Welcome to Frog on a Dime’s first ever Summer Open House! Relax. Kick off those sandy flip-flops, grab yourself a chilled beverage and enjoy.

Today I’ll be takin’ it easy too because my feline friend Finn gleefully agreed to skip nap number seven to interview the author of this new cat-centric and summery picture book by debut author Curtis Manley. But first, let me proclaim . . .

I LOVE this book. I had the pleasure–the DELIGHT–to hear Curtis read his droll, charming, sweet, guffaw-worthy story at a retreat in June. This book has so many layers packed between its covers. On the surface, it’s about a book-loving boy and his cats. I mean, the title. There you have it. But it’s also about friendship and meeting people (or in this case, cats) where they are. It’s about opening someone’s world by sharing something you love. It’s about patience. It’s about the glories of imagination and storytelling. It’s about appreciating different learning styles, and yes, it’s about the summer Nick taught his cats to read. Quite a teacher, that Nick.

Enter for a chance to receive your own copy of THE SUMMER NICK TAUGHT HIS CATS TO READ! If you’re already a Frog on a Dime follower, simply leave a comment (OR question for Curtis) on my contact page by Noon (EST) on Sunday, July 31.

OR if you’re new to Frog on a Dime, you can register to become a follower (on the home page) and automatically be entered into a drawing exclusively for new followers. Winners will be announced at Noon on Monday, August 1.

Looks like my furry friend’s ready for you, Curtis . . . take it away, Finn!

Finn says, “Welcome, Mr. M!”

Finn: Thank you for agreeing to talk with me, Mr. Manley. I have so many important things I want to know about you. 

So, for starters, what is your favorite day of the week?

Any day that a cat snuggles on my lap and purrs is a good day. I’m very lucky that that

happens nearly every day!

You know what? I like you already. Let’s keep going.

If you were a cheese, what kind would you be? Why?

I would want to be any kind of cheese that mice don’t like. Because if I was a cheese that attracts mice, the mice would then attract cats—who would be tempted to jump on the mice (and me) with their claws out. Ouch!

You’d have no worries about me pouncing. I am rodent-intolerant. Ugh. The gas. The bloating. Why is Vicky looking at me like that?

Let’s see, next question:

What is under your bed?

Funny you should ask! Under the bed are boxes. Some of the boxes have things in them, and some are empty. There are just enough boxes to make it impossible for a cat to get under our bed. Why ever would we do such a cruel thing? I will tell you: When we adopted our current cat, Felix, from the shelter, he had already been adopted by two different families—and returned to the shelter by each of them because he hid all the time. So when we brought Felix into our home, we made sure that all the hiding places were where we could still see each other and get to know each other. It still took about a year for him to decide that he doesn’t need to be afraid of us.

So, is it time to let him get under the bed if that’s what he wants to do? Probably. And should we just happen to leave some crayons and drawing paper under there? Yes!

What’s the best gift you’ve ever received?

A few months after my wife and I were married years ago, we gave ourselves the gift of a cat adopted from a shelter near where we lived in California. He was a tuxedo cat who had been able to donate blood to save another cat’s life. He was the sweetest cat, moved with us around the country (CA to AZ to NC to WA), and never seemed upset or jealous when our (human) baby daughter appeared and took up much of our attention. He was with us for more than 12 years. We still miss him.

[Sniffle sniffle] No, those aren’t tears. I got a whisker in my eye. Look away. [Dab-dab with the end of the tail.]

Now, seeing as you are a human, what is your inner adult/inner child ratio?

I prefer to think of it as the inner child/inner adult ratio—because then when the ratio goes up it is a good thing! So: My inner child/inner adult ratio has increased over the past 10 years and is now probably something like 60/40. I suspect that as I write more children’s books the ratio will continue to go up…

I’m more of an NPR fan myself, but if you could make a guest appearance on a TV sit com, which one would it be–and why?

I’ve fallen out of the habit of watching TV, but—and no, this doesn’t date me at all—I could imagine myself as a guest on Gilligan’s Island… I could play either a geologist looking for evidence the island had been inundated in the past by a huge tsunami, or an author (like, for instance, Robert Louis Stevenson) hoping to live in a tropical paradise to regain his health. Personally, I’m in good health; thanks for asking!

Describe your sock drawer in three words or less.

Dark!

If you hadn’t become a writer, what would you be? Please don’t say a dog groomer.

Well, I used to be a technical writer (not quite the same as a writer). Before that, I tested software. And before that, I was a volcanologist (no, that has nothing to do with pointy-eared aliens from the planet Vulcan) and got to explore volcanoes and lava flows in the middle of nowhere. One day in Idaho when I returned from a long hike I found that cows had made big smear marks on my pickup truck by licking off the dust. Cats would never do anything like that!

Speaking of cats, can your cat Felix read?

Felix  is showing some interest in reading, though right now it is only the words on the grocery sacks he loves to curl up on. Learning to read doesn’t happen overnight, so we will keep working with him!

Good luck with that.

 

 

For this next part, I’m going to throw words at you like little balls of yarn to see how you respond. Ready? Pounce . . .

Favorite punctuation mark:

I like ellipses (…) but I also like the em-dash (—). To state a preference would be unfair to each of them.

Favorite food or drink while writing:

I enjoy many kinds of tea—except Earl Grey. And I am not a coffee person (my apologies to those who are—but that’s probably not you, Finn…).

You’re right. Coffee is vile. I prefer tepid tap water from the bathroom faucet with one of my humans standing by to adjust the flow. But enough about my charming quirks.

Fantasy road trip destination:

I’d love to spend more time in the Four Corners area: colorful sandstone cliffs, twisty rivers, pueblo ruins, and petroglyphs. Alternative destination (though trying to drive there is a bad idea): Iceland.

Totally hypothetical question: do you think dogs could be taught to read? [giggling]

Of course you know the answer!

Of course. Are you sure you’re not part cat, Mr. Manley?

Finn — Thanks so much for interviewing me for Frog on a Dime! I had a lot of fun answering your questions! When you become famous for interviewing celebrities, I’ll get to boast that I was the first (interviewee, not celebrity)!

The honor was all mine, Mr. Manley. You made my first interview job so easy, but I’m still ready for nap number eight. 

 

I hope everyone will enter to win a copy of Mr. Manley’s picture book. It definitely made it worth learning to read!

 

I know. I know you don’t waaah-NUH.

But it’s time, my sweetness.

It is time.

Come, let me take your hand. (Wow. That is cold. We’ll talk about your circulation issues later.) We both know what needs to happen, and I’m here to help you do it.

Take a deep breath and repeat after me: “I am a writer.”

I can’t hear you, my little petunia. Try a-gain. Whisper it, if that helps. “I am a writer.”

See? I knew you could say it. (Do your hands always get this clammy?) Now, eat your cookie.

Earlier this summer I was at a conference where I met dozens of new writer kin and what ghasted my flabber was that several of these real writers (not dabblers or sometimers–the actual writing writer variety–with an agent no less!) were reluctant to call themselves a writer.

Now, I know the reasons for this reluctance are legion . . .

• I’m “pre-published,” so I feel like an imposter. Writers are people who write. Authors are writers who are published. If you write novels/picture books/articles/manuscripts or copy of any kind, you, my darlin’, are a writer. If you’ve spent years thinking about/intending to/wanting to but never really writing, then sorry, you’re probably right not to call yourself a writer. You’re more of a writer in waiting. And that’s okay too.
• I want to avoid the inevitable questions/unwelcome comments/unsolicited advice. You don’t want to be asked, “Where can I buy your book?” (if you don’t have one yet or it’s gone out of print). You don’t want to hear, “You’re going to be rich and famous! You’re going to be the next Harry . . .” you know the rest. Don’t deny who you are because you’re shy about silly, innocent, well-meaning questions or comments. Those will morph over time, but they won’t go away. Learn to nod and smile. You’re cool. You can handle this.
• I don’t want the pressure. You know what? Maybe it’s not a bad thing. Instead of pressure, maybe let’s think of it as motivation. Show the world you’re for reals.
• I’m not worthy of the title. Do you need a hard pinch? Stop that silliness right now. You love words. You care about craft. You’re willing to spend hours in isolation to revise and polish. You seek feedback. You take risks. You spend dollars you could devote to shoe-shopping so you can go to workshops to improve your skills. Heck, if you work any harder, you’re going to be OVER-worthy. You can wear the title of writer with pride. You’re stone cold legit.
• I’m afraid I’ll be asked to perform an emergency tracheotomy. No, no, lamb chop. That’s what might happen if you say you’re a doctor. Stick with writer. No incisions needed.

You recognize your reluctance. Now, acknowledge your fear. Then do the right thing anyway. Come on out. Say it loud and proud–I am a WRITER!

Enjoy that feeling of empowerment. Your bravery will be rewarded. And, yes, of course, you can have a cookie.

The real things haven’t changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong. ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder