The Gift of Affirmation 1 Sep 2023, 12:46 pm

When I was in high school, I babysat for a little girl named Michelle, who asked me, “Is Santa real?” Whoa. I went with my gut: “Santa will come for as long as you believe he will.” I doubted myself in the moment, but when Michelle’s parents returned that night, they seemed grateful and pleased.

As a writer, it’s sometimes difficult to believe in oneself. We plug away, hoping for the first—or next—big moment: signing a contract, connecting at a conference, completing a manuscript, hitting the Send button. Yes, even that is a big moment, because it means we’re trying. Still, self-doubt can linger. Receiving positive feedback or an offer is extremely validating. But try as we might not to, we often take the opposite of validation—rejection—personally.

Thankfully, though, validation shows up in other ways, too.

Jenny Shipkowski, a colleague, friend, and tutor, used my two published picture books in her lessons this summer. She extended the learning by suggesting that her students write to me. When I read the letters from Elliot and Zachary, I had my own Santa moment.

Zachary and Elliot connected with my stories. As connection is the goal of the writer, this made my day! In closing his letter, Zachary asked me WHEN, not IF, my next book is coming out. The faith of a child is pure. These letters are exactly what I needed to rekindle faith in myself. Thank you, Zachary and Elliot. And thank you, Jenny.

In the animated film A Year Without a Santa Claus, Santa thinks people don’t believe in him anymore, so he wants to cancel Christmas. But when the tables turn, exemplifying that belief in him is alive and well, that affirmation is enough for Santa to re-up.

Affirmation, in whatever form, is enough for me, too. Enough for me to continue putting forth my best effort. Writing is hard work. It’s not magic. But the potential end result – the faith of a reader – sure is.

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Connecting with Readers is Magic! 30 Nov 2022, 2:38 pm

The stories I’ve enjoyed all my life are those to which I feel a strong connection. I don’t know a reader who doesn’t feel this way. But it wasn’t until I became a writer that I fully appreciated that sentiment. Before, I would say whether I liked a book. It was a “feeling,” but it was a feeling I couldn’t quite articulate.

When I became a writer, I realized that connection is the very reason some people like certain books and others do not. We all bring our own experience, emotion, and imagination to the stories we read. When we connect to a story, we want to keep reading. While respecting that not every story is for everybody, for this writer, connection is the goal. It’s deeply personal, so it’s perfectly fine that not everyone likes everything I write.

That connection to readers is amplified when readers and creators of children’s books meet. Recently, I participated in the Rochester Children’s Book Festival—its 25^th celebration of literacy and literature! Little did we know at the 2019 event, it would be three years before we would enjoy a live event once again. You know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder…well, having endured the absence of this special connection to readers made the 2022 event all the sweeter.

It was lovely to be surrounded by those who love books – from authors and illustrators, to volunteers, to children, librarians, and families. This year, I featured two picture books that weren’t yet published for the 2019 event. What a joy it was to share them with the greater Rochester, New York, community, and well beyond.

I can’t thank the organizers enough, especially because I know what it takes to be one. In 2002, I began volunteering for the Festival, eventually becoming its Sponsorship Chair and then Co-Director. This year’s volunteers were warm, welcoming, enthusiastic, and thoughtful. I’m so grateful to be a part of this fabulous event.

The retiring Co-Directors, Vicki Schultz and Barbara Underhill, led the RCBF through the pandemic, having to envision ways to keep it going. In 2021, it was virtual. This year, they had to find a new venue. They met each challenge with grace, now leaving the Festival in the very capable hands of Jim Chaize and Ronny Frishman.

In commemoration of our days as Co-Directors of the RCBF, Elizabeth Falk and I received the RCBF Inspiration Award. I will point out though, that the RCBF inspires ME. Every day.

To share my stories with young readers has been a dream come true. To celebrate stories for young readers with Rochester Area Children’s Writers & Illustrators (RACWI) and the RCBF is a dream that when I set out – I didn’t know could exist. I’m so thankful. Connection. That’s where it begins. That’s what sustains us through reading a book, through writing a book, through managing the ups and downs of the publishing industry.

Thank you for connecting with me, here. Happy Holidays!

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A Special Teacher’s Legacy 1 Feb 2022, 3:16 pm

In early 2016, a teacher emailed me, looking for someone to conduct a week-long writing workshop for the all the third-graders in his school. We set up a phone interview, had a fruitful conversation, and before I knew it, Mr. Baker was referring to when my visits would occur. Not if.

I couldn’t believe it! He was affording me the chance to do for children what my fourth-grade teacher, Sister Mary Agnes, had done for me – foster a love of writing, grounded in the ability to see myself as a writer. But I’m not a teacher, so how could I do that? Self-doubt threatened, but I carried on, spending the next few months developing my workshop. If Mr. Baker believed in me, I had to believe in myself. (But wait. He doesn’t really know me, does he?)

The night before my first day, I couldn’t sleep. That morning, I couldn’t eat. I arrived, and Mr. Baker met me in the office. As frightened as I felt, he looked equally enthusiastic. He introduced me to the students and walked to the back of the room. My heart pounded. What if my lesson didn’t meet his expectations? Why didn’t he hire someone with more experience? What if I’m not worthy? It then dawned on me that what mattered was that the teacher in the back of the room believed in me. As he facilitated on that first day, I noted how he interacted with the students. I could see that he had the same “belief effect” on them.

Mr. Baker fostered joy and love in his classroom, and it was infectious. I wanted to ride that wave through my own interactions with the students. He served as the perfect mentor. As I returned to the school day after day, I seized the chance to connect with students in a way I had never been able to, through more traditional, shorter, 1-day author visits. Over the 5 days of working with Mr. Baker, the other teachers, and the students, I was able to build trust and rapport. The children looked to me for validation, just as I had looked to Sister Mary Agnes for my own, more than 40 years prior.

Mr. Baker invited me back the next three years. And I was supposed to return in 2020, but we all know what happened in 2020. And in 2021.

A few months ago, when I opened an email from another teacher at the school, I was thrilled to be invited again but wondered why it was not Mr. Baker who was contacting me. I read on, stopping in my tracks. Sadly, Mr. Baker had been killed in a tragic car accident. Grief consumed me, as I thought of the world, his world, without him. He has left a void at his school and in his community. And, of course, with his family.

But his impact and legacy live on in each student he taught. In every colleague with whom he connected. I’m honored to say I was both. He served as a role model for me on how to share a passion and love with children, by simply being myself.

He is, and will forever be, missed, but this May and June he will be there with me, as I help children see themselves as writers. Thank you, Mr. Baker.

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Book Love 12 Oct 2021, 3:44 pm

You know that saying – you don’t really know what you have until it’s gone? In this case, it’s not really gone – just on hiatus. Hugs. From kids (who are not my own).

The first time it happened at a school visit, I was surprised. I figured after an author does a presentation, there might be some applause, a few kind words. But when children hugged me, it took my breath away. Knowing that a connection had been made in the short span of 45 minutes was validating and truly special. My favorite hug, however, occurred after I read to Kindergarten students in the Rochester City School District in 2016. I finished reading and taking questions and then stood up to begin packing up my things. Suddenly, I was swarmed by arms, smiles, and squeezes. Seriously, I almost fell over, as they rushed me! It was the sweetest thing. Little did I know that 4 years later, in-person readings and presentations would be impossible.

This summer, that began to change, when I had my outdoor book launch party for MILO’S MOONLIGHT MISSION. It was so wonderful to celebrate in person, fist-bumps and all. To connect with readers in this unique way is one of the best parts of my job as a writer. Today, I had the privilege of being the guest reader/author at Mendon Public Library. We gathered at the gazebo to read MILO, in person. What a thrill! After a lovely introduction from Librarian Kelly Paganelli and Rochester Children’s Book Festival Co-Director Barbara Underhill, I began to read a story of my heart. And trucks roared by. No biggie, I just read louder. And louder. The kids and parents were welcoming and engaged. It was wonderful to be back. No hugs, of course, but I know they’ll be back, too. And I will appreciate them all the more.

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The Heart of a Story 13 May 2021, 10:22 am

Pictures tell stories. Sometimes, those stories are placed in photo albums. Sometimes, they make their way into family lore. And once in a blue moon, they find their way into a picture book.

Funny how the vision of a story begins, then evolves, and finally arrives at its final form–in unexpected ways. When I began writing my forthcoming picture book, Milo’s Moonlight Mission, I didn’t fully realize the impact my daughter and nephew would have on the story. When I started out, I managed to capture its literal truth—that of experiencing the wonder of a celestial phenomenon (a meteor storm). But at its heart, the story is about something even bigger, as depicted in this photo of Meg and Chris. Here, he is comforting her during a frightening scene in Lady and the Tramp. Having watched the movie many times, he knew this scene scared her, so he scooted over and put his arm around her. Lovely! But what does this photo, which embodies the warmth of a familial relationship, have to do with Milo’s Moonlight Mission?

Chris was sleeping over at our house the night we heard about a predicted meteor storm—hyped as what could be the most intense in decades. We rose at 4AM, trudged outside with blankets and chairs, and watched the sky put on a show, the likes of which I’d never seen. It remains for all of us, one of our most vivid, cherished memories.

Milo’s Moonlight Mission, formerly titled Clear Skies, Storm Likely, began as the story of a family’s witnessing a remarkable meteor storm. Though I didn’t see it clearly at the time, the story was about so much more. Time. Precious time. Time that seems more difficult than ever to harness in our crazy world. In order to spotlight the urgency of time spent together, I decided to make the story about one parent and one child. But for me, the beating heart of the story will never change.

And for that magical night many years ago, spent with my husband, daughter, and nephew, I’m over-the-blue-moon grateful.

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Literacy Gets Personal 7 Jan 2021, 5:46 pm

2020 was a year of twists and turns, ups and downs—pick your cliché!

Recently, my dad suffered a stroke. He has a road ahead of him and takes it day by day. Some days are and will be better than others. But my family is blessed to still have him. And as I say, he is more him than not—complete with an unrelenting sense of humor. For that, I am grateful.

One of the deficits that resulted from Dad’s stroke is partial vision loss. This, paired with a cognitive deficit, has (hopefully) temporarily taken away his ability to read. The ripple effect of this loss is profound. His daily routine included reading the newspaper and discussing with my mom and later, whoever was around. He has always been highly independent and a creative problem-solver. In life and in business, I’m in awe of his ability to think outside the box and explore possibilities that had not occurred to me. Getting to the creative problem-solving stage often requires reading. When he wants to fix something, he’d rather read up than ask for help. Effective reading/writing/communications in business allowed him to succeed. He read the magazine Business Week for years, as he knew it was a means to help him succeed in his own business. He also read for pleasure.

I appreciate even more now how an ability to read has allowed him to be the take-charge kind of guy he is, even at the age of 88. I see that reading is affirming, provides self-efficacy, confidence, and freedom. Freedom to make choices, rather than have someone make them for you. Freedom to fortify the foundation on which your principles are built. Reading educates, motivates, and inspires us to live full lives.

A self-made man, reading has educated my dad. It has allowed him to consider new ideas and the opinions of others. And like all of us, that allows us to see the world in new ways.

Reading is power. Reading is a gift. A gift to be revered and celebrated.

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Puzzles 5 Oct 2020, 8:35 pm

When I was a kid, my family spent time in the Adirondacks. No TV. Just board games and…puzzles. And I’m talking big puzzles with lots (millions?) of pieces. Everyone seemed to get into it. Everyone, that is, except me. Spatial relationships—ugh, too much like math! I just didn’t get it. Sometimes, those puzzlers looked frustrated. And this was fun, how?

Flash forward a couple decades. My daughters have always loved puzzles. They make sure we have a nice, new, big one when we go on vacation. All week long, with their cousins, they work away at it. They enjoy it. I envy them. I wish I had the patience. The vision. The fortitude. I kind of get it. They work together with a goal in mind. But still, all that trial and error. Multiple pieces that are one color. Who can stand it? I take on the role of casual observer.

I’m happy that in my writing career, I’ve discovered a different kind of puzzle. I tell my writing-workshop students that writing is the only kind of puzzle I enjoy (besides other word-based ones, like crosswords and jumbles). When I work with students, I liken the writing trial-and-error to doing a puzzle. Yet, I think that kind of trial and error — the revision process – is fun.

My sister-in-law once asked me how I can stand working on something over and over. And a friend asked me how I can wait for so long, after I send out my work. And how, when someone doesn’t want it, I have to start over. “You must have the patience of a saint.” Patient. Me?

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been doing a self-study poetry course. Talk about puzzling! In picture books, every single word counts. You must be succinct. And lots of trial and error. Now that’s a puzzle I can get into and lose all sense of time.

I guess every kind of puzzle isn’t for everyone. But I’m sure glad for my word puzzles. Is a big mess of pages and sticky notes and words overwhelming? Yes. Is it frustrating? Can be. But that’s okay. The exercise of making the pieces snap together is gratifying and makes us better at what we do.

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The Picture of Joy 10 Jul 2020, 1:55 pm

I’m very grateful to have received this photo! For an author, there is no higher compliment than to see a child react so purely and joyfully to something we created. In the life cycle of a story, we begin with this same unbridled enthusiasm. Let’s call this the honeymoon phase. As we work harder and revise, we find flaws. Make the stories better. Send it out into the world. Rejections are part of the package. We keep working. Move on. Still, we believe in the story. That’s why we keep at it. A publisher wants to make that story into a book? Yahoo! It’ll be in the hands of children? Double-yahoo! The thrill of getting a yes from a publisher is one thing. The thrill of seeing a child sporting a crinkled-nose smile? Priceless.

Thank you, sweet child. And thank you to her grandmother for sharing this photo with me. It will surely keep me—and I hope others—going, during this unsettling time. (And, for me, personally—always.)

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Renewed Gratitude 14 Apr 2020, 1:33 pm

Early in my writing career, a colleague mentioned that the writing is life is not for the thin-skinned. After all, she said, why would you want to be in a business where two of the most frequently-used words are “submission” and “rejection?” At the time, I laughed at the light-heartedness of that notion, though I do understand its profound truth. And yet, we keep at it.

In these times, I would add “isolation” to that notion. Yes, isolation has always been a part of the writing life. But that’s exactly why I have always treasured my time with writing friends—whether a chat on the phone, an all-day marathon of clicking keyboards, a workshop, an in-person critique, or a conference.

My gratitude for connections with writers is amplified during this challenging time. It has taken on different forms and seems more essential than ever. Before I delve into that, though, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude beyond that.

I’m grateful that my family is safe, that my parents have made it home from wintering in Florida, thanks to a brave and fiercely dedicated brother who retrieved them in a self-contained RV. I’m grateful for all healthcare workers, who despite the compromised environment, show up day after day after day—including family members, one of whom is a nurse in NYC. I’m grateful for the relative stability in my life. So many others are struggling.

Now, connection seems elusive, yet more important than ever. I continue to find ways to connect with friends and family. Huh, my kids thought I talked a lot on the phone BEFORE this! I’m so grateful to the kidlit community for the gift of online webinars and workshops. I’m learning every day. Thank you, especially to the SCBWI and Highlights Foundation. Each week, I look forward to seeing your exciting (and distracting!) offerings. I’m grateful for writers, like Kate Messner, who upon learning of tough times and challenges, immediately go into HOW CAN I HELP mode.

Thank you, all. Keep at it. We got this.

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Libraries 25 Feb 2020, 2:04 pm

I’ve had some very special library experiences over the last few weeks, which inspired me to think about the importance of libraries in my life, overall.

As a kid, the library was a haven for me. Our neighborhood branch was less than a mile from our house. On Saturdays, I’d ride my bike there and look at books, feel books, and yes, smell books. Admittedly, I still do that, and my husband thinks it’s very strange. But I don’t care. I like the smell of books. I remember enjoying the ever-reliable organization of the card catalog. The colorful array of spines, straight and tall, beckoning me to pluck titles from the shelves. The library allowed me to escape the noise and chaos of home, where eight other people lived. To me, the library was peaceful.

As an adult writer, I rely heavily on libraries for research, mentor texts, and a warm, welcoming environment in which to work. I love my local (Victor/Farmington) library and staff, who are always at the ready with a smile and a helping hand. But I confess: I am a library hopper. Sometimes, I need to get out of my own way at home and change up my scenery, so I’ll pick a random library and write for a few hours. Libraries remain a peaceful haven for me.

Since the publication of my new picture book, Hosea Plays On, I have come to embrace libraries in a whole new way. Over the last several weeks, I’ve had the privilege of reading my book at story-times in Victor (thank you, Krystina Dippel) and Mendon (thank you, Kelly Paganelli). I’ve also read at bookstores: Hipocampo Children’s Books and Barnes & Noble. In all of these places, I connected with young- and young-at-heart readers. At one of the libraries, a toddler walked up to my poster of Hosea and put his face right up to his. The two looked like they were having a conversation. Pure joy!

Last week, I had a library experience that could prove to be once-in-a-lifetime. Thanks to Arnett Librarian Bruce Tehan, John DeMott, and the Nate Rawls Band, I got to read Hosea Plays On at Arnett Branch Library–to a room full of readers, many of whom knew Hosea Taylor. They shared stories of Hosea. There was music, including some of the tunes Hosea loved, a delectable spread of food, and again…pure joy, though mixed with the sadness of the reason we were there—Hosea Taylor is no longer with us. But in many ways, he is. He was and is special to our community. And our community is special, thanks in no small part to his gift for connecting with people. And now, he has given this gift of connection to me. In essence, it might have seemed that my book brought that group together—but we know who was really responsible, don’t we?

Libraries provide books, an escape, a community, and connection. I’m grateful for (all of) mine!

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