This past month, I was one of the lucky folk who got to read and judge books for the Cybils.
I sat on the poetry panel with a bunch of seriously smart and thoughtful folk, and it was quite the treat.
So good, in fact, that I thought ya’ll might want a little inside scoop on the process.

(I promise, I’ll be restrained with the details.
I don’t want to have to enter the witness protection program.)

So.
First.
Under the guiding light of our fearless leader, Ms. Kelly Fineman, our team convened by way of a Yahoo Group.

And then we lay back on our chaise lounges to await delivery of the five finalists.
The publishers, we were sure, were all scurrying to get the books to us by overnight post.

Um.
Not.

Might as well blame it on the economy, which is responsible for everything from drought to marital discord these days.

We were told to beg, borrow or steal buy the books.
Tout de suite.

Panic.
Petulance.
Pulling out of hair.

One panelist lives so far north that it was clear he wouldn’t get his hands on the books at all, unless Santa stepped in.
Which he didn’t.

But we all did our honest best and, before long, the email blizzard began.

First, we each ranked our books in descending order.

Some of us assigned a #1 to the book that others rated #5.
And vice versa.

Oi.

But here’s where it got really interesting.

We were comparing, after all, an anthology about war; a co-written he said, she said collection for young adults;  a picture book for the very young; a re-telling of myths across cultures; and a collection of poems interspersed with prose.

Apples and oranges, to say the least.

Plus, all the books were strong enough to be seriously humbling.

Ah, but we were undaunted.

We discussed the merits and limitations of the various sub-genres.
We debated the meaning of "kid appeal".
We weighed in on the art.
We shared our deepest thoughts on brussel sprouts.

Really.
We did.

Because one of the great things about collaborating on a project like this is the immediate intimacy, borne out of a shared passion and responsibility. In the absence of an actual salon with a round table, there is nothing like some quick literary repartee via a listserve. It was, dare I say it, a pleasure.

And, because we all know how to employ our stick-to-itiveness when we need to, we also reached a really satisfying consensus in end. We chose Honeybee, by Naomi Shihab Nye, for its lyrical elegance, its range from the personal to the political, its experimentation in terms of shape and form. I recommend giving it a read, and the other finalists, too.

And I also recommend connecting with wise and witty people over coffee, wine or email to discuss the things that matter to you, be they books or brussel sprouts. Do this as frequently as possible and you will feel as if you’ve won an award.
Unsung, maybe, but quite sweet.