Did THEY really think I wouldn't notice?
March 18, 2008
Aliens abducted my little girl and replaced her with a leggy tornado
Did THEY really think I wouldn't notice?
March 16, 2008
A Thousand Miles in a Ford Focus
I got back from the book tour a few days ago, and I've been getting caught up on work stuff, and Life stuff, for a few days. (The one thing I haven't gotten caught up on is email, so if you wrote to me within the past three weeks or so and are now thinking "Wow, what a dick!", I am going to answer your mail. I just don't want to respond with some pat little "Hey, thanks for writing, buddy. Buy my book!" Because then you'd be completely justified in thinking, "Wow, what a dick!" I don't mind you thinking that, I'd just like to earn it like in the old days.)
The book tour was a great experience in a lot of ways. There were a few with a big turnout and also a few with maybe a dozen or so people by the end, but I never had an event where the dreaded "what if you had a book signing and no one showed up?" occurred. I got to see writers I dig, like Gwen and Ariel, and a lot of old friends, and I got to meet people who touched me profoundly.
I've read a lot of critiques of the book tour as a marketing tool, and strictly speaking, I agree with much of what I've read. When you factor in travel expenses and hotels and all that, the sales you make on tour aren't going to even cover the cost of the tour itself. Perhaps the real value is in generating buzz and word of mouth, but still.
However, I wouldn't trade the experience of the book tour for anything. It's one thing to write about Schuyler's experiences and my own, and even to receive emails from the people who have been moved by those stories. It's quite another thing to meet people, however. I heard stories from parents who are in the place that we were with Schuyler a few years ago, a place with more questions than answers, and I cried with moms who were just happy to tell their story to someone. Never mind the fact that I was an author in my fancy pants. They were telling their story to someone who'd been there before them, and that was enough. What they didn't realize, perhaps, was how much I got from the experience.
So now it's over, and after driving over a thousand miles around Texas and feeling both very fancy and authorial one minute and then not one bit famous and fabulous at all the next, I'm home. Back to work, and back to play with Schuyler.
Yesterday I took Schuyler to see Horton Hears a Who, and when we got home, she took out her Big Box of Words. Together, we very carefully found all the words she needed (and spelled out a few not on the device), so that when Julie got home from work, Schuyler could tell her something very important she'd learned.
"A person's a person, no matter how small."
Today, Schuyler begins playing soccer, at a local program for special needs children. I took her to a sports supply place the other day and got her outfitted. We're taking Schuyler to play soccer today, and if you're a parent and that sounds like the most boring, every day, every kid sort of thing to write about, I agree.
It sure took a lot of work on Schuyler's part to get there, though.
The book tour was a great experience in a lot of ways. There were a few with a big turnout and also a few with maybe a dozen or so people by the end, but I never had an event where the dreaded "what if you had a book signing and no one showed up?" occurred. I got to see writers I dig, like Gwen and Ariel, and a lot of old friends, and I got to meet people who touched me profoundly.
I've read a lot of critiques of the book tour as a marketing tool, and strictly speaking, I agree with much of what I've read. When you factor in travel expenses and hotels and all that, the sales you make on tour aren't going to even cover the cost of the tour itself. Perhaps the real value is in generating buzz and word of mouth, but still.
However, I wouldn't trade the experience of the book tour for anything. It's one thing to write about Schuyler's experiences and my own, and even to receive emails from the people who have been moved by those stories. It's quite another thing to meet people, however. I heard stories from parents who are in the place that we were with Schuyler a few years ago, a place with more questions than answers, and I cried with moms who were just happy to tell their story to someone. Never mind the fact that I was an author in my fancy pants. They were telling their story to someone who'd been there before them, and that was enough. What they didn't realize, perhaps, was how much I got from the experience.
So now it's over, and after driving over a thousand miles around Texas and feeling both very fancy and authorial one minute and then not one bit famous and fabulous at all the next, I'm home. Back to work, and back to play with Schuyler.
Yesterday I took Schuyler to see Horton Hears a Who, and when we got home, she took out her Big Box of Words. Together, we very carefully found all the words she needed (and spelled out a few not on the device), so that when Julie got home from work, Schuyler could tell her something very important she'd learned.
"A person's a person, no matter how small."
Today, Schuyler begins playing soccer, at a local program for special needs children. I took her to a sports supply place the other day and got her outfitted. We're taking Schuyler to play soccer today, and if you're a parent and that sounds like the most boring, every day, every kid sort of thing to write about, I agree.
It sure took a lot of work on Schuyler's part to get there, though.
March 10, 2008
Jumping Monkeys
I've been looking forward to this for a while, because it's a program I've started listening to since I was a guest a few weeks ago, and I've really come to like it. I recorded a guest spot on a podcast called Jumping Monkeys, hosted by Megan Morrone and Leo Laporte, and they are running my program now. Go check it out, it's a lot of fun. It was easily the most fun I've had in an interview. Also, when you're done, check out their very funny interview with blogger Dad Gone Mad.
There's a funny story behind my Jumping Monkeys interview, by the way. When my publicist set this up, we worked out the date and time and I was given a phone number to call. When the time came and I sat down in a quiet office and called, it rang a few times and then suddenly I was hearing voices. It was the hosts, talking about no call lists.
I figured that like many stations, I was on hold and listening to a pre-recorded program instead of hold music. I'd certainly rather listen to Jumping Monkeys than, you know, Chariots of Fire on the pan flute, so I just sat back and listened while I waited for the program producer to pick up.
And that's when I heard it.
"Hey, speaking of calls, I hear Robert on the line!"
Oh, I'm live. I see!
Turns out, I had called directly into the program, and whether it was God or Fate or my Imaginary Friend in the Sky, some powerful force kept me from talking to myself or belching or practicing my F-bombs during that minute or so that I thought I was on hold. Aside from a slightly surprised "why hello there!" tone to my voice, I don't think you can even tell.
I tell you, I'm a cautionary tale just waiting to happen.
There's a funny story behind my Jumping Monkeys interview, by the way. When my publicist set this up, we worked out the date and time and I was given a phone number to call. When the time came and I sat down in a quiet office and called, it rang a few times and then suddenly I was hearing voices. It was the hosts, talking about no call lists.
I figured that like many stations, I was on hold and listening to a pre-recorded program instead of hold music. I'd certainly rather listen to Jumping Monkeys than, you know, Chariots of Fire on the pan flute, so I just sat back and listened while I waited for the program producer to pick up.
And that's when I heard it.
"Hey, speaking of calls, I hear Robert on the line!"
Oh, I'm live. I see!
Turns out, I had called directly into the program, and whether it was God or Fate or my Imaginary Friend in the Sky, some powerful force kept me from talking to myself or belching or practicing my F-bombs during that minute or so that I thought I was on hold. Aside from a slightly surprised "why hello there!" tone to my voice, I don't think you can even tell.
I tell you, I'm a cautionary tale just waiting to happen.
March 9, 2008
Schuyler in the Dallas Morning News
"New book chronicles Plano girl's battle with disability that's left her unable to speak" - Dallas Morning News (March 8, 2008). Annette Nevins reporting.
---
With apologies to everyone else who has written about Schuyler over the past few weeks and months, I have to say that this story, which apparently ran in yesterday's Dallas Morning News, is my favorite so far, if for no other reason than the video. We pretty much disrupted class for the better part of a morning to get this, so I'm glad it worked out. (I hadn't disrupted a class and gotten away with it in a long time, so it was nostalgic. And I didn't even have to make any fake fart noises to do it, either.)
Today is my signing in Austin, at the store where I once toiled for The Man. Funny how things turn out sometimes.
---
With apologies to everyone else who has written about Schuyler over the past few weeks and months, I have to say that this story, which apparently ran in yesterday's Dallas Morning News, is my favorite so far, if for no other reason than the video. We pretty much disrupted class for the better part of a morning to get this, so I'm glad it worked out. (I hadn't disrupted a class and gotten away with it in a long time, so it was nostalgic. And I didn't even have to make any fake fart noises to do it, either.)
Today is my signing in Austin, at the store where I once toiled for The Man. Funny how things turn out sometimes.
March 7, 2008
"Say a little prayer for Mister Fancy Pants..."
First things first. Last week, I was interviewed by Jennifer Stayton at KUT Radio, the NPR station in Austin. Her story, "Taming a Hidden Monster", ran during Friday's Morning Edition, I believe.
I'll warn you, it's a little disconcerting. Since there's no introductory material included with the clip, it just goes right into it. Also, I'm stammering like a head injury patient, for some reason. (I recorded the interview at KERA in Dallas, so while it was live, I wasn't actually looking at the reporter, but instead was facing a big, intimidating, floofy microphone. For some reason, that made me nervous.) Other than that, I like how it turned out, especially the reading at the end. She actually got a little choked up when I read it, but that part didn't make it into the story, which I think is a pity. They also edited out the section of the reading where I got to drop a big fat F-bomb. I guess they enjoy their FCC license. Big babies.
So I'm sitting here in my hotel room in Houston, living a life of fancy pantsedness that you can probably only dream of. The glamor of a book tour is hard to describe in mere words; the empty Popeye's bag in the trash can will have to tell the tale for me. I went down to the hotel bar, but I'm staying near the airport and the collection of sad, half-buzzed businessmen didn't hold so much appeal for me as I thought it might. I reluctantly gave up the promise of that glitzy scene and came back up to my room to post for you fine people instead, because as you know, my biggest flaw? I care TOO MUCH.
I do have a traveling companion, however. Jasper 1.0 joined me on this trip, sitting smartly in the passenger seat the whole way down. Now that I've gotten accustomed to his one eye and his rough-chewed edges, I find myself becoming weirdly protective of him and his reputation. Perhaps I need to find some human friends tomorrow when I get to Austin.
I made an important decision about the Jaspers. When I get back to Plano, I'm going to come clean with Schuyler. I might even do it tomorrow morning via video conferencing, which Julie and I made work tonight, thanks to the magic of iChat. That would blow Schuyler's little mind. Julie already began explaining what happened to her earlier this evening, and she said that Schuyler seemed unconcerned. I'll show her Old Jasper and explain that he's delicate now and is going to retire up on a shelf of honor, so New Jasper is going to step in and take on his duties. Sort of like Joe and Steve on Blue's Clues, if Steve Burns had left the show due to a disfiguring accident.
Don't ask me why I feel so guilty about trying to deceive Schuyler regarding the Jaspers. I think it bothers me because I seem to have gotten away with it. I think I would feel better about it if she'd called me on my bullshit.
I'll warn you, it's a little disconcerting. Since there's no introductory material included with the clip, it just goes right into it. Also, I'm stammering like a head injury patient, for some reason. (I recorded the interview at KERA in Dallas, so while it was live, I wasn't actually looking at the reporter, but instead was facing a big, intimidating, floofy microphone. For some reason, that made me nervous.) Other than that, I like how it turned out, especially the reading at the end. She actually got a little choked up when I read it, but that part didn't make it into the story, which I think is a pity. They also edited out the section of the reading where I got to drop a big fat F-bomb. I guess they enjoy their FCC license. Big babies.
So I'm sitting here in my hotel room in Houston, living a life of fancy pantsedness that you can probably only dream of. The glamor of a book tour is hard to describe in mere words; the empty Popeye's bag in the trash can will have to tell the tale for me. I went down to the hotel bar, but I'm staying near the airport and the collection of sad, half-buzzed businessmen didn't hold so much appeal for me as I thought it might. I reluctantly gave up the promise of that glitzy scene and came back up to my room to post for you fine people instead, because as you know, my biggest flaw? I care TOO MUCH.
I do have a traveling companion, however. Jasper 1.0 joined me on this trip, sitting smartly in the passenger seat the whole way down. Now that I've gotten accustomed to his one eye and his rough-chewed edges, I find myself becoming weirdly protective of him and his reputation. Perhaps I need to find some human friends tomorrow when I get to Austin.
I made an important decision about the Jaspers. When I get back to Plano, I'm going to come clean with Schuyler. I might even do it tomorrow morning via video conferencing, which Julie and I made work tonight, thanks to the magic of iChat. That would blow Schuyler's little mind. Julie already began explaining what happened to her earlier this evening, and she said that Schuyler seemed unconcerned. I'll show her Old Jasper and explain that he's delicate now and is going to retire up on a shelf of honor, so New Jasper is going to step in and take on his duties. Sort of like Joe and Steve on Blue's Clues, if Steve Burns had left the show due to a disfiguring accident.
Don't ask me why I feel so guilty about trying to deceive Schuyler regarding the Jaspers. I think it bothers me because I seem to have gotten away with it. I think I would feel better about it if she'd called me on my bullshit.
March 6, 2008
Jasper 2.0
Either I got away with it, or she doesn't particularly care one way or the other. Welcome to the fam, Jasper the Second.
March 5, 2008
Le Roi est mort. Vive le Roi.
It was perhaps tragically fitting that my last post included a photo of Schuyler with her beloved friend Jasper. If you've read the book, or if you've been around for a while, you know that Jasper is Schuyler's oldest inanimate friend.
He was originally purchased while Julie was pregnant so that he could ride around in my car with me and let me see if I could ever get accustomed to the name "Jasper" in case we had a boy. I couldn't, of course (could you?), but the name stuck, and after a period of rejection by Baby Schuyler, he eventually became one of her most treasured friends. She even insisted on a girlfriend for him. (They have a baby bear, too.)
Julie and Schuyler fell asleep on the big floofy chair in the living room tonight, and at some point, Jasper slipped from Schuyler's grasp and fell to the floor, met by the gaping, slobbery maw of Max, Schuyler's very very very bad little dog. The rest you can probably figure out.
I looked over and saw the tragedy unfolding before it could get very far, and I managed to snatch poor Jasper up and take him to the other room before Schuyler could notice. The damage wasn't horrible, but it was bad enough. Ears chewed, one foot stripped of its fur, and most horribly, an eye completely missing. Jasper had been disfigured to an extent that couldn't be fixed.
Well, this is one of those parenting moments where they don't exactly tell you what you're supposed to do, now isn't it? What's the right thing to do here? Let Schuyler face the ugly truth and see what her nasty little hellhound had done to her best friend? Or run to the mall and pray that the Gap (Jasper's port of origin) would carry another that looked like him and try to slip a new Jasper 2.0 past Schuyler? In general, I am all about letting Schuyler see the world in all its grandness and all its pain at the same time, but tonight, I just couldn't do it. Ten minutes to drive to the mall, five minutes in and out of the store, and a sly switcheroo after she had crawled into bed in which she accepted the doppelgänger under darkened conditions, and the deed was done.
We'll see if it worked in the morning. These little Gap bears all seem to be a little different (lovingly hand-crafted by Chinese slave labor, no doubt), and Jasper Mark II looks a little different from his now one-eyed predecessor. Julie and I aren't in agreement on this, by the way. She feels like Schuyler is tough and could deal with the truth. I guess I agree, but then, I feel like she gets to handle the tough truths a lot. I will say that if Schuyler isn't fooled and notices the difference, then I'll come clean with her.
As for poor old Jasper, I think I'll take him on the book tour with me, one last hurrah for the little guy, and then maybe get him an eye patch and seal him up for the future, to be given to Schuyler when she's older and ready for a foolish, sentimental gift from her old man.
This was a tough call. There are times for me, I suppose, when honesty in parenting takes a back seat to the preservation of the fragile world that Schuyler creates. I'm not sure myself if this was the right thing to do. I only know that there's a lot I'll do in this world, right or wrong, to make Schuyler happy.
Happy trails, Jasper...
He was originally purchased while Julie was pregnant so that he could ride around in my car with me and let me see if I could ever get accustomed to the name "Jasper" in case we had a boy. I couldn't, of course (could you?), but the name stuck, and after a period of rejection by Baby Schuyler, he eventually became one of her most treasured friends. She even insisted on a girlfriend for him. (They have a baby bear, too.)
Julie and Schuyler fell asleep on the big floofy chair in the living room tonight, and at some point, Jasper slipped from Schuyler's grasp and fell to the floor, met by the gaping, slobbery maw of Max, Schuyler's very very very bad little dog. The rest you can probably figure out.
I looked over and saw the tragedy unfolding before it could get very far, and I managed to snatch poor Jasper up and take him to the other room before Schuyler could notice. The damage wasn't horrible, but it was bad enough. Ears chewed, one foot stripped of its fur, and most horribly, an eye completely missing. Jasper had been disfigured to an extent that couldn't be fixed.
Well, this is one of those parenting moments where they don't exactly tell you what you're supposed to do, now isn't it? What's the right thing to do here? Let Schuyler face the ugly truth and see what her nasty little hellhound had done to her best friend? Or run to the mall and pray that the Gap (Jasper's port of origin) would carry another that looked like him and try to slip a new Jasper 2.0 past Schuyler? In general, I am all about letting Schuyler see the world in all its grandness and all its pain at the same time, but tonight, I just couldn't do it. Ten minutes to drive to the mall, five minutes in and out of the store, and a sly switcheroo after she had crawled into bed in which she accepted the doppelgänger under darkened conditions, and the deed was done.
We'll see if it worked in the morning. These little Gap bears all seem to be a little different (lovingly hand-crafted by Chinese slave labor, no doubt), and Jasper Mark II looks a little different from his now one-eyed predecessor. Julie and I aren't in agreement on this, by the way. She feels like Schuyler is tough and could deal with the truth. I guess I agree, but then, I feel like she gets to handle the tough truths a lot. I will say that if Schuyler isn't fooled and notices the difference, then I'll come clean with her.
As for poor old Jasper, I think I'll take him on the book tour with me, one last hurrah for the little guy, and then maybe get him an eye patch and seal him up for the future, to be given to Schuyler when she's older and ready for a foolish, sentimental gift from her old man.
This was a tough call. There are times for me, I suppose, when honesty in parenting takes a back seat to the preservation of the fragile world that Schuyler creates. I'm not sure myself if this was the right thing to do. I only know that there's a lot I'll do in this world, right or wrong, to make Schuyler happy.
Sick day
As I write this, Schuyler has been asleep for about thirteen hours straight. She was sent home from school yesterday with a temp of 100.3, and while she spent the day at home with Julie in good spirits and seemed to be her usual happy self when I got home from work, she crawled into our bed at about 6 last night and is still there now.
It's interesting to me how much energy seems to get sapped out of the world when Schuyler is sick. It makes me realize exactly how much of my own attitude and enthusiasm is drawn from her. Anyone who has met Schuyler knows what I'm talking about. Her energy is contagious. Here's hoping that whatever has her laid out for thirteen hours (and counting) isn't.
I take off for my book tour in two days. Houston on Saturday, over to Austin on Sunday, and then San Antonio on Tuesday. If you're in town for any of these, come out and say hello. I'm looking forward to this as much as anyone looks forward to driving over 800 miles in five days. There are a lot of people I'm looking forward to seeing on this trip, and I'm really excited about meeting new folks as well. My social circle in Plano is pretty limited. (And short, and mute.)
It's interesting to me how much energy seems to get sapped out of the world when Schuyler is sick. It makes me realize exactly how much of my own attitude and enthusiasm is drawn from her. Anyone who has met Schuyler knows what I'm talking about. Her energy is contagious. Here's hoping that whatever has her laid out for thirteen hours (and counting) isn't.
I take off for my book tour in two days. Houston on Saturday, over to Austin on Sunday, and then San Antonio on Tuesday. If you're in town for any of these, come out and say hello. I'm looking forward to this as much as anyone looks forward to driving over 800 miles in five days. There are a lot of people I'm looking forward to seeing on this trip, and I'm really excited about meeting new folks as well. My social circle in Plano is pretty limited. (And short, and mute.)
March 3, 2008
"Positively TEXAS!"
Another TV moment, from "Positively TEXAS!" on CBS 11 in Dallas, hosted by Iola Johnson. I didn't expect it to run until next weekend, but my DVR is apparently smarter than I am.
This interview felt a little awkward, for some reason. Perhaps it was all those extra chins I wore that day. Good lord.
March 2, 2008
Media mentions
(Photo by Bruce Maxwell, Star-Telegram)
Two quick media moments for the scrapbook:
1) There's a story in today's Fort Worth Star-Telegram, called 'Schuyler's Monster' gives voice to family. I know I'm not exactly objective, but could that photo of Schuyler be any cuter? Also, she is kind enough to mostly cover my entirely uncute face, which I do appreciate. Trust me, you do, too.
2) I can't believe I forgot to mention this back when it ran, but I was the subject of a Quirky Nomads podcast, in which I read from an entry from this here blog o' mine. (I need to learn how to read without sounding like I'm recovering from a head injury.)
March 1, 2008
"Don't believe you're all alone."
I've mentioned it before, but there's a line that I love from a song sung by my favorite musician, Andrew Bird, in a cover of a song by The Handsome Family. The song is called Don't Be Scared, and seems to be (at least to my ears) about a child who lives mostly in an internal world and who perceives our world differently. The line that always reminds me of Schuyler is this one:
"Don't be scared. Don't believe you're all alone."
I frequently think about Schuyler being alone, which is interesting only in that practically speaking, she is almost never actually alone in an immediate sense, aside from when she plays in her room by herself. Even then, I get a little nervous, because one of my greatest fears is that the seizures that she is statistically likely to develop could land on her while she's by herself, and the thought of her going through that for the first time without someone there with her makes me want to go roust her out of her bed this very moment and keep her by my side until I grow old and die, and not let her go one second before.
In a larger sense, I worry about what will happen to Schuyler after we're gone. I think about her having to make her way in this mean fucking world, and I almost can't stand it. It's funny how fear and love go hand in hand so often in our lives. The very act of opening up your heart to another human being can also reveal such vulnerability and rawness that to contemplate abusing it feels like imagining a murder. Or a suicide.
Yesterday I watched Schuyler charge through her little world as a reporter, a photographer and a videographer from the Dallas Morning News followed her around at school. I was once again reminded how easily she adapts to change, how in fact she thrives on it. Schuyler only seems to stumble when things become too routine; her world thrills her when it throws her curve balls.
I envy that about her. Last night, I attended a local music showcase and got to hang out with a newish friend whose media work I've always admired, and I had a great time being me for a change, not The Author or The Father or anything else. And yet, I was still aware the whole time of how shy and unwieldy I can feel in unfamiliar social situations. Sometimes I feel like Bigfoot, dressed up like a normal person and trying to fit in despite being, well, a big clumsy monster. It is in those moments that I appreciate Schuyler's breezy ability to embrace the world on her own terms.
In my dreams, Schuyler talks to me, telling me that things are going to be okay. I think she means more than just her own monster battle.
"Don't be scared. Don't believe you're all alone."
I frequently think about Schuyler being alone, which is interesting only in that practically speaking, she is almost never actually alone in an immediate sense, aside from when she plays in her room by herself. Even then, I get a little nervous, because one of my greatest fears is that the seizures that she is statistically likely to develop could land on her while she's by herself, and the thought of her going through that for the first time without someone there with her makes me want to go roust her out of her bed this very moment and keep her by my side until I grow old and die, and not let her go one second before.
In a larger sense, I worry about what will happen to Schuyler after we're gone. I think about her having to make her way in this mean fucking world, and I almost can't stand it. It's funny how fear and love go hand in hand so often in our lives. The very act of opening up your heart to another human being can also reveal such vulnerability and rawness that to contemplate abusing it feels like imagining a murder. Or a suicide.
Yesterday I watched Schuyler charge through her little world as a reporter, a photographer and a videographer from the Dallas Morning News followed her around at school. I was once again reminded how easily she adapts to change, how in fact she thrives on it. Schuyler only seems to stumble when things become too routine; her world thrills her when it throws her curve balls.
I envy that about her. Last night, I attended a local music showcase and got to hang out with a newish friend whose media work I've always admired, and I had a great time being me for a change, not The Author or The Father or anything else. And yet, I was still aware the whole time of how shy and unwieldy I can feel in unfamiliar social situations. Sometimes I feel like Bigfoot, dressed up like a normal person and trying to fit in despite being, well, a big clumsy monster. It is in those moments that I appreciate Schuyler's breezy ability to embrace the world on her own terms.
In my dreams, Schuyler talks to me, telling me that things are going to be okay. I think she means more than just her own monster battle.
February 27, 2008
Comedy monster
My favorite moment from the Weekend America interview didn't actually make it into the broadcast. Reporter Michael May was asking Schuyler questions about how she communicated. She was giving some of her answers on her device, but she was also verbalizing a lot. I was there to help translate, as her words can be hard for the uninitiated to understand.
"Schuyler, how did you talk before you got your device?" he asked.
She thought about it for a few moments, trying to remember back that far. Finally she held up her hands.
"My hands!" she said, indicating that she was learning sign language before she got her Big Box of Words.
As she answered, a smile crept across her face. She then held up her feet and pointed to them, cracking herself up as she answered.
"But not my feet!"
"Schuyler, how did you talk before you got your device?" he asked.
She thought about it for a few moments, trying to remember back that far. Finally she held up her hands.
"My hands!" she said, indicating that she was learning sign language before she got her Big Box of Words.
As she answered, a smile crept across her face. She then held up her feet and pointed to them, cracking herself up as she answered.
"But not my feet!"
February 25, 2008
February 24, 2008
What's on TV?
"Think" on KERA Channel 13, Dallas.
(Hosted by the very cool Krys Boyd.)
Topic A Father's Journey with His Wordless Daughter
Guest Robert Rummel-Hudson, Peter Brown, & Kent Haruf
Description What can we learn about tenacity and joy from children, even when they're unable to communicate verbally? Robert Rummel-Hudson, whose daughter was diagnosed at age 3 with polymicrogyria, a rare disorder that leaves her unable to speak, will join us this evening to discuss his family's triumphs in the face of an extraordinary challenge. His book is "Schuyler's Monster: A Father's Journey with His Wordless Daughter" (St. Martin's Press, 2008).
February 23, 2008
Media for Monsters
Yep, that's People Magazine. Obviously, this was very cool.
American Public Media's Weekend America has posted their story about Schuyler, which you can also listen to on the page or via a podcast. (I tried embedding it here, but apparently I am not so bright.)
Speaking of being not so bright, apparently I fooled at least one person. I appeared on Think last night, and in a followup to D Magazine's Frontburner, the host, Krys Boyd, said, "He's great. Funny and candid and very, very sharp."
Which was also very, very cool. Usually I'm sharp like a Weeble, so it's nice to know I can pull myself together when necessary. I'll post the interview whenever it becomes available.
If you were considering coming to either of my book signings but decided against it, you missed what can only be described as Extreme Schuyler. On Friday night, she was rambunctious and crazy and starring in her own little variety hour special. The crowd was packed with people who know and love her, including my family, so it was to be expected. At today's signing, she became an unashamed capitalist, sitting beside me at the signing table and smartly handing the book to people as they walked up. She even participated in the signing, using funky pens made for her by one of her teachers.
If you were to suspect that I have never in my life had a prouder moment than the one in which I sat in a Barnes & Noble autographing copies of my book with Schuyler signing them right alongside me, well, you'd be correct.
February 22, 2008
Pimping my stuff like Chelsea, yo.
This weekend's media fun:
Think (KERA 13, Dallas) -- Friday, February 22, 2008, 7:30 pm
What can we learn about tenacity and joy from children, even when they're unable to communicate verbally? Robert Rummel-Hudson, whose daughter was diagnosed at age 3 with polymicrogyria – a rare disorder that leaves her unable to speak, will join us this evening to discuss his family's triumphs in the face of an extraordinary challenge. His book is "Schuyler’s Monster: A Father's Journey with His Wordless Daughter" (St. Martin’s Press, 2008).
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Weekend America (American Public Media) -- Saturday, February 23, 2008
Where to Listen
Podcasts and RSS feeds
Think (KERA 13, Dallas) -- Friday, February 22, 2008, 7:30 pm
What can we learn about tenacity and joy from children, even when they're unable to communicate verbally? Robert Rummel-Hudson, whose daughter was diagnosed at age 3 with polymicrogyria – a rare disorder that leaves her unable to speak, will join us this evening to discuss his family's triumphs in the face of an extraordinary challenge. His book is "Schuyler’s Monster: A Father's Journey with His Wordless Daughter" (St. Martin’s Press, 2008).
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Weekend America (American Public Media) -- Saturday, February 23, 2008
Where to Listen
Podcasts and RSS feeds
February 21, 2008
Surreality Show
I'm finally getting a moment to sit down and actually update, after a busy week in New York. I arrived on Tuesday, after a flight through high winds so bad that there were no fewer that THREE people utilizing barf bags, one of them sitting in the row in front of me. Being in the back of the plane makes for an especially wild ride in high winds, although I must confess, I thought it was a lot of fun, aside from the entirely unwelcome puke whiff.
Tuesday evening was as surreal as any I've ever experienced. Michael Malice is now a New York Times bestselling author, but he remembered what it felt like the first time he was published, so when he showed up at my hotel, he knew exactly where to take me: on a quick tour of Manhattan bookstores to actually see the book on the shelves and, you know, take photos of it. I'll be cool one day, and maybe even all jaded about the whole writing process, but for now, I can allow myself an evening of extreme dorkitude and enjoy the moment like a tourist in my own life.
(My favorite moment came when a security guard at the Barnes & Noble at Union Square told us we couldn't take photos. Michael explained that I was the author of the book. "I don't care," the guard said. "You can't take photos in the store." I thought that was awesome. My fancy pants did not dazzle him in the least.)
Not once but TWICE during the evening, I was actually recognized on the street outside two different bookstores. Imagine my ego as a giant blimp, filled to bursting with equal parts self-importance, terror and an appreciation for the absurd.
The book release party itself was great. I got to meet a lot of people I'd only known online previously, and the number of old friends who showed up was staggering. I can't tell you the last time I wore a suit, on that wasn't a rental, anyway. but I think I cleaned up okay for the occasion. All in all, it was an amazing way to kick off the book's release. I felt like the pretty girl at the prom.
There have been a lot of really nice things written about the book by my friends in the past several days. Here are just a few:
Pamie (for the Dewey Donation System, which I'm very happy to be contributing to this year, in the form of a signed copy of the book as a prize for donations)
Omar (who contributes to the expansion of my ego to near-critical levels on a regular basis)
Erin (who shares her own memories of a pivotal part of the book, and her feelings about Schuyler)
John Scalzi (whose writerly opinion means a lot to me)
Michael Malice (sharing his thoughts on our whirlwind tour of Manhattan bookstores, and on how how our friendship seemed unlikely but turned out to be almost inevitable)
(EDITED TO ADD) Chris Naze (one of the very early friends who I met online; we are either Old Skool, or just old.)
Now I'm sitting in the lobby of my hotel, waiting for a car to come pick me up, and I'm torn between the feeling that I just got here, so there's no way that it's already time to leave, and the very real absence in my life of my family, and particularly of a little girl whose presence I feel next to me constantly, even when she's so far away.
Tuesday evening was as surreal as any I've ever experienced. Michael Malice is now a New York Times bestselling author, but he remembered what it felt like the first time he was published, so when he showed up at my hotel, he knew exactly where to take me: on a quick tour of Manhattan bookstores to actually see the book on the shelves and, you know, take photos of it. I'll be cool one day, and maybe even all jaded about the whole writing process, but for now, I can allow myself an evening of extreme dorkitude and enjoy the moment like a tourist in my own life.
(My favorite moment came when a security guard at the Barnes & Noble at Union Square told us we couldn't take photos. Michael explained that I was the author of the book. "I don't care," the guard said. "You can't take photos in the store." I thought that was awesome. My fancy pants did not dazzle him in the least.)
Not once but TWICE during the evening, I was actually recognized on the street outside two different bookstores. Imagine my ego as a giant blimp, filled to bursting with equal parts self-importance, terror and an appreciation for the absurd.
The book release party itself was great. I got to meet a lot of people I'd only known online previously, and the number of old friends who showed up was staggering. I can't tell you the last time I wore a suit, on that wasn't a rental, anyway. but I think I cleaned up okay for the occasion. All in all, it was an amazing way to kick off the book's release. I felt like the pretty girl at the prom.
There have been a lot of really nice things written about the book by my friends in the past several days. Here are just a few:
Pamie (for the Dewey Donation System, which I'm very happy to be contributing to this year, in the form of a signed copy of the book as a prize for donations)
Omar (who contributes to the expansion of my ego to near-critical levels on a regular basis)
Erin (who shares her own memories of a pivotal part of the book, and her feelings about Schuyler)
John Scalzi (whose writerly opinion means a lot to me)
Michael Malice (sharing his thoughts on our whirlwind tour of Manhattan bookstores, and on how how our friendship seemed unlikely but turned out to be almost inevitable)
(EDITED TO ADD) Chris Naze (one of the very early friends who I met online; we are either Old Skool, or just old.)
Now I'm sitting in the lobby of my hotel, waiting for a car to come pick me up, and I'm torn between the feeling that I just got here, so there's no way that it's already time to leave, and the very real absence in my life of my family, and particularly of a little girl whose presence I feel next to me constantly, even when she's so far away.
February 17, 2008
Sighting in Baton Rouge
Schuyler's Monster
Originally uploaded by Elizalou
How cool is THAT? (Thanks to my good friend Eliza...)
February 16, 2008
Monster Days
Today the book insanity begins in earnest, or at least the part that takes place in the real world rather than the one that looks out at my from my screen here. Until now, most of the excitement of this whole book experience has taken place online. It has all felt almost virtual, like becoming emperor in Civilization. Ruling the world is nice, but defeating the Visigoths doesn't mean you don't have to stop to heat up some Chef Boyardee for your kid.
Today it all steps into the real world. A reporter from a public radio show called Weekend America is going to spend the morning with Schuyler and myself. (Julie will be at work, which is fine with her; as always, she prefers to be the silent partner.) I feel sort of bad about how the day is starting off; thunderstorms are rolling through and are probably going to wreck the better part of the day. I hope our crapy little apartment makes for compelling radio.
The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic, in the best possible way. Tuesday is the big release day, of course, although the book is already making its way to some stores (and is even being delivered to the UK by Amazon, apparently). I'll be getting up bright and early that day to fly to New York City, for the Mediabistro Book Release Party on Wednesday. Then I fly back to Dallas on Thursday.
Friday will begin with a bang. I'll be in the tv studio at our local PBS station, recording a segment for Think, a show that I actually like a great deal. Then, later that day, I'll be recording a podcast interview for Jumping Monkeys (and how often do you get to say that?), before ending the day with a reading and signing at Julie's store. The next day, I'll have another signing at another Barnes & Noble in Dallas.
Next week will include another tv appearance, on a local CBS show called Positively TEXAS!, and a return to the public radio station for a taped interview for KUT Radio in Austin. March will start off with more book signings in Arlington, Houston, Austin and San Antonio. And at some time in all this, People Magazine will be reviewing the book, hopefully without employing words like "crap" or "suck" in the process.
It's exciting and terrifying, all of it. And yet, in the midst of it all, real life goes on. With everything that is happening, the thing I find myself wanting to tell you about is how Schuyler had a week in which she was out of school on Monday and without her device for an evening (hers had to be sent back after the screen failed, and the loaner didn't arrive until the next day), and yet she still managed to come back on Friday and do really well on her spelling test. I'm a little embarrassed to say that she exceeded my own expectations, which is what she does on a regular basis to just about everyone, really. We believe in Schuyler because we know how tenacious she is, but we also fear her monster, in ways that she never does. Schuyler never fails us, and yet our fear for her still persists, and shakes our faith, to our shame.
And that, my friends, is what my life is like. It's one in which there's a book, and a little girl, and an invisible monster that still colors every aspect of our lives, both good and bad. All this book business is exciting and surreal and wonderful. I don't take a bit of it for granted, not for a moment, and I'm incredibly grateful for every moment of it. But there's a reality here, the same one that is omnipresent through every good day and every bad one.
It's the thing that sits silently watching through it all, the thing that made all this happen and yet the thing that I'd trade away every bit of this new success, just to be rid of it. I'd give it all up without hesitation, just to hear Schuyler say "Good morning" when she wakes up in a few hours, or to watch her talk about Hannah Montana with her friends, or to take away the lurking phantom of seizures that haunts her future.
I love that Schuyler's Monster is doing so well, but I hate that Schuyler's monster is, too.
Today it all steps into the real world. A reporter from a public radio show called Weekend America is going to spend the morning with Schuyler and myself. (Julie will be at work, which is fine with her; as always, she prefers to be the silent partner.) I feel sort of bad about how the day is starting off; thunderstorms are rolling through and are probably going to wreck the better part of the day. I hope our crapy little apartment makes for compelling radio.
The next couple of weeks are going to be hectic, in the best possible way. Tuesday is the big release day, of course, although the book is already making its way to some stores (and is even being delivered to the UK by Amazon, apparently). I'll be getting up bright and early that day to fly to New York City, for the Mediabistro Book Release Party on Wednesday. Then I fly back to Dallas on Thursday.
Friday will begin with a bang. I'll be in the tv studio at our local PBS station, recording a segment for Think, a show that I actually like a great deal. Then, later that day, I'll be recording a podcast interview for Jumping Monkeys (and how often do you get to say that?), before ending the day with a reading and signing at Julie's store. The next day, I'll have another signing at another Barnes & Noble in Dallas.
Next week will include another tv appearance, on a local CBS show called Positively TEXAS!, and a return to the public radio station for a taped interview for KUT Radio in Austin. March will start off with more book signings in Arlington, Houston, Austin and San Antonio. And at some time in all this, People Magazine will be reviewing the book, hopefully without employing words like "crap" or "suck" in the process.
It's exciting and terrifying, all of it. And yet, in the midst of it all, real life goes on. With everything that is happening, the thing I find myself wanting to tell you about is how Schuyler had a week in which she was out of school on Monday and without her device for an evening (hers had to be sent back after the screen failed, and the loaner didn't arrive until the next day), and yet she still managed to come back on Friday and do really well on her spelling test. I'm a little embarrassed to say that she exceeded my own expectations, which is what she does on a regular basis to just about everyone, really. We believe in Schuyler because we know how tenacious she is, but we also fear her monster, in ways that she never does. Schuyler never fails us, and yet our fear for her still persists, and shakes our faith, to our shame.
And that, my friends, is what my life is like. It's one in which there's a book, and a little girl, and an invisible monster that still colors every aspect of our lives, both good and bad. All this book business is exciting and surreal and wonderful. I don't take a bit of it for granted, not for a moment, and I'm incredibly grateful for every moment of it. But there's a reality here, the same one that is omnipresent through every good day and every bad one.
It's the thing that sits silently watching through it all, the thing that made all this happen and yet the thing that I'd trade away every bit of this new success, just to be rid of it. I'd give it all up without hesitation, just to hear Schuyler say "Good morning" when she wakes up in a few hours, or to watch her talk about Hannah Montana with her friends, or to take away the lurking phantom of seizures that haunts her future.
I love that Schuyler's Monster is doing so well, but I hate that Schuyler's monster is, too.
February 12, 2008
Perfect Storm
When I went to bed last night, I was aware of the possibility of thunderstorms moving through the area, but when they arrived in the middle of the night, they announced themselves like something from a 1950's monster movie. If there was any slow buildup, we slept through it, right up until the bright flash and deafening BOOM that awakened us in a chaotic frenzy of vaguely coherent obscenities.
A few seconds later, Schuyler was standing in the doorway.
The comparison to a monster movie is a good one for her, actually. One of the things that Schuyler and I share is a love for those movies and, more generally, the thrill of being scared. (Julie has been successfully vetoing my taking Schuyler to see Cloverfield for weeks now.) When we watch a scary movie, Schuyler will cower behind a blanket and make little whimpery sounds, but if I try to turn it off or change the channel, she gets well and truly pissed off. She has always been a thrill junkie.
Thunderstorms are like scary movies for Schuyler. Even at 3 o'clock in the morning, once she's found her way to our bed, she's as happy as she can be as the lightning flashes and the thunder shakes the windows. She "wow"s at the lightening and the rain hitting the window so hard that it sounds like hail, and she squeals and giggles after the thunder. As sleepy as I am at that hour and as much as I know how zombiesque we'll all be the next morning, I still can't help but stay awake and watch her little face, illuminated by the steady flicker from the storm. I don't need words from her to see how happy she is when the storms rattle our world.
Middle of the night storms are like monster movies that appear out of nowhere, and I love them unconditionally, probably for the same reasons Schuyler does.
A few seconds later, Schuyler was standing in the doorway.
The comparison to a monster movie is a good one for her, actually. One of the things that Schuyler and I share is a love for those movies and, more generally, the thrill of being scared. (Julie has been successfully vetoing my taking Schuyler to see Cloverfield for weeks now.) When we watch a scary movie, Schuyler will cower behind a blanket and make little whimpery sounds, but if I try to turn it off or change the channel, she gets well and truly pissed off. She has always been a thrill junkie.
Thunderstorms are like scary movies for Schuyler. Even at 3 o'clock in the morning, once she's found her way to our bed, she's as happy as she can be as the lightning flashes and the thunder shakes the windows. She "wow"s at the lightening and the rain hitting the window so hard that it sounds like hail, and she squeals and giggles after the thunder. As sleepy as I am at that hour and as much as I know how zombiesque we'll all be the next morning, I still can't help but stay awake and watch her little face, illuminated by the steady flicker from the storm. I don't need words from her to see how happy she is when the storms rattle our world.
Middle of the night storms are like monster movies that appear out of nowhere, and I love them unconditionally, probably for the same reasons Schuyler does.
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