Author of over 400 Books for Children and Adults
After the first book came out–Eeny Meeny Miney Mole from HAacourt, the company itself changed hands. Editors (including mine) left, and no one wanted the second book. But years later, (20 Years maybe?) it has found a new home. The two books are about the three mole sisters who live in a deep dark hole. I have now written a third book abut them. Hope it doesn’t take that long to get it out!
I already have ten books of adult poetry that have come put of that daily poem work, and Kaddish–a book of poems in two parts, one feminist Biblical midrash and the other poems about the Holocaust–is the eleventh. The poetry publisher, Holy Cow! Press already did three of my books…
I have talked about “showing up” before. But here are some further–though rather scrambled–thoughts about it. Being a writer–or any kind of artist–is essential a selfish activity. Note I don’t, as far too many people do, call it a “lonely” job. Maybe an alone job, but lonely? Not when I am surrounded by my invisible …
So, David L. Harrison was posting on his personal web page about how when his son (now in his 60s I believe) was a boy, David had always promised to write him a story about a lonely tiger, but never did. And so I wrote back (also on David’s site) the beginning of the story set in India and after we had this open to the public several pages going on, I said: “Think it’s time to take this offline and really go for it.”
Bear Outside turned out to be my first ever book with the famed editor Neal Porter and my (accidentally) 400th book. It has an interesting backstory. About five years before I wrote and sold A BEAR OUTSIDE, I had been helping one of my editors find an illustrator for a different bear book of mine.
A teacher’s guide to Crow Not Crow by Cornell Labs with nine activities.
I had one grandchild with Covid (she’s doing fine, now, thanks). One in full bubble because her best friend had Covid. One son because someone at work had Covid. All fine. But the fear never leaves. And I will be 82 in February, Peter will be 84 in June.
So what do I do? I write.
So the phone rings. My Charlesbridge editor said, “I have a book idea for you.” (This happens, but rarely.)
I said…”Okay.”
“In two years it’s going to be the 400th anniversary of the Pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock. Big celebrations and. . . ”
“It didn’t happen, you know,” I said, figuring she knew. She was a Harvard graduate after all.
“What didn’t happen?”
As I began writing the second Interrupting Cow book (likely to be six of them) about a chicken–a Rhode Island Red– and why it crosses the road (each one uses an old joke at its center…the next two are about an old dog learning new tricks and a horse of a different color) I realized that all of Cow’s new friends, her accidental herd if you will, are different colors and different kinds of animals. A virtual variety.
I tell my writing students that the magic word is BIC: Butt in Chair, or for those who faint at the thought of using the B word, try: bottom, backside, behind, or buhunkus. Then get off your fainting couch and get to work. Of course, just staring at the piece of paper or the …