It’s a lovely week at my house because I have a visitor.
A family friend — a middle-schooler who, as part of her school’s Project Week, is writing a children’s book.
So, she’s spending the week with me.
We talk all about picture books and rhyme and scansion and revision.
We talk about humour and getting in the groove.
We talk about libraries.
We do writing prompts.
We then, actually, write.
(I wrote quite a lot yesterday because, ahem, I had to set a good example. Y’know?)
And then we revise. Together.
It’s a hoot!
So, stuff’s happening over here and I’m hoping that on Thursday Maggie will tell you about it.
Tomorrow she’s going on a school visit with me.
And maybe going to the post office with me because, um, that’s a part of my job.
Right?
The only thing I like just about as much as a good school visit
is the letters I get after a good school visit.
There is often some very fine crayon art and a good number of exclamation points.
There is often humor.
There is often wisdom.
There is always love.
Dear Liz,
I learnd a crown is a pretty plase, like the top of my head or the top of a leafe tree.
I am gunna be looking for that book All the World!
Thank you.
From, Rowan
Dear Liz,
I learned that it can take muns and some times years to finish a book.
Your books gave me ideas for a book I mit write and ilastrate.
It was exiding having you here.
From Darcy
Dear Liz,
I learnd that your editor hleps you fix mistakx and you have to go to your offic and fix your mustak agean.
And agean.
And agean.
And finaleey, the editor sied yes!
You finoleey did it!
Today, in honor of the worms and, really, everyone else who "persists, oblivious, in service" — this poem.
What if folks really knew "the good they confer" on the rest of us? What if we tended to each other as if we had a "debt to angels"? What if nobody waited "for reciprocity"?
That’d be something, wouldn’t it?
Worms
BY CARL DENNIS
Aren’t you glad at least that the earthworms Under the grass are ignorant, as they eat the earth, Of the good they confer on us, that their silence Isn’t a silent reproof for our bad manners, Our never casting earthward a crumb of thanks For their keeping the soil from packing so tight That no root, however determined, could pierce it?
Imagine if they suspected how much we owe them, How the weight of our debt would crush us Even if they enjoyed keeping the grass alive, The garden flowers and vegetables, the clover, And wanted nothing that we could give them, Not even the merest nod of acknowledgment. A debt to angels would be easy in comparison, Bright, weightless creatures of cloud, who serve An even brighter and lighter master.
I have been really, really, really busy. I mean, everyone always says that, I know, but this has been kind of a breathtaking busy.
I can’t complain, since so much of it has been engaging and terrific work — conferences, school visits, talks, and critiques. The beginning of my teaching semester. Yet another revision.
And then, in the middle of all that, a whopping case of the flu, one daughter’s field trip and another daughter’s standardized test made for a relatively emotional breathtakingly busy time.
So it was really no surprise that the release date of my latest book kind of snuck up on me and nearly snuck right past. Noodle would likely not be surprised, either, to be overlooked and lost in the shuffle. A worm’s lot, he’d say.
But honestly, I’m pretty fond of this little worm-and-bird, and grateful for them. For example:
Huge thank yous to Arthur Howard who added such humor and whimsy to the book, who added love and pathos, who added a little green baseball cap to the head of the worm.
And to my editor, Allyn Johnston (at Beach Lane Books) who waited patiently over the very many months it took me to puzzle out the whys of this book.
And to my agent, Erin Murphy, who buoyed me up over the very many months Allyn waited and I puzzled out the whys.
And to Natalie dias Lorenzi who created the fabulous teacher’s guide to accompany Noodle & Lou (and my other books, too)!
And to Jama Rattigan who didn’t forget the release day at all!
And to the folks at Kirkus, and Booklist, and Publishers Weekly, who’ve all had some really swell things to say about the book.
But mostly, thanks to my sister, to whom Noodle & Lou is dedicated, for being the blue jay of my heart. She stumbled upon the book accidentally, in a little bookstore in Montana, days before it was even due to come out. And then she stumbled upon the dedication inside.
Isn’t it funny, the way life sometimes works that way? The way we trip over little surprises, the way we meet the folks we’re meant to, the way the sun comes out just in time?
I’m in Colorado, which is my home state and, thus, my happy state.
Ordinarily when I’m here, I spend most of my time outside.
This time, my adventures have been more of the indoor variety.
For one thing, it’s been seriously deeply crazily cold. (I know it’s winter, but still!)
Also, I’ve gone from school visit to school visit to conference to book store to school visit. Etc.
So, no summits this trip, or backcountry skiing, or campfires.
Although I did wield a mean snow shovel for about an hour yesterday morning.
Instead, I’ve saved my awe and giddiness for 2nd graders and teachers and librarians and best old friends.
Usually, I like to share little quotes and anecdotes from my school visits, because they tend to be very funny and very dear. (Like last Thursday, for example, when a little boy suggested to me that “a cat is a pocket for a hairball.” I mean, honestly. Does it GET any better than that???)
But this trip has been too long and chock-full to collect quotes every day.
I’ve just let it roll on by.
Until this morning.
When a little guy raised his hand to ask, “Does it hurt to write books?”
I caught my breath.
And while I did he said, “I mean, like do your hands hurt?”
Oh. That’s what he meant.
My hands!
So I showed him a little stretch I do to wake up my fingers and my arms and shoulders when I’m at my desk.
He and all his buddies did the stretch with me.
It was a nice moment.
But meanwhile, I was thinking, “Does it hurt to write books?”
He didn’t even know to ask about the other kind of sore, the invisible kind.
When what we’re working on doesn’t work.
When what we write isn’t right.
When what we love isn’t beloved.
When we’re pretty sure we’re all washed up with no place to go.
When we’re deathly afraid.
“It does,” I wanted to say. “It hurts.”
But I didn’t want to scare him away.
Because there are all those times when it doesn’t hurt, when it thrills and tickles and shines.
I’d hate to scare him away from that.
(Apologies for the slight delay on this post, due to air travel, time zone transitions, and bitter, bitter cold that makes it almost impossible to even think!)
Librarians!!
I’m not the only one who’s been moved to put some love out there in the world.
I’m wrapping up my week dedicated to Librarian Love, but that’s not to say there won’t be more of it to come. Librarians are a pivotal part of our schools and our communities. They are the hosts of our downtime, guides to our adventures, supporters of our studies, and they are teachers. They teach us how to read and how to research. They teach us what’s inside books and how to use books. They teach the wild extroverts how to be happy alone, and they teach the quiet introverts that they are not alone. They teach us about time travel and dinosaurs, illness and wellness, love and fear, humor and surprise. They teach us that the world is both very, very big and also at our fingertips all the time.
Let us not make the mistaking of thinking librarians are any less than all of that. We need them, as students and teachers, parents and people. We need them as a society and we should tell them so. And show them, too.
So happy to start off today’s post with some really lovely Librarian Love, thanks to Ms. Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference. Check it out.
And if you want to join in on my impromptu week of gushing and gratitudes for the librarians in the world, it’s not too late. Here’s my kick-off post from last week — along with a formal invitation to join me. I’m wrapping it up tomorrow — Tuesday, February 1st — but any day’s a good day to honor the Keepers of the Books!
Today, I want to thank all the many librarians who serve as wise, thoughtful, hard-working readers on literary award committees every year. I mean, of COURSE it’s librarians who tackle these huge jobs, right? They know and love books, and they know and love young readers. They’ve got their fingers on the pulse. And they don’t seem to mind filling their offices-bedrooms-living rooms with books upon books upon books — all of which have to be read, carefully.
I’m particularly fond of a certain Caldecott committee, if you know what I mean:
But if there is one thing I learned during that experience, it was that every committee (and there are bunches of them) is made up of passionate and generous librarians, all of whom added this reading and discussion to the top of their already-daunting to-do lists. Because they wanted to! Because they think it’s fun! Because they love what they do!
Well, it turns out that the magical profession of librarianism is under siege beyond our own local map. Here’s the state of things in the U.K., for example.
People?? Has the whole world gone mad??
Phillip Pullman remembers "(T)he secrecy of it! The blessed privacy!" He knows that "No-one else can get in the way, no-one else can invade it, no-one else even knows what’s going on in that wonderful space that opens up between the reader and the book."
He knows and remembers that, and so do I. So do lots of us, right? So what is this malarky about not needing librarians? Sheesh.
A world like this is just going to bring the librarians all to tears. And we don’t want that, do we?
Eating Poetry
BY MARK STRAND
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. There is no happiness like mine. I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees. Her eyes are sad and she walks with her hands in her dress.
And if you’d like to join me in my week of Librarian Love, it’s not too late. See my previous posts here and here and here, and then join in. You’ll be glad you did.
Kicking off this next post of Librarian Love, I want to share the soapbox with a couple of librarians.
Here’s a piece written by one of our district’s librarians and published in the local paper. A good read. With all the points we seem to get, but the folks in charge don’t. Weird.
And then here’s a call to action by friend/author/librarian Jeanette Larson. (It’s a facebook note so I’m not totally certain that you all can access it. I hope so, though…)
In the meantime, yesterday I thanked the librarians who’ve been especially important to my daughters. Today, I want to sing the praises of all the many librarians who’ve been supportive of me, as an author. Those who’ve invited me for school visits or storytimes or special programs. Those who’ve ordered my books for their libraries. Those who’ve read my books at their own storytimes.
I am not only grateful for these librarians, but also just feel plain lucky to know them. These relationships are one huge job perk — one I hadn’t necessarily anticipated when I started all this, but am really appreciative of now.
There’s no way I can make a complete list, but I’m going to make a partial one. If I’ve missed you, I’m sorry — and no less grateful…
Libby Weed Carrie Bartsch Carrie Midkiff Gayla Thompson Rebecca Miller Jenny Day Ginna Wimmer Dayna Dees Laurie Harwell Nancy Gilbert Annette Hodges Suzanne Wofford Kate Slaten Emily Gardner Diane Collier Steffanie Audel Betsy Crosby Anita Rizley Bonnie Seelig Stephanie Shipman Alison O’Reilly Debbie Keith Christina McGehee Renee Mick Don Bos Celeste Pustka Patricia Vermillion Barbara Allen Sarah Parramore Zonia Smith Meg Anthony Patricia Hernandez Emily Dejong Melanie Letendre Maureen Slocum Amanda Braziel
Wow. That is a lot of great folks. Lucky me, and lucky all those kids touched by books and the librarians who love them.
So yesterday I told you about the serious threat leveled at our school district’s librarians and, by consequence, our kids. The issue’s even been picked up by School Library Journal. Oi. Not our proudest hour.
But. Operating under the assumption that love can put things a’right (which is probably either a radically proactive or pathetically naive assumption) I’m going to counter that threat with a little shout out to some of my favorite librarians.
Today I honor and thank the librarians who’ve most closely touched my own kids:
Kim Lehman, song and storytime maven at the Twin Oaks branch when both Tall and Small were Teeny. Kim is part librarian and part magician, I think. She can spin a sour hour into a morning that feels easy and soothing and funny and fun. Kim with her hats and songs and finger plays, and books upon books upon books. My girls learned to chew board books with the best of ’em there…
Jackie Kraal, the owly-wise librarian-mind-reader at our elementary school. Jackie knows more than 500 children by name, and she knows where they’re at with their reading, and she knows what they’re into. I’ve seen her, many times, call out to a child in the hall to say, "Come by the library! I just got a book that will be perfect for you!" And she’s always right. My girls learned to read with Jackie’s help, and more importantly, they learned they can read what they love.
Alison O’Reilly, the clever and ever-patient youth librarian at Austin’s Central branch. Alison is the perfect partner-in-crime for kids who are looking for something specific or, sometimes, heart-wrenchingly vague (see "ever-patient"). She is open and passionate so kids of all ages approach her and she is always at the ready, making them feel like they’re the most important part of her job. My girls learned to speak up, and to ask for what they want and need at Alison’s desk.
Sheesh. That’s a lot, huh? Multitudes of gratitudes to Kim and Jackie and Alison — for being the perfect literary touchstones for my kids and so many others…
