Weird search terms that brought people to rachelledelaney.com in 2011:

- “my bonnet petticoats”

- “bossy teacher” (okay, so this is apt)

- “my little ponies altered”

- “CBC radio 1 Jian Ghomeshi styrofoam” (Styrofoam?)

- “feminist fabulous” (yesss!)

- “flight burrito” (what on Earth?)

- “friends you will never forgive”

- “in praise of ironing neruda analysis”

- “delaney in fancy writing” (We have no idea what this means, but we LIKE it.)

A non-exhaustive list of the piratey things Rachelle has received over the years:

- pirate jewelery
- pirate greeting cards
- pirate daytimer
- pirate flags
- pirate stickers
- pirate bookmarks
- pirate paperclips
- pirate puppets (regular and finger)
- pirate hats
- pirate t-shirt (it read “Sparrow is my co-pirate”)
- pirate breathmints (grog-flavoured)
- pirate magnets
- pirate rubber ducky

This is a good thing for authors to keep in mind when coming up with ideas for books. If you’re not willing to let dinosaurs or unicorns or stray Russian dogs take over your wardrobe or home decor, you might want to rethink your topic. Just a thought.

See, The Ship of Lost Souls was my masters thesis. And yes, I wrote a thesis on pirate children. Go on, point out what the F and the A in MFA could stand for. I’ve heard it all before. My lawyer friends are especially fond of telling me.

The point is, after selling the novel in Canada, then recently in the States, I was able to throw my earnings back at the loan and get it out of my life. And on the one hand, it’s a bit disappointing not to actually be able to spend your earnings on something fulfilling, like a pony. But on the other hand, I don’t think a lot of Masters students can say that their theses paid off their loans.

Thus. Score one more for the MFA.

On a just-barely-related note, as the author of a series about pirate children, I have received pretty well every pirate-related present under the sun, including grog-flavoured breathmints. But I do not yet have a Jack Sparrow pony (see above). Just saying.

Which begs the question, would you require teachers to have children of their own in order to teach? Of course not. Pediatricians in order to practice? Doubtful.

Personally, I believe (and many other children’s authors agree) that while being with kids obviously helps your writing, what’s most important is that you were once a kid, and you remember the experience in detail. You can still connect with the emotions, the triumphs, the traumas you went through. And most importantly, you can express them.

Also, let’s see… Theodore Geisel, Margaret Wise Brown, Beatrix Potter, Maurice Sendak, Kate Dicamillo, Hans and Margaret Rey, Kit Pearson, Louisa May Alcott.

Brilliant and successful children’s authors. Who never had kids.

Just sayin’.

Aside from writing till I’m cross-eyed, I’m busy at my other work too. How does one work full-time and write two books in a single summer, you ask? I’ll tell you once it’s over. If my brain still functions sufficiently to string sentences together.

But anyway, over at my other job, I sometimes blog. So if you’re just pining away for my posts, you can always visit me there. Like today, I wrote about basking sharks. What are basking sharks, you ask? Good question. They’re animals you’ve probably never seen, and quite likely never will. Mainly because there’s, like, two of them left in Canadian waters.

But they’re super cool. In fact, they’re the second largest fish in the world! So make haste over to the David Suzuki Foundation’s Healthy Oceans blog and get to know them, in all their big, slow, chompy, glory. I guarantee you’ll love them too.

Also, I have lots of things on the go, which I will start telling you about now that I’m back online and raring to go.

In the meantime, I leave you with this goodness: my favourite picture book illustrator, Oliver Jeffers, teaching you how to draw a penguin.

Enjoy!

And yet, I do enjoy it. Very much. And I’ve learned to relish the little things that keep me going. Like reading a good book on the bus to work (right now I’m into Going Bovine by Libba Bray). And morning swims, followed by pre-office lattes. And long walks home along the seawall.

And weekends. Good lord, have I learned to appreciate, and to really make use of, my time off.

This past weekend, I wasn’t terribly productive. But I thoroughly appreciated every minute of it. As you can imagine:

Right now we live in 550 square feet, which isn’t exactly small, but with all my books and all P’s photo gear, it gets pretty cluttered. We’ve also got a ridiculous amount of shoes for two people.

Still, I’d like to think I could live in 90 square feet. In Paris I lived briefly in a 250 square foot flat. The bed and couch were one in the same, and the table could only accommodate one plate, one book, and one wine glass, but still, it was nice and cozy. Incidentally, the person renting out said flat turned out to be a young children’s writer – basically the Parisian version of me, but with better makeup and cooler clothes, which I imagine I’d have if I lived in Paris. Also, her last name translated to “buckwheat,” which I thought was a good sign, since it’s gluten free.

Anyway. Ninety square feet. I’d have to get rid of a whole lot of books. And P’s work space. Possibly P. himself.

Think I’ll stick with 550.

We don’t often think about authors “working”. I know I like to envision my favourite scribes spending their days at their sunny desks with steaming cups of tea, looking thoughtful and inspired. Maybe occasionally taking a break to Tweet about something thoughtful and inspiring.

But the sad truth is, most of us work. I haven’t done an official census, but I’m guessing that 90% of writers have other jobs. Possibly more?

Lately I’ve spent a LOT of time pondering how best to keep writing and still manage to pay rent. And I have yet to figure it out. But it has inspired an upcoming blog post. Watch for it. No more hints.

Also, remember way back when I spoke about challenging myself to try something new and scary each year? Well, it came to me today: my new year’s resolution. Or rather, one of them. I’m going to take some art classes. Draw. Paint. Papier mache it up.

Now, this may not sound ground-breaking, but truthfully, I have a slight phobia of art. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE it. But me? Draw? Nope. Not gonna happen. I distinctly remember having a minor panic attack at age 6 when an art teacher asked me to add the correct shadows to a dinosaur I’d painted. Even at that age I was aware that it looked more like an iguana than a stegosaurus.

It always disturbs me, though, when I hear my young students say that they suck at art. I’d say about half the students in each class I teach say that. And truthfully, it’s almost always girls. I’m sure I used to say it myself.

So the time has come to change all that. 2011 will be the year of the art class.

You can hold me to that.

My two-year-old niece, hard at work. She's my hero.