Write, Read, Smile

Kid Writing

11/13/2015

I am having the most wonderful time in Kindergarten.

My son, just shy of six and now wiggling not one, but TWO loose teeth, entered his first "big kid" classroom in August. He's excited about everything. He's having a wonderful time in Kindergarten, too.

He wears a uniform and asks me to take his picture every time he dons a new variation of it. Gym uniform with shorts? Click. Gym uniform with sweatpants? Click. Long-sleeved dress shirt? Click. Necktie? (Be still my weepy momma heart). Click.

Because it's our first time in Kindergarten, too, my husband and I have been paying attention to the small details alongside the big ones, figuring out how to be parents at a school as opposed to teachers. As former classroom teachers, we both enjoy hearing how the teacher approaches topics and handles situations. She's been at it a long time, and she's pretty fantastic. I was particularly delighted when my son came home explaining taste buds by saying, "Scientists say..." This kid wants to be a super suit inventor when he grows up. It looks like he's off to a good science-y start. I hope he has his father's science brain, though, because mine will be of no use to him.

These first few months of Kindergarten have lit a fire in him in more than just science, though. This is a child who used to have a somewhat lackadaisical approach to books and writing. Suddenly, reading and writing have become important work, which he is taking very seriously. I am delighting in this.

He loves library day and wants to show us the book he borrowed as soon as he gets into the car at the end of the day. He still sometimes chooses books that make me wrinkle my nose a little (we're still reading a lot of Transformers and Angry Birds, and right now it's a Skylanders Swap Force fact book, which might help me understand what exactly Skylanders Swap Force is), but now he wants to try to read them in addition to having us read to him. And (whew!) he's getting into the books of some pretty great authors as well: Tedd Arnold, Amy Krause Rosenthal, Tara Lazar, Corey Rosen Schwartz. He's churning out book reports to earn Pizza Hut Book It! certificates (yes, those still exist) and is eagerly requesting books from the Scholastic book order each month.

I was most excited, though, to learn about "Kid Writing," which is my favorite thing about Kindergarten so far. It's one of the centers the kids visit each week. And although he says they're all fun, my son talks about the Kid Writing center all week, planning out what he's going to write when it's his turn. Right now, the kids are writing sentences that start with "I like."

This week: "Mom, I'm going to write, "I like Marvel Avengers. I like the Hulk."

The kids get a little help from the teachers and use prompts for common phrases, but they're mostly on their own with figuring out spelling. My little guy was thrilled that he "only missed a couple of letters in 'Avengers.'" And when his teacher told him he did "fabulous kid writing" that day, he was over the moon.

An early Kid Writing sample, especially for Back to School Night.

"The Story of the Apple Picking and Corn Picking"

Here's what I love the most: this amazing teacher has made writing cool. She's made it serious, but she's also made it a whole lot of fun.

So now, here at home, he has a notebook for the stories in his head. They're big and adventurous, so he dictates and I write them down for him. He is so proud of his words. So am I, so I try to drop what I'm doing when he asks to write stories so we can write together.

I'm having the most wonderful time in Kindergarten because I'm watching my child become a reader and writer. It's magical. And seeing him fall in love with words and how they work together is making me fall in love all over again with my own work with words.

I like words. I like writing.

Here's to writing, reading, smiling, and Marvel Avengers. I like them, too.

The Monstore by Tara Lazar. Four thumbs up!

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"I just need these books."

8/2/2015

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I’ve always loved to read. As a kid, I would dump bags of change onto the counter of the bookstore to purchase the latest Babysitters Club book by Ann M. Martin. The woman couldn’t write fast enough, as far as I was concerned. I especially loved the journal at the start of each chapter, where each character would write in her own handwriting. The babysitters were real to me. I wanted to be (and write) like Stacey. She was the coolest one.

If I was reading and someone spoke to me, I’d act like I heard but I never did. I’d hide out and hours would pass and I’d forget everything but the story on the page.

Even as a teacher, I was a sucker for books. I remembered being a child, sitting in a classroom, eyeing the red and white Scholastic Book Clubs box on the teacher’s desk, waiting, waiting, waaaaaaaaaiiiiiiting for the teacher to open it and distribute the books we’d been expecting. That box was a treasure trove to me. So when I had my own classroom and my class’ book-order box arrived, I’d stop everything and open that sucker. I’d give out the books right then and there. It didn’t hurt that I’d always ordered several myself. Books are important.

I always thought I was a book lover. Enter my daughter, who puts me to shame.

She’s three. This is her.

She has two obsessions: books and baby dolls. Ideally, she has books and baby dolls together. She’s become an expert in the “circle-time stance,” the one mastered by teacher: the backward book hold. She’s always careful to show the babies the pictures and she “reads” with the singsong voice of the most exuberant preschool teacher.

She puts them to bed at night, each with a blankie and a book.

When her big brother tells her that she’ll learn to read when she gets a little older, she gets angry because, of course, she already knows how. She is convinced of this fact and will not be told otherwise. She’s pretty convincing.

When we’re on our way out the door, she follows behind, her little arms overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes, more books than I could carry myself: “I just need these books.” Sometimes she uses a bag or a purse, which is helpful, but she still carries some extras in those little arms. There are books in the car. On the porch. In every room in our house. All over the floor, on the furniture, on the stairs. She doesn’t have any favorites, in particular. She loves them all.

They don’t have to be picture books, either. Anything in print will do. Papers with words. Magazines. Brochures. She’s good in church because of the hymnals and bulletins. No pictures required. And she’ll tell you, with great conviction, everything each one of them says.

How do you raise a voracious reader? Truth be told, I have no idea how you get a kid to love books like this little girl does.

Her big brother likes to read and is proud that he can sound out words and read some to me. We practice and take turns. Kindergarten is on the horizon. I can’t wait to see his reading come alive as he learns and grows. He doesn’t crave books like his sister does. He lenjoys them and loves when we buy them for him and read them with him. But she needs them, she says.

I’m sure genetics are at play—book-loving runs in the family. My own obsession combined with years of elementary-school teaching yielded one heck of a children’s book collection, years before the arrival of our firstborn. My husband loves books. Both of our children were born into books, but only one needs them.

How?

I couldn’t begin to tell you.

I used to teach elementary school. I'm familiar with the stereotype: girls like books more than boys. That might be the case for many, but I've also known plenty of boys who love library visits and free reading time and Harry Potter as much as the girls sitting beside them.

I don't know a foolproof way to raise a reader. But I do know it doesn’t hurt to stack the deck. If you want to encourage ravenous reading (or even just “reading”—whatever the case may be), bring on the books. Visit the library. Order from the book club. Say no to all sorts of frivolous requests: junky, plastic toys; Pop Rocks for breakfast; PG-13 movies. But never say no to books.

Read to them every day. Let them choose the books, even if reading that one book one more time might make your eyes bleed. (You know which one—we all have one.)

Let them see you reading. Talk about it. Be excited about books, even if you might not need them like you need a cup of coffee or five minutes alone or air.

You don’t have to need books to love them. I just hope my kids always love them.

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The Art of Noticing

1/24/2015

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I haven’t posted in a while, mostly because I started a new job in November and am still working out the new schedule. Remember my Real People Stories? Now I get to write them all the time.

It’s a pretty great gig.

I figured I’d like it, and I do. A lot. But what I didn’t realize is that I’d love it. And I do. A whole lot. What I love most about the new job is that I’m surrounded by incredibly creative people all day long.

There’s collaboration.

And enthusiasm.

And some seriously impressive talent.

For my whole grown-up life I was a teacher who loved to write whenever she had the time to do it. Now I’m very much a little fish swimming in a big, wonderful pond of inspiration. I work with gifted writers, photographers, and designers. I am learning so much.

I’m a total nerd in the office, in awe at what everyone does. I soak it all up like my five-year-old absorbs the names of Star Wars characters. I didn’t realize just how much consideration went into the placement of a photograph on a web page, how much deliberation creative people engage in over cover art, how adding the right word to an image can stop you in your tracks.

Add to that the kind of stories I get to tell and it’s almost creativity overload.

In a good way.

I worried that this type of work—full-time work out of the home—would take away too far away from my children and my children’s writing. I worried that I’d have no energy or ideas or desire to write after work hours. I worried that I’d be too busy. I was filled with scary grown-up what-ifs about the whole deal.

I am busy—much busier than I was before. I’m also happier, which is kind of a funny thing. I think it’s because I’m engaged in something I love to do in an environment rife with creativity, and my time at work, though it’s time away from my family, enriches me so I can be better for them.

Besides the happiness, something else has happened. Even though I’m busy, I’m noticing more.

I always try to pay attention to what my kids notice because that’s an important thing to do if you want to write for kids. You notice what they notice. You pay attention to what captures their attention. You see the single snowflake, the way the sunlight captures the floating dust specks in the air (which, by the way, are far more plentiful since I started this job. I’m learning to accept it as part of the deal).

At work, I started noticing the way the other people in my office noticed. Light, color, shape, finding just the right angle and just the right picture, stopping to examine and even photograph tiny things that on my own I’d completely miss.

It got me thinking about picture books. There’s a lot of noticing going on in many of them.

Some of my favorite ones include wonderful, not-so-obvious surprises, like little Easter eggs hidden in the pages that were meant for you, the reader, to find—if you just took the time to notice.

Ever notice how the pictures in Where the Wild Things Are get bigger as the fantasy expands and shrink to nothing when Max returns to his still-hot dinner?

Ever notice the hilarious bus stop signs in Suzanne Bloom’s The Bus for Us?

How about the little other-story references tucked into Margie Palatini’s Piggie Pie?

And what about how that sneaky pigeon shows up in other Mo Willems books?

I’m trying to notice more of those not-so-obvious things in the books we read as well as my everyday world. I think little surprises—the ones you’d miss if you were too busy with the daily business of living—might be the best little story seeds of all.

And if you don’t write stories, maybe they’re just fantastic little reminders to stop for a second and smile.

The one yellow leaf in the pile.

The complexity of a flower.

The simple beauty of ice.

The soulfulness of an animal's eyes.

The radiance of a child’s smile when offered a lollipop.

The moving colors of a soap bubble.

The intensity of a five-year-old’s 3:00 a.m.“YES!” when he notices the massive overnight snowfall out his bedroom window.

Your own wonder when you see it, too.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and noticing the big and little things.

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Nutella, Elephants, Parenting, and Writing: It Will Be Fine

11/19/2014

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What if he breaks his neck in that giant pile of leaves?!

In my quest to write for children, I ask a lot of whimsical what-ifs.

What if your dog changed his name?

What if good manners could drive a teacher crazy?

What if a leprechaun didn’t care for gold?

What if shoes could talk?

These whimsical what-ifs are a nice break from my usual parenthood what-ifs, which are often riddled with ridiculousness and are not nearly as much fun. Ask my husband, an extremely rational being who often hears me ponder them out loud and rarely offers a response. He has a face reserved just for these questions. I’m sure you can picture it.

What if the one of the kids gets hurt playing X or doing Y or sitting next to Z?

What if we don’t choose the right kindergarten?

What if we allow too much screen time?

What if the oldest never eats anything other than Nutella sandwiches and Goldfish crackers?

What if the youngest NEVER gets potty trained?

What if I forgot to brush their teeth?

I’m a planner and a worrier. I like to know.

When you write for a living, you don’t often get to know. You just have to make a decision, do something, and see what happens next. The same is true of parenthood (with, of course, appropriate caution and safety. I’m not that crazy, you know). It took me awhile to figure this out. I’m still figuring it out.

And so, my parenthood what-ifs clash with my whimsical what-ifs until it looks something like this:

What if an elephant wore red suspenders? Hmmm… I like that. He’s a firefighter fully equipped with a built-in fire hose. He’d need the suspenders to hold up his fire pants because his big elephant belly keeps pushing them down… Wait. Did I wash the oldest’s only pair of pants that doesn’t fit like capris and has hole-free knees? Is tomorrow show-and-tell day? What if he doesn’t have pants for show-and-tell day? What if it’s cold? What if he doesn’t have pants and we forget show-and-tell?

That poor firefighter elephant is toast.

I’m slowly (and I mean slooooooooowly) realizing that if I don’t let go of the litany of little parenthood what-ifs, the imaginative what-ifs will forever be sidelined.

Here’s what I’ve figured out:

What if the one of the kids gets hurt playing X or doing Y or sitting next to Z?

They will get hurt. Probably on a daily basis. And they will be fine.

He totally hits her. In the face. She is fine.

What if we don’t choose the right kindergarten?

We will figure it out. And it will be fine.

What if we allow too much screen time?

We likely do (according to what I read these days, anyway). But we also read a lot of books and do a lot of playing and talking and imagining. And they will be fine.

What if the oldest never eats anything other than Nutella sandwiches and Goldfish crackers?

He will (even if it’s only fruit and Ritz crackers). And he will be fine.

What if the youngest NEVER gets potty trained?

She will (even if she takes us and the washing machine down in the process). And she will be fine.

What if I forgot to brush their teeth?

I did. Just once (okay, maybe twice). And they will be fine.

If I remind myself that they will be fine – the thing my reasonable, rational spouse tells me with his designated what-if face day in and day out – then I can take a deep breath and let the fantasy fly.

Because one way or another, it will all be fine. The dinner will get eaten or it won’t. The pants will be washed or they won’t. The story will get written today or it won’t.

I need to practice it will be fine so I can teach my kids to practice it will be fine. As a mother and a writer, I need the whimsical what-ifs to win out. As a mother I want to enjoy the little moments rather than waste them worrying. As a writer I want to enjoy the process and not worry so much about what’s down the road.

What if nobody likes this story?

What if I can’t figure out the ending?

What if my manuscript never gets published?

They might, they might not.

I might, I might not.

It might, it might not.

But I’ll keep trying. It will all be fine.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and focusing on the right what-ifs.

They can't possibly get lost in this corn maze. Right?

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Jazz Hands and Fairy Tales

10/30/2014

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Before-and-after Cinderellas: Making magic with Anne Bear (right), teaching partner extraordinare.

During what was easily one of my favorite years of teaching, I was privileged to be part of a 2nd grade team that loved to incorporate into daily classroom life what we called “jazz hands.” We were pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that we absolutely loved what we did.

When we did things, we did them big.

I think of our team and those jazz hands often, but especially at this time of year because of the Fairy Tale Feast.

The Fairy Tale Feast was by far one of the most successful (and most adorable) events we held – and teachers with jazz hands hold lots of events.

During this season of dress-up and fantasy, we wanted to let kids get into costume and pretend and learn something, too (because, of course, jazz-hands teachers should also be all about education). So we built an entire unit around fairy tales.

Over the course of a couple of weeks, we focused all of our language arts activities on fairy tales. We read and relished countless stories. We studied the elements of a fairy tale, problems and solutions, and point of view. We compared and contrasted characters. We learned fairy-tale-themed spelling words. We wrote friendly letters from a particular character’s point of view. Students crafted their own magic wands and wrote about the magic they could do with them. Mabel, our resident fairy, delivered overnight notes in her whirly-twirly handwriting, much to the delight of our enchanted eight-year-olds, many of whom wrote back.

It was a lovely and magical time.

Our culminating project invited students to choose a particular character from a large list of tales. As a class, we discussed personality traits and motivations and talked about how we learn about characters as we read. We then tasked students with a character study/ book report. They examined the best and worst things that happened to their assigned character and completed the report as that character, completing sentences such as “I was really glad when…” and “Next time, I think I will…” Some of their answers were pretty insightful. Even more of them were hilarious. They took their assignment very seriously.

On the day of our much-heralded Fairy Tale Feast, our characters paraded around the school in their costumes, took to the stage to share a bit about themselves with a packed house of parents and other loved ones, and enjoyed an inspired banquet of items such as Three Little Pigs in Blankets, chocolate coins, “poisoned” apples (with caramel sauce), pumpkin bread, and the like. Thank goodness for generous and enthusiastic parents!

I loved every minute of that event, and every second of that particular year, which was filled with love and laughter and friendship and wonder. Up until recently, however, I’ve simply thought of it as a perfect memory of my time as teacher.

I realize now, as I attempt to write children's stories of my own, that I can use many of these activities for my own character development. Who knew that my second grade unit planning would come in so handy as a writer?

I can sit down and write letters from the points of view of my characters.

I can complete the book report worksheet for any or all of them. (I’ve written the questions below in case you’d like to try it out, too).

I can even dress up as one. (Sometimes wearing a crown helps, too.)

I can examine fairy tales and my own stories with the eyes of a writer, remembering the heart of a child. I’m no expert, but I believe that it will help me do my best writing.

Want to work a little wonder into your days? Read some fairy tales, with or without your kids. If you’re a writer, read even more.

There’s magic in them.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and fairy tales.

In loving memory of Beth Walton, the ultimate jazz-hands teacher, teammate, and fairy godmother, who taught me how to appreciate the magic in the everyday and inspired so many to be the magic for each other. Love and miss you, Beth.

Fairy Tale Character Study

Hello! My name is _____________________.

I am a character in a fairy tale called ______________________.

It was written by ____(insert your name here!)_______________.

My story takes place in ________________________.

At the beginning, things started out_______________, but then ________________________.

I had a big problem when ____________________, but it was solved when ________________.

The most magical part of my story was when _____________________________________.

The worst part was when _______________________________.

I was really glad when ________________________________.

Next time, I think I will ______________________________.

You should read my story because _______________________________.

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Road Maps and Stop Signs

9/29/2014

5 Comments

This one is a little off topic - just something I've been thinking about as a former teacher, a mom, and someone who just loves kids.

My son does not have special needs.

It appears that my special need was to tell people that.

As a former educator who has worked with hundreds of students with a wide range of learning styles, strengths, areas of weakness, and special needs, I’m still embarrassed about this. Apparently, my mind as parent is different from my mind as teacher. I used to think that they were the same.

My husband and I decided last year to enroll our son, Sully, now nearly five, in a fully integrated preschool program at an amazing local school for students with special needs. My Aunt Michelle, a feisty little woman with Down syndrome, has always been a very special part of my life, and my sisters, cousins, and I were raised to love and appreciate her as we would any other family member. We grew up with tolerance, acceptance, and a fierce desire to protect her. I want my children to grow up with those same values.

This school, while focused only on students of school age with special learning needs, recognizes the importance of social interaction, especially among preschool-aged children. The integrated preschool program helps facilitate this interaction for children with special needs and, as an added bonus, helps foster a sense of tolerance, acceptance, and love among children with typical needs. Each student receives a specialized learning plan that caters to strengths and helps develop upon areas of growth. I can’t imagine a better way for my son to learn and grow. He’s learning academic lessons and he’s learning human lessons. He’s learning to accept each person he meets as they are and with great love.

So why did I feel the need to clarify?

Two Christmases ago, Sully refused to kiss Aunt Michelle goodnight. I panicked, afraid that he didn’t want to embrace her because she was different. Was he afraid of her? Was he uncomfortable around her? Was he already developing a bias? As I tucked him in, I asked, bracing myself for a tough conversation about acceptance. He looked at me seriously and said, “Mom, she’s the only one that didn’t have a Christmas present for me.” I sighed, relieved, and tackled a completely different conversation, this one about gifts, gratitude, and expectations.

Acceptance appears to come naturally to young children. They haven’t been taught yet about “us” and “them,” and so anyone can be a friend. Watch a group of toddlers or preschoolers play - most likely you’ll notice a sense of inclusion where color, creed, and academic capability fall by the wayside. When you have to explain acceptance, it’s likely that a child has started noticing differences. This is where leading by example becomes essential. I realize now, though, that I was leading with the worst example possible: I was, often without solicitation, labeling my son as label-less, separating him from other kids. Did he feel the need to separate himself? Nope. So why did I?

As a teacher, I’ve witnessed many parents afraid or reluctant to have their child tested for fear that their child would be labeled, separated from their peers, and held back as a result of lower expectations. As a teacher, this frustrated me. I wanted to see each child get the help and support that he or she needed. Equipped with a diagnosis and a plan, I could understand and teach that child more effectively. I wouldn’t see the child differently or care for them any less; I would simply teach them differently. A label could be the answer we’d been looking for. Why all the fuss?

And then, as parent, I had to make clear to others that my own child was label-free. I didn’t want people to think he had special needs. I was a hypocrite. Where was this open-minded and accepting teacher when she-as-mother needed to clarify her own child’s ability to learn?

Parents want the best for their children. We want to give them everything they need. But we also want them accepted in a world that isn’t fully integrated. And, unfortunately, this world often places limits on those with labels.

My mind as teacher thought only of that student in my own classroom, where I knew I would hold them accountable, set high expectations, and push them to succeed. I’d use that label to foster forward movement. My mind as parent was keenly aware that the wider world is not my classroom. I knew that many consider a label a weakness rather than an answer, a stop sign rather than a road map. I didn’t want my own child saddled with a stop sign, even if only in the minds of my peers.

Acceptance starts with understanding. Changing the way we view and respond to those with special learning needs can help shift the way our children view the world around them. Understanding that differences aren’t the same as deficiencies can allow children to accept others more openly and accept their own challenges as they come. If we start with our children, we might eventually change the limitations of a label.

Now, when people ask where I send Sully to preschool, I tell them and leave it at that. If they want to know more, I’m happy to explain. But I’m trying hard to stick to the learning plan for my own special need, thinking with my teacher mind and my parent mind together, raising children that I hope will someday see road maps where stop signs used to be.

Here's to writing, reading, smiling, and road maps of all kinds.

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Real-People Stories

8/20/2014

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It’s been awhile. The lazy days of summer are starting to wane, but I’m still holding on to the sunshine, giggles, and go-where-the-day-takes-you perks of the season. I’m savoring afternoon iced coffees, the late-summer flower appearances, and the unexpected but deliciously crisp evenings August has delivered to eastern Pennsylvania. Most of all, I’m soaking up my kids, because next summer they’ll be three and five instead of two and four, and I am keenly aware of how quickly time moves. I also have a head full of story ideas because those two little people are the best kind of material.

I have been writing all summer, but it’s mostly been the kind of writing that immediately pays the bills. Some of my recent bill-paying assignments have actually been stories – real stories with real characters, real events, and real meaning. Though I’ve been guilt-ridden about not honing my picture book craft as much as I should be (especially after my time at the Barn), I’ve fallen in love with this kind of storytelling, too. And I recently realized that kids might, too.

A lot of my freelance lately has been for Lehigh University. Amazing things often happen at great universities, and Lehigh is no different. The place is rife with remarkable people and fascinating stories.

Take this one, for example. It features an organic chemistry professor who is working to train the immune system to fight antibiotic-resistant bacteria. This is very cool, potentially game-changing stuff. And I got tell the story.

Here’s the best part: It’s a science story. And I was an English major in college. People who know me are well aware that my working knowledge of science doesn’t often work.

But it’s a story, so I figured it out. I really like stories.

I also had the pleasure of writing this one, about a Ukrainian economist driven from his home country by corruption, today an expert in not only monetary policy but also bulletproof vests. He’s participating in a worldwide effort to crowdfund the Ukrainian army. I could have listened to his stories all day. And I got to share them.

Write what you know. Writers hear this all the time. It is, of course, easier to write about things with which you’re familiar. But sometimes it’s far more rewarding to write what you don’t know.

I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t know much about Ukraine until a few weeks ago. I certainly didn’t know anything about organic chemistry. But now I know a little. And I learned by asking questions and writing.

So, anyway, back to kids.

Kids love to write what they know. It’s comfortable. They get to be experts. Sports, video games, favorite books or toys – stuff they know.

But what if we encouraged them to write stories about what they don’t know as well? What if they wrote about the real people in their lives, people they know, but don’t know a lot about? What if they started to ask questions?

Just think of all the learning and getting-to-know-each-other bonuses that would come from this kind of writing!

Have your child give this a try. Help the littler ones, but try and let the older ones really take ownership.

1.      Choose a person they know – a friend, sibling, parent, grandparent, someone they’d like to learn more about.

2.      Develop questions to ask that person. They can focus their questions on a particular facet of the subject’s life or make them more general. It doesn’t need to be a biography (though that’s great, too!). For example:

·         How his parents met

·         What a parent does at work

·         How her great-grandparents arrived in the United States from abroad

·         His grandmother’s job when she was young

·         An older sibling’s first day of high school

·         A younger sibling’s favorite thing to do

3.      Interview the subject and write down some answers. If your child wants to be fancy, let them use the voice recorder on your smartphone. They’ll feel very professional.

4.      Write the story and deepen a relationship. Easy peasy!

I spend a lot of time creating characters and inventing events. But sometimes the real ones are just as exciting.

I love to write. I love a good story. I also love people. And I still like hearing stories about my grandma at National Biscuit in New York City or how my dad met my mom by telling her to get off the pinball machine he wanted to play or how our family’s cocker spaniel ran off to Hollywood (okay, so I don’t really think that one’s true). I am enamored with real-people stories.

I’ll bet your kids will be, too. We’re all material.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and real people, outstanding and ordinary.

2 Comments

Raised in a Barn

6/29/2014

5 Comments

Yes, Mom. I was raised in a Barn - just not the kind you're thinking of.

A couple of weeks ago I started this post:

I used to tell my students all the time that yes, they could think of something to write. Of course they could. They had so many great ideas in their heads just waiting to burst out onto the page. I’d encourage and challenge and push: You can do it.

I know that writing isn’t easy. I knew it then and I know it now. I know that writers write, and that in order to follow your dreams you have to actually get up and go after them. When you love something, you just do it.

Until you feel a tiny bit like you can’t.

And that word - can’t - worms its way into your head and then into your heart and then into the keyboard. And nothing comes out.

There’s a reason I often wrote the word “CAN’T” on the board in my classroom with a big red Ghostbusters-style circle-backslash symbol.

Apparently I need a sign like that over my own desk.

Lately I’ve let life’s little distractions get in the way of my dream-following. I’ve let worry, doubt, and mindless television take over. I haven’t been writing when I should be writing. I should be writing whenever I can, carving minutes out of even the busiest days. Because we make time for the things that we love.

I wrote that. I couldn’t think of anything more to write, so I stopped and didn't post.

Then something incredible happened.

I had a very last-minute (but oh-so-perfectly timed) opportunity to attend the Chautauqua East Workshop at the Highlights Foundation in Boyds Mills, PA.

My first response was that I didn’t have time. My second response was that I hadn’t written for children in months because of that wicked, wormy can't. I believed I had nothing to share. What business did I have being with all these real writers?

My husband’s response was to practically shove me out the door.

“Are you doing this or what?” he asked me. “Either you want to write for kids or you don’t.”

My husband is wonderful.

I want to write for kids. So, nervous, excited, and completely certain I didn’t belong, I went.

It changed everything.

I spent six days with a warm, generous, and incredibly talented group of people, faculty and conferees alike. I sat in the beautiful Barn at Boyds Mills and learned about what it takes to be a great children’s writer: how to create genuine characters, paint vivid pictures with words, and develop a strong voice. I received guidance, encouragement, and eye-opening feedback on my own work.

My mentor, Jillian Sullivan, embraced my work and taught me to really get to know my characters. I hung on every word of Kathy Erskine, creator of amazing, true characters who stay with you well after reading the final page. I discussed with K.L. Going the challenges of being a mom of young children and finding the time to write (and boy, she sure has!). I had warm and incredibly helpful conversations with Clara Gillow Clark and Susan Williams Beckhorn. I absorbed the wisdom of Peter Jacobi, Patti Gauch, and Laurence Pringle. I even talked to Jerry Spinelli about my Louisville 5th graders’ love for Maniac Magee and butterscotch Krimpets. And those are just a few members of the faculty – there were so many more, each more influential than they could possibly know.

My fellow conferees were inspiring as well. I got to know Kate Garchinsky, a gifted writer and illustrator whose passion for her winged subjects just bubbles out of her. I witnessed Sheila Wright's dedication to the craft of writing - both her own and that of her peers. I heard clever and wonderful story ideas from so many and immersed myself in the energy of writers at all stages of their careers. We kindred spirits from a variety of backgrounds very quickly became friends.

I did yoga in the mornings, walked in the woods, and shared delicious meals and equally delicious conversations.

I wrote.

Perhaps most importantly (because of that insidious can't that had creeped its way into me), I heard brilliant, successful writers say that they, too, struggled. They, too, faced countless rejections. They, too, had bouts of self-doubt. They, too, still have much to learn.

A million thanks to the Highlights Foundation for their work in raising writers in the Barn – shaping and celebrating, teaching and lifting up. I left the Barn with a new lease on my writing life. I still can’t come up with the right words to explain it. As a writer having just returned from Writer Wonderland, you’d think I’d be able to. It seems I still have a lot to learn.

I guess I’ll have to plan a return trip.

Because when we love something, we make the time for it. Even when it’s hard.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and diving in, even when you think you can’t. And here’s to the Highlights Foundation. Thank goodness for them!

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Let Them Be Bored

6/11/2014

1 Comment

Ahhh, summer… sunshine, flip flops, swing sets, fireflies, sandcastles, grass stains, time.

Lots of time.

Along with countless popsicles and playdates, I’m betting that your kids will also get sunburns, skinned knees, bug bites, and bored. I know mine will.

When I was a kid and I got bored, my parents would tell me and my often-also-bored sisters to go outside and play. When we complained that that would be boring, they told us to make something. We had all that we needed – construction paper, glue, glitter, stickers, crayons, markers. We practically had a Michael’s in our hall closet.

At least one of us would survey the materials, frown, and whine. “But I can’t THINK of anything to make!”

My dad would reply, as parents often do, “Use your imagination.” He’s a writer, so he probably said that more frequently than average.

“I can’t!” would come the inevitable reply. “It’s just. Not. Working.”

Our imaginations weren’t working. So one day, my work-at-home dad, in a stroke of genius and exasperation, told us to MAKE NEW ONES. He gave us empty two-liter soda bottles, the hose, and a jar of rainbow glitter.

“Make one,” he said.

So we filled our bottles, dumped in the glitter, screwed on the caps, shook, and watched with delight as the sparkles danced on their watery stage. An imagination – just like that.

Believe it or not, it worked. If we could make our own imaginations, we could make our own fun.

We now could shake those bottles and watch those sparkles and think of things to do. I was fortunate enough to have younger sisters who repeatedly allowed one of those things to be what I can only describe as high-concept performance art. They let me boss them around as choreographer of spectacular dance routines to any number of C+C Music Factory songs. I still can’t believe they didn’t get picked up by MTV.

Oh, what a brand-spanking-new imagination can do! I grew up a short drive from the ocean. We went to the beach almost daily. We had a swimming pool in our yard. I have three sisters, all of whom are close to my age. I still got bored. We all did.

That’s what kids do. They get bored.

And that’s a good thing.

Each year, a wonderful principal for whom I once worked includes in her end-of-year letter to parents a message about the importance of boredom. Unplugging our kids from technology and the busy, scheduled-ness of life can help them plug into themselves. That’s how imaginations grow.

They’ll realize that they don’t need TV, video games, smartphones, and other such buttons and touchscreens as much as they think they do. It doesn’t take a whole lot to create a game, a fantasy, a story, an adventure. All kids need is time, which is and should be bountiful in a child’s summer, and the absence of an end goal determined by someone else.

They’ll learn to solve problems themselves, sometimes pretty creatively.

They’ll figure out how to work with others to come up with something to do and then do it. My sisters and I eventually learned how to work collaboratively without tearing each other’s hair out. (Well, most of the time. Sometimes those braids were far too tempting.)

They’ll discover that there’s a world of wonder inside of them. They’ll realize that they can imagine and create independently. And then maybe, just maybe, they’ll be able to write about it later. Or they’ll be able to write about any number of things because they can solve problems, work collaboratively, and embrace their own incredible imaginations.

Sure, send them to camp. Plan and schedule activities. Take action-packed vacations. Spend a whole lot of time with them. We should do these things. We need to.

But also let them just be.

Let them get bored, and then let them figure out on their own how to not be bored. (In a way that doesn't lead to ER visits, broken furniture, and/or traumatized pets, of course. These are often the first not-boring things kids think of. Especially when they are VERY BORED.)

These days I often wish for the imagination of a child. Maybe I just need to make one out of what I can find in our recycling bin. Or perhaps I should pay even more attention to the little ones around me and how they go about doing things.

As I write this, my four-year-old is involved in a rousing game of “Cushion Rescue,” which involves his Rescue Hero action figures and cushions removed from the couch. There is a lot of very exciting stuff happening here, and I didn’t have to tell him to do it. He’s not looking at me for what’s next. Ten minutes ago, he was SO BORED. I’m sure it won’t last all that long, but he did it by himself. It’s a start!

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and a little bit of oh-so-boring boredom.

Happy Summer!

1 Comment

Words of Wisdom from a FledglingWriter

5/15/2014

1 Comment

There are kids who love to write. I was one of them. As a child I sat with spiral notebooks or my dad’s typewriter. I scribbled and typed every idea that came into my head. A lot of paper and a lot of typing and a lot of years later, I became an English major. And a whole lot more paper and typing and years later, I’m a writer. As you know, I love words.

My dad is a gifted writer, so it wasn’t too difficult to imagine myself doing what I’m doing now. Our house was a writing house. I grew up watching him outline books on craft paper on the dining room table with complex mind maps that looked like alien spaceships. I watched him take thinking walks around the block, strolling slowly and deliberately, as if he were moving the ideas through his body so that they could leap out of his fingers. I watched him clickety-clack on an ever-evolving succession of keyboards: first on that delightful typewriter, then on a word processor, and later on a computer. Oh, that computer! How did it work? My dad encouraged me and, most importantly, let me sit at those keyboards and pound away at the keys. I loved the sounds they made when I created stories.

My friend and college roommate, Nancy, has always been creative and crafty. She’s forever making beautiful things, and she makes it look easy. Nancy also knows how computers work, which never fails to impress me. But I’m especially impressed with Nancy’s daughter, whom we will call "DollyBear." DollyBear loves to write.

She might love to write more than I did.

I chatted on FaceTime the other day with DollyBear, who is now wrapping up her time as a third grader. She has piles and piles of notebooks filled with stories she’s written. I asked her about her writing.

First, she told me she loves to read. This is no surprise, because writers are typically readers, too. DollyBear told me all about the enormous bookshelf in her room. This girl devours books, and she will read the same ones over and over again.

DollyBear is just as enthusiastic about her writing. She takes it very seriously. She says that she’s inspired to write books for other people to enjoy.

“I started writing books when I was three,” she told me. “I tried to do a ton of them. I haven’t finished any yet except for one of them.”

The story DollyBear has finished is a beautifully illustrated one called “The Mother Rabbit.” It’s written on white paper and stapled into a book. It's lovely.

I noticed right away that DollyBear already does what writers do. She writes down her ideas and “fixes them up” on her computer. She crosses things out. She starts new stories when she gets stuck or bored with the one she’s writing. She has a particular space – her bed – where she likes to write. When she doesn’t have her notebook, she thinks of stories anyway. She shares what she’s written with her parents, teachers, and friends. She even showed me some notes a friend had written in one of her stories. I love thinking of these third graders giving feedback like members of a critique group on their own time. How great is that?

Here’s my favorite writer-y thing that this young fellow writer shared with me: “Sometimes when I get stuck and I just want to keep writing and I have no more ideas, I get mad.” I hear you, sister.

Nancy says that she doesn’t do much in terms of her daughter's writing, but I think that she’s doing the best, most perfect thing – she lets her write. She buys her notebooks. She gives her space and reads her work and tells her how great it is. She’s even given her a formal venue for her writing by allowing her to write book reviews on a blog.

That’s what you do for young writers. Let them develop a love for writing. Encourage them. Help them a bit if they ask for it. Sure, grammar is important (and we know I love the stuff), but that can come later and school has it covered. Just let them write.

DollyBear's advice for kids who don’t like to write is this: “They don’t have to write but they should learn to. They might want to write when they get older, so I encourage them to want to write just to practice and get better at it.”

I also asked her what she’d tell other kids like her who love to write. She said they should “keep writing because someday their stories might become published because of all their hard work as a child.”

Smart girl.

By the way, when I shared with DollyBear about how I used to write on my dad’s typewriter, she smiled and told me that her teacher showed her class a typewriter once. They took it apart to see how it worked.

I felt really old.

Technology might change, but some things don’t. I saw quite a bit of myself in this sweet young girl and her passion for writing. She inspired me to keep going. I did work pretty hard as a child, and I’m trying to recapture that determined spirit now.

Here’s to writing, reading, smiling, and being inspired by kids. Because there are some really cool kids out there.

PS - Check out the What-ifs DollyBear shared here. Do you or your child have some What-if ideas? Share them!

Does your child love to write? Do they have some advice to share? I'd love to hear from them.

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Kid Writing

"I just need these books."

The Art of Noticing

Nutella, Elephants, Parenting, and Writing: It Will Be Fine

Jazz Hands and Fairy Tales

Road Maps and Stop Signs

Real-People Stories

Raised in a Barn

Let Them Be Bored

Words of Wisdom from a FledglingWriter

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