never look more wonderful.

Summer has faded now and fall colors dot the landscape. I doubt a dog will ever bite me again, but I’m certain I’ll be bitten by life. I know that. I also know that I will do some biting, too. And that, I have decided, will keep life interesting.

As the school year races to its end, I can’t help but reflect on my volunteer experience. Each year I try to find a class to work with, doing the things that could help teachers navigate the waters of writing instruction. Like the ocean tides, these waters are ever-changing, challenging, and yes, sometimes treacherous. Fortunately, again I found a class willing and excited to learn.

I found the students of Mrs. Green’s fourth class at Lundy Elementary School in Lowell, Oregon to be the perfect group to work with. They were a diverse group, with varied abilities, backgrounds, and interests (the best kind!). We did a variety of projects this year, and they were always willing to try something, even if it was outside their comfort zone. Their willingness to participate and stretch their limits is a testament to their teacher, as teachers set the tone for the class. I am grateful for the experience.

Here’s some advice:

To teachers – Open up your classroom to the world. There are lots of people who have lots of talents that can help your students.

To writers – Get into classrooms. You have something to offer that can light a fire in kids.

To retired teachers – You spent your career working with kids, hopefully because you liked them. You still have something to offer and, given the state of education today, there are many classes that could need, and would love, your help.

To all – Offer your expertise to local public schools. Everyone will benefit.

Actually, opportunity did not knock. It came in the form of a letter. From a publisher. And not only that, it wasn’t a form letter, the traditional fare of publishers. It was a personal letter with my name at the top. And address.

The letter was written in response to a manuscript I had sent out a while back. So long ago that I had forgotten about it (this is why it’s important not to wait around for responses – move on to other projects). The response was positive: They liked the topic. A lot. They just had some issues with the way in which I addressed the topic. Would I be willing to make revisions and resubmit?

Uhhh…let’s see…YES! Even though my track record for such exercises is quite poor ( = I have never had a manuscript accepted after having made significant changes as requested). My experience has been that if a pub thinks enough of the manuscript, they will offer a contract and THEN work out the revisions. But, times have changed in the biz, and this is what you sometimes get. Hey it’s better than a “Thank you for submitting, but no thanks.”

So, I’m going to give it a try. In fact, I’m in the process of doing it right now (this post is a short break). Notice I haven’t named the topic? It’s not because I’m afraid someone will take the idea, run with it, and get it published before I finish. It’s because I want to focus my energies on doing the work and not telling about the work (other than this!).

Okay, that’s enough about this. Time to get back to the revision.

It was during one of my frequent breaks from writing – where I push myself away from the computer, get up, stroll around, and stare out the window, hoping that the words I’m searching for will suddenly appear – that I saw something better than words. About twenty yards past my deck, a cougar padded along the field and into the underbrush.

A cougar! Right here! I saw it! Yes, it was fleeting (a few seconds is all), but it was a cougar all right. Or else, one giant housecat. Its motion was so fluid, like a river, and it blended into its background like it was wearing camouflage. If it hadn’t been for the movement, I would have missed it for sure.

Oh, and the break part, let’s not forget about that. At one point in time I used to admonish myself for taking them. Stay with the writing, I’d tell myself. Stick with it, or you’ll never finish what you start. That was the old days, when I wasn’t sure if I would ever finish something. But with experience – I did finish – comes insights. And, the ability to give yourself permission.

Give yourself permission to take breaks from your writing. Look out the window. Who knows what you might see.

This book, a novel for readers aged 8-11, is a beloved project I have been involved with for many years. The setting – a small town, near a migrating bird sanctuary – was inspired by Hawk Mountain, PA, where I took my seventh graders on field trips while teaching in New Jersey. Over the years, I have returned to Hawk Mt. on several occasions, the last being the fall of 2012 during a cross-country road trip with my son. It’s still an amazing place.

The topic explored in Moving Targets is a universal one: bullying. Bullying happens everywhere and, sadly, is not limited to certain time periods. I experienced it growing up and confronted it during my years as a teacher. It still goes on today, for sure, but it’s reassuring to see the concerted efforts being made to stand up against it (e.g. Project Anti-Bully).

In the book, eleven-year-old David Jennings, moves to a small town (Eagle View, PA) with his mom. He does his best to make friends, but the best he can do is a small group led by the town bully. Paul gets thrills picking on kids and abusing animals. Reluctantly, David follows until events force him to consider actions that could change – or end – his life.

The setting figures heavily in this story, as townspeople debate the future of the sanctuary. Should the town keep it commercial-free, or should they permit businesses to operate there? Finding a balance between commercial interests and nature is a universal theme that is considered in towns and cities throughout the world.

After writing twenty-five books, this is my second work of fiction and my very first novel. It has taken more hours than I care to recount to create this book. Has it been worth it? Only if the story gets readers thinking about their lives and about their own personal responsibilities. That’s a first step in making the world a better place.

Moving Targets is for sale at Amazon or on my website.