Wedding Bells Jakarta-Style

I’ve shared so much of our Jakarta life: woes about my pond; frustration over the traffic and miscommunication; sorrows, as with Suharti’s death last month. It’s fitting and especially joyful to share glad tidings: This weekend Linda Hermawati, Rusnati and Rohemon’s oldest daughter, married Agung Iskander. As is the custom, the wedding was a three-day affair, beginning with a Muslim ceremony on Friday and culminating in a Javanese-style reception on Sunday to which Curtis and I were invited. Rusnati's mother and father came from Cirebon for the wedding. Rohemon, an only child, has his cousins there. (Agung's family was there as well, I just didn't get a photo of them)

Unlike Western weddings, which are more about getting things ready for the big event, Indonesian weddings are about readying the bride and groom for this life changing event.  For 5 nights before the wedding, the bride was prepared for the ceremony. Linda prayed and fasted during the day. She could not eat certain food including chicken or eggs. Each evening her mother (and other women in the family) washed Linda with an herbal scrub to make her skin soft and sweet-smelling.

Sunday’s reception was held at Rusnati and Rohemon’s home. The driveway beside the house was completely tented and festooned with flowers and decorations.

A dais with chairs for the bridal party, the parents of the bride, bride and groom, and parents of the groom stood in that order to greet each guest. It is customary to hold each person’s hands between yours during the greeting. Guests bless the couple by saying “selamat berbahagia” welcome/best wishes for your wedding. The first wedding we attended, our Driver, Aan and social guru, coached Curtis and I on the proper pronunciation of that phrase. We said it to everyone we met that day, not realizing we were wishing each of them happiness at upon their wedding.

The wedding party spends the entire reception on the raised dais, at the ready for photographs and to greet the next guests, and the next, and the next. Some receptions last 2 hours, some all evening. It is no wonder that Javanese wedding parties don’t smile. (Actually, smiling for photos is a relatively new practice in Indonesian, popularized by youngsters snapping and swapping pics via Handphone.) Not only do older Indonesians not smile for photos, many will not look at the camera and some refuse to have their pictures taken. Perhaps in the style of Native Americans, they believe the process of taking a photo takes part of their spirit?

Unlike Western weddings, there’s no dancing, no toasting, no speeches by the family—at least not at the reception. (I don’t know what happens at the other wedding events as I’ve never been.)  At large, hotel receptions there are constant announcements over a microphone. Guests are announced as they approach the wedding party; family members are announced as they enter the room, co-workers, friends and family members are called up to take photos with the wedding party as per a pre-set list. All this announcing mixed with twangy-clangy gamelan music and caterwauling by traditional singers is so loud it makes polite conversation impossible, so everyone has to yell…and the decibel level rises.

Mercifully, Linda and Agung spared us from that. The tone of their wedding was friendly, a pleasant blend of eating, drinking, chattering, children playing.

It was an honor for Curtis and me to share this joyous occasion with Rusnati, Rohemon and their families and friends.

Selamat Berbahagia, Linda and Agung!

According to Pooh

“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"-Winnie the Pooh.

OK, so we know what Pooh thinks about conversations; how does Pooh feel about the word count in picture books?

Yesterday, I received a note from my agent about the length of picture books. She wrote that they are getting shorter and shorter. And many comments she is receiving about rejected submissions say they are "too long" or "too many words."

While last year 1000 words was the absolute longest length for a picture book, now it's 600 words (according to her analysis of picture books she has sold in the past couple of years. ) Of those, 2 are mine, coming in at 151 words and 353 words.

Both books of mine are concept books not "story books."  One, DAD and POP  explores the "concept" of being a child with 2 fathers; the other, YOUR DADDY WAS JUST LIKE YOU, is a grandmother sharing how her grandson and his father were so alike as children. I wonder, how many of the other books on my agent's "sold" list are also concept books, or poetry? (Poems, rhymed and free verse, are usually shorter than prose.) Story books are often longer because there is more work to be done in telling a traditional story. The author must:

1. establish a problem;

2.show the main character trying to deal with the problem (often by choosing wrong solutions)and the problem    becoming worse and worse:

3. realize the error of his or her ways and best,  fall so far it feels as though all is lost;

4. choose a best solution, try it and succeed; or

5. realize his or her goals was way off base and he or she was better off before.

All in 600 words or less? Before any illustrations have been drawn to accompany the text? You try it...*

I get that picture books are getting shorter. They are more about illustration today than they have been in the past. And increasingly more picture books published are created by author-illustrators. Pictures are worth a 1000 words. And they can tell a story. The problem is, I'm not an illustrator. I'm a storyteller. I use words not images, to tell stories. Where does that leave me?

While once picture books were for children between 4 and 8, I'd say realistically, they are now for children 0-6. Those children older than 6 are reading on their own, and reading chapter books. (Not to say that older peeps don't like being read to, nor that picture books don't have value as literature for older students. Admit it...who doesn't enjoy a picture book?)

I'm no sprinter. I wasn't when I was a kid running track and I'm not now. It takes me a while to say what I need to say. One review of my 2005 award-winning, 2008 award-nominated picture book NOT NORMAN, A GOLDFISH STORY, referred to my text as being "bald" which we took to mean "tight". (The word count for NOT NORMAN is about  730 words.) I took that as a compliment. I had done what I set out to do: Pare my story down to the absolute shortest word length possible and leave as much room as possible for the illustrator's interpretation. Currently:  today-yesterday-tomorrow, I am revising what I hope will be a future picture book. Presently, the text is 800 words and I'm trying to cut, shave, pare it down down down...but to what? What do we sacrifice in writing that tight?

Yes. Picture books are a marriage of text and illustration. And yes, children, especially preliterate children, "read" the illustrations and with them learn to interpret text. But... Much of storytelling, of hearing/reading/enjoying picture books comes from the text, the language, the character's voice and, dare I say it?...the author's voice. What will disappear if I cut 200 words from my story? What will that reviewer write about the books I'm revising now---which are supposed to be 130 words shorter? What's more spare than bald?

Me. That's what will be lost. My personality. My voice. I am long winded. As anyone who has ever read my blog postings knows, it takes me a while to tell a story. I am not "flash fiction."  Just as it took me a few hundred yards to reach my stride on the track field, it takes me a few hundred words more to tell a good story.

So, what do I do? Do I cut cut cut and try to sell Kelly fiction-lite? or do I just keep writing stories I enjoy telling knowing they may end up in a drawer.

Or, do I quit trying to write picture books and wait/hope/pray for a reversal in word count?

P.S. Yes, yes yes: In keeping with the current trend, I should cut this posting by half. That having been said, ask yourself: what do you wish you hadn't read?

*This is just one example of a story model--there are others (is the word count less?)

It’s Procrastination, I know…

Writers are often asked, “Do you write everyday?” My answer: “No. But I think about writing everyday. And some days, I do everything I can not to write"…

Today. I awoke with only one obligation: a 6:30 am call with my editor. After that my day, all day, was clear for writing. I woke at 6, took a shower, make a cup of coffee and:

6:30 Made the call

7:30 still talking (second cup of coffee)

8:00 almost off

8:37 hung up the phone

That done, I sat at my desk and pulled forward the revision folder I wanted…needed to work on. The computer was on, but e-mail, internet, everything was minimized. My finger hovers over the Outlook icon. “Later,” I promise. “You checked it last night before you went to bed. Nothing important has happened since then…”

9:18 after receiving and sending 11 important e-mails, I take matters in hand and carry the folder over to my work chair—a round ottoman perfect for spreading out on and spreading out files.

9:22 should have gone potty before...

More coffee and vitamins and water….3 glasses. I haven’t been drinking enough water…

Forgot to feed fish…better feed fish

Bing…incoming mail

Respond.

I push send...Bing Bing 2 more come in. I didn’t open them, but I couldn’t help glancing at the top few lines which automatically pop up on my split screen layout. One is a note saying I’d sent my writer’s group check in note to the wrong “Jen.” Stupid, stupid, stupid me. I have to send an apology. Now, or I won’t stop thinking about it.

My stomach clenches…the vitamins. I took them on an empty stomach. If I don’t eat something, they’ll make me sick…

May as well send my editor that note we discussed while I eat, no sense in waiting…

Bing

Bing  Bing

Quick answers to those. Post that birthday before I forget.  Finish the last bite of cereal. Carry my dish to the kitchen.

10: 08 It’s smells stuffy. I hate it when the house smell stuffy, stale. I light the candle in the entry….while I’m at it. Carry the candle to the bedrooms, hall, baths to light others.

Bing

It’s not that I don’t know what I’m doing. I know. I can define procrastinate. According to the Free Dictionary.com: “To put off doing something, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness.” ...so close to procreate [from Latin prōcreāre, from PRO-1 + creāre to create]. They share the same prefix “pro” from Latin, meaning “in favor of." So, it's like being in favor of "crastination" whatever that might be...I better look it up...

Google procrastinate. Land at  Podictionary, “A Podcast for Word Lovers” hosted by Charles Hodgson. “There three parts to the word and two of them together are almost redundant.  The prefix pro- has a sense of forward about it so in the context of procrastination, one is pushing that chore, maybe cleaning out the garage, pushing it forward until some future time.  The second syllable, cras, means “tomorrow” in Latin and the “tinate” part means belonging.  So it means push it off because this is a task that belongs to tomorrow. “

So "cras" means tomorrow... Tomorrow? What am I supposed to do tomorrow? I know there's something...did I write it on my calendar?

“Stop it, buckle down!”

It’s the danged computer, my blessing and curse.  I carry my folder to the other room.

I've just settled down when Aan, our driver, comes in with the orchid’s I’d sent him to buy. Cymbidium orchids, angrek bulan, moon orchids, full, white, gorgeous. But their leaves are all dusty and spotty. Why doesn’t anyone every take the time to wipe off their leaves?

Maybe I should get in the mood first, by reading a little first. Reading inspires me… Spread out the pages, so many revision comments…more than I thought. This should be good. Plenty to work on…

It’s so quiet. It will just take a minute to turn on some music…nothing new. Set the folder aside. Push play, adjust the volume.

On the walk back to the table, I happen to glance into my office at the monitor on my desk. A new e-mail? It’s Sarah’s blog entry. I love her blog. I just peek at the intro. So cute and sweet and sad. I need to tell her, right now. It will just take a sec. If I don’t I’ll forget later…

One of the orchids falls over. A stem breaks. Dang. There goes a whole stem of flowers.

Don’t want it to wilt.

Better put it in water.

It would look lovely in the tall clear vase...

With some rocks...

In the bathroom…

Say, these old flowers don’t look so bad….all they need is fresh water…and their stems cut…they might look good mixed with the white orchid. They do! That’s lovely…lovely. Straighten the towels. There.

The dining room table has insurance papers laid out along one end. I’d left them there to remind myself to work on them. I could sit at the other end…. Or, I do hate filling out the forms, and my handwriting get sloppy when my hand gets tired. The best thing to do would be to fill out a few forms at a time. 2 now, 2 later, 2 later…. Okay 4 now.

12:32 I am crazy. If anyone knew, really knew what I do all day…

I should write this. This would be a really funny blog entry… It’s procrastination, I know....what are the rest of the words? It was fascination I know, dah dad a dad ah dah, dad ah…maybe I could write a parody about procrastination…I’ll bet I have that song on CD…

With photos! Where’s my camera?

Oh, but first, a little soap and water on those dusty orchid leaves…