pjfreedman

[pjfreedman]

Monsters? We prefer ‘Monster Heroes’ Check out MONSTER HEROES: Vampires & Veggies from Novel Effect! A voice-activated video adventure co-written by ME! Don't forget to turn on your speakers and microphone so you can get in on the action. Have fun!

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@p_ssyhatproject #pussyhatproject #pussyhat @womensmarch @womensmarch_gva #womensmarch #womensmarchgeneva #january21 #standup #march #women #justice #equityforall #blacklivesmatter #endracism #freedom #peace #safety #feminist #loveislove #humanrights #genderequality #respect

[pjfreedman]

Today's #pussyhatproject #pussyhat @p_ssyhatproject (at Geneva, Switzerland)

[pjfreedman]

Jane Austen, blowing minds since 1813

Jane Austen, blowing minds since 1813

“You shall not, for the sake of one individual, change the meaning of principle and integrity, nor endeavour to persuade yourself or me, that selfishness is prudence, and insensibility of danger security for happiness.” –Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice

[pjfreedman]

Keep writing. Learn French. Stop reading reviews... more

[pjfreedman]

Too good not to share

The greatest cheese writing in the whole of literature.

For other breakfast things, George suggested eggs and bacon, which were easy to cook, cold meat, tea, bread and butter, and jam. For lunch, he said, we could have biscuits, cold meat, bread and butter, and jam – but NO CHEESE. Cheese, like oil, makes too much of itself. It wants the whole boat to itself. It goes through the hamper, and gives a cheesy flavour to everything else there. You can’t tell whether you are eating apple-pie or German sausage, or strawberries and cream. It all seems cheese. There is too much odour about cheese.

I remember a friend of mine, buying a couple of cheeses at Liverpool. Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow, and with a two hundred horse-power scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards. I was in Liverpool at the time, and my friend said that if I didn’t mind he would get me to take them back with me to London, as he should not be coming up for a day or two himself, and he did not think the cheeses ought to be kept much longer.

“Oh, with pleasure, dear boy,” I replied, “with pleasure.”

I called for the cheeses, and took them away in a cab. It was a ramshackle affair, dragged along by a knock-kneed, broken-winded somnambulist, which his owner, in a moment of enthusiasm, during conversation, referred to as a horse. I put the cheeses on the top, and we started off at a shamble that would have done credit to the swiftest steam-roller ever built, and all went merry as a funeral bell, until we turned the corner. There, the wind carried a whiff from the cheeses full on to our steed. It woke him up, and, with a snort of terror, he dashed off at three miles an hour. The wind still blew in his direction, and before we reached the end of the street he was laying himself out at the rate of nearly four miles an hour, leaving the cripples and stout old ladies simply nowhere.

It took two porters as well as the driver to hold him in at the station; and I do not think they would have done it, even then, had not one of the men had the presence of mind to put a handkerchief over his nose, and to light a bit of brown paper.

I took my ticket, and marched proudly up the platform, with my cheeses, the people falling back respectfully on either side. The train was crowded, and I had to get into a carriage where there were already seven other people. One crusty old gentleman objected, but I got in, notwithstanding; and, putting my cheeses upon the rack, squeezed down with a pleasant smile, and said it was a warm day.

A few moments passed, and then the old gentleman began to fidget.

“Very close in here,” he said.

“Quite oppressive,” said the man next him.

And then they both began sniffing, and, at the third sniff, they caught it right on the chest, and rose up without another word and went out. And then a stout lady got up, and said it was disgraceful that a respectable married woman should be harried about in this way, and gathered up a bag and eight parcels and went. The remaining four passengers sat on for a while, until a solemn-looking man in the corner, who, from his dress and general appearance, seemed to belong to the undertaker class, said it put him in mind of dead baby; and the other three passengers tried to get out of the door at the same time, and hurt themselves.

I smiled at the black gentleman, and said I thought we were going to have the carriage to ourselves; and he laughed pleasantly, and said that some people made such a fuss over a little thing. But even he grew strangely depressed after we had started, and so, when we reached Crewe, I asked him to come and have a drink. He accepted, and we forced our way into the buffet, where we yelled, and stamped, and waved our umbrellas for a quarter of an hour; and then a young lady came, and asked us if we wanted anything.

“What’s yours?” I said, turning to my friend.

“I’ll have half-a-crown’s worth of brandy, neat, if you please, miss,” he responded.

And he went off quietly after he had drunk it and got into another carriage, which I thought mean.

From Crewe I had the compartment to myself, though the train was crowded. As we drew up at the different stations, the people, seeing my empty carriage, would rush for it. “Here y’ are, Maria; come along, plenty of room.” “All right, Tom; we’ll get in here,” they would shout. And they would run along, carrying heavy bags, and fight round the door to get in first. And one would open the door and mount the steps, and stagger back into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a sniff, and then droop off and squeeze into other carriages, or pay the difference and go first.

From Euston, I took the cheeses down to my friend’s house. When his wife came into the room she smelt round for an instant. Then she said:

“What is it? Tell me the worst.”

I said:

“It’s cheeses. Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them up with me.”

And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to Tom about it when he came back.

My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and, three days later, as he hadn’t returned home, his wife called on me. She said:

“What did Tom say about those cheeses?”

I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a moist place, and that nobody was to touch them.

She said:

“Nobody’s likely to touch them. Had he smelt them?”

I thought he had, and added that he seemed greatly attached to them.

“You think he would be upset,” she queried, “if I gave a man a sovereign to take them away and bury them?”

I answered that I thought he would never smile again.

An idea struck her. She said:

“Do you mind keeping them for him? Let me send them round to you.”

“Madam,” I replied, “for myself I like the smell of cheese, and the journey the other day with them from Liverpool I shall ever look back upon as a happy ending to a pleasant holiday. But, in this world, we must consider others. The lady under whose roof I have the honour of residing is a widow, and, for all I know, possibly an orphan too. She has a strong, I may say an eloquent, objection to being what she terms `put upon.’ The presence of your husband’s cheeses in her house she would, I instinctively feel, regard as a `put upon’; and it shall never be said that I put upon the widow and the orphan.”

“Very well, then,” said my friend’s wife, rising, “all I have to say is, that I shall take the children and go to an hotel until those cheeses are eaten. I decline to live any longer in the same house with them.”

She kept her word, leaving the place in charge of the charwoman, who, when asked if she could stand the smell, replied, “What smell?” and who, when taken close to the cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could detect a faint odour of melons. It was argued from this that little injury could result to the woman from the atmosphere, and she was left.

The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas; and my friend, after reckoning everything up, found that the cheeses had cost him eight-and-sixpence a pound. He said he dearly loved a bit of cheese, but it was beyond his means; so he determined to get rid of them. He threw them into the canal; but had to fish them out again, as the bargemen complained. They said it made them feel quite faint. And, after that, he took them one dark night and left them in the parish mortuary. But the coroner discovered them, and made a fearful fuss.

He said it was a plot to deprive him of his living by waking up the corpses.

My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a sea-side town, and burying them on the beach. It gained the place quite a reputation. Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the air was, and weak-chested and consumptive people used to throng there for years afterwards.

[pjfreedman]

Next up: cranberry walnut mandel toast (biscotti for the goyim). #happythanksgiving

[pjfreedman]

The cranberry madness has begun #hamentashen

[pjfreedman]

So exciting! Doubly proud to be included in this, as both an author and a former Scholastic employee.

BIG NEWSSSS!!

I don’t usually talk about actual work life stuff on here, but this is something too big NOT to share. 

So, the last several months, my amazing boss and I have been working with the lovely people at @weneeddiversebooks​ to create a Scholastic Reading Club & WNDB Special Offer Flyer that elevates the voices and characters of traditionally underrepresented communities. 

I’m so unbelievably proud that this offer is out and in the world and that teachers and librarians can use it in their classrooms. And I’m proud that our message is being spread. And I’m proud of all the wonderful people who have worked tirelessly to make this happen (shout out to Dhonielle, what uuuup!). 

Seriously though, this issue is so close to my heart and I hope teachers and librarians do pass this out to their students and do use it get amazing titles for their classroom libraries! 

I mean, look at these pages! 

Also! If you are wondering what Scholastic Reading Club is (previously known as Scholastic Book Clubs), here is a handy About page for TEACHERS and here is one for PARENTS. 

But baaaasically, SRC is a series of flyers that sell deeply discounted books to students and teachers with the idea that every kid deserves to be able to afford to read. It also has insane rewards for teachers so that they can get free books for their libraries and classroom supplies that they or their district might not be able to afford otherwise. 

[pjfreedman]

My Basmati Bat Mitzvah by Paula J. Freedman

My Basmati Bat Mitzvah by @pjfreedman @abramskids

My Basmati Bat Mitzvah by Paula J. Freedman Release Date: October 1, 2013 Publisher: Harry N. Abrams Source: ALA2013 Rating:  Buy It: Amazon | IndieBound During the fall leading up to her bat mitzvah, Tara (Hindi for “star”) Feinstein has a lot more than her Torah portion on her mind. Between Hebrew school and study sessions with the rabbi, there doesn’t seem to be enough time to hang out with…

[pjfreedman]

Here's some nice news! Just learned that My Basmati Bat Mitzvah is on the ballot for the 21st Annual Garden State Teen Book Award (GSTBA). New Jersey students in grades 6 through 12 are eligible...

[pjfreedman]

A display so pretty and bright, I gotta wear shades! :-)

Check out our new color display! Awesome yellow books featured are:

My Basmati Bat Mitzvah by Paula Freedman

Reunited by Hilary Weisman Graham

The Difference Between You and Me by Madeline George

OCD Love Story by Corey Ann Haydu

Keep reading

[pjfreedman]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rx838qYsf3A)

All fun and games at #KAC15!

[pjfreedman]

You guys, you totally need to come to this -- the KIDS AUTHOR CARNIVAL at the Jefferson Market Library May 30. It's going to be a LOT of fun. Visit http://kidsauthorcarnival.tumblr.com/ for the deets.

Meet Kids Author Carnival Paula J. Freedman, author of My Basmati Bat Mitzvah!

ABOUT THE BOOK

During the fall leading up to her bat mitzvah, Tara (Hindi for “star”) Feinstein has a lot more than her Torah portion on her mind. Between Hebrew school and study sessions with the rabbi, there doesn’t seem to be enough time to hang out with her best friend Ben-O—who might also be her boyfriend—and her other best friend, Rebecca, who’s getting a little too cozy with the snotty Sheila Rosenberg. Not to mention working on her robotics project with the class clown Ryan Berger, or figuring out what to do with a priceless heirloom sari that she accidentally ruined. Amid all this drama, Tara considers how to balance her Indian and Jewish identities and what it means to have a bat mitzvah while questioning her faith.

With the cross-cultural charm of Bend It Like Beckham, this delightful debut novel is a classic coming-of-age story and young romance with universal appeal.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Paula J. Freedman has another career in digital media, making websites for a well-known children’s publisher, a TV network, and assorted others. She’s pretty much the same person she was in middle school, only nicer and with less acne. She lives with her husband and two parrots in New York City. You can visit her at paulafreedman.com and on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and Pinterest.

[pjfreedman]

Come to the Kids Author Carnival at the Jefferson Market Library on May 30. Read. Connect. Party. Free for everyone! Doors open at 5:30 p.m. #KAC15 The Jefferson Market Library is located at 425 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10011

[pjfreedman]

Today's the day! My Basmati Bat Mitzvah is now available in paperback in the U.S. and Canada (UK friends can get theirs on 4 May). As promised, the paperback includes Jewish/Indian recipes as a bon...