Where Do You Find Your Stories?

 I'm TA #3 to weigh in on my most frequently asked question as an author. Even though I teach both adults and children, the question is the same from both groups. And that is...

"Where do get your ideas?"

99% of my stories come from my own family. As a writer, I couldn't be luckier to have the family I do. We're all storytellers, both sides of the family. Even my father-in-law loved to share tales about his life and family history. It's not that my relatives were famous or did anything historic. They just liked to tell stories about their childhoods and their own ancestors. I was that rare kid who loved to listen to them. Thanks to the Rodmans, Smiths and Downings, I have enough raw material to keep me going forever.

Once I've answered question #1, the second most asked question is "So do the people you write about recognize themselves in your stories?" The answer for every writer should be "no." There is a disclaimer in the front pages of every novel that says "This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental." There is a good reason for this. No one wants to get hauled into court for defamation of character, especially not if the complainants are your cousins or in-laws. The storytellers of my childhood are no longer alive, but their children and grandchildren are. 

My ideas, the story seeds, come from real life. They come from events that happened to real people in real cities. However, once I start writing, the characters are no longer my parents or aunts or uncles. They have different names, appearances and personality traits. Halfway through a first draft they become people who are very real, but a product of my own imagination. The geographic location stays real; location is as important as the characters and action. However, the neighborhoods and schools are composites. I draw maps for these fictional neighborhoods so I can keep the locations straight in my head.

I think I've done a pretty good job in turning real people into fictional people. When I began writing in elementary school, my mom typed my stories for magazine and contest submissions. Every time there was a mother in the story, she would ask "Is that mom supposed to be me? I'm not like that at all." In those early stories the mother was never even remotely based on Mom. If the character was the least bit unpleasant, Mom would take it very, very personally, never convinced I wasn't writing about her. But I wasn't. 

Fast forward thirty years. Yankee Girl is published. Although the parents in the book are relatively minor characters, they are, straight on, my parents. The narrator is Alice Ann Moxley, who is pretty much eleven-year-old me. My parents loved the book. I kept waiting for Mom to say something about the mother character. (My dad would never say anything, one way or the other.) 

Crickets. 

Almost two years later, Mom called me late at night. My parents never called after 8pm, not even if someone was dying. This had to be important. 

I only managed to get out a "hello" before Mom barged right on.

"Is the mom in Yankee Girl me?"

Uh oh. Busted. Gulp. "Yeah."

After a moment, Mom continued.

"I was re-reading it tonight, and I realized that you were writing about yourself and all your worries at that time...and I didn't know about any of it. And neither did the mother in the book. Was I that clueless?"

That led to a long discussion about how terribly stressed and worried our whole family was at that time, each of us keeping our fears to ourselves so as not to upset anyone else. It wasn't a matter of being clueless; it was everyone trying to be strong and pretending that whatever was happening in the wider world, our family was safe. (We really weren't.) 

Looking back, it's funny that the one time I wrote clearly recognizable characters (to me at least), those people didn't realize it until years later.

Surprise Soup was based on my husband's childhood as a bratty little brother. By the time the book came out his character was a bratty little bear. I had to tell him it was him. My Best Friend and First Grade Stinks were based on things that happened to my daughter. She completely disavows both books. She remembers things much differently. And so she should, because while something she said or did was the story seed, the events, characters and outcomes of the story are very different.

That's how it should be. After all, it's fiction.

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman

"It's all about the heartbeat..."

 This time around, each TeachingAuthor is answering the #1 Question

she receives most often from her students and Readers.

I knew mine by heart: What's the one thing about Writing for Children

you wish you knew when you first began?

Ironically, my tried-and-true response also answers the #1 Question I

ask myself when writing my own stories and/or reading the stories of

the writers I teach and coach: Why isn't this manuscript working?!

The answer to both questions?

Every story demands an Emotional Plotline if it's to resound in the

Reader's heart.

Thanks to Aristotle, I knew all about the PHYSICAL Plotline and how 

it structured a story.

The inciting event, the obstacles and struggles, the climax, the

surprise, the resolution.

And I excelled at determining my character's.

Unfortunately, however, after years of toiling on task, I learned 

that wasn't my job.

It's the character's!

Character determines plot. Period.

No more pulling the strings of my character a la Master Geppetto,

guiding actions and re-actions, assigning accompanying emotions

as he seeks to realize his dream, solve his problem, fulfill his need.

No more writing above my character's plotline, unplugged and

disconnected.

I needed to plumb the depths of my character's heart to learn the

WHY of his WHAT, his Or else..., so my story offered an 

EMOTIONAL Plotline.

What misbelief did his hurting heart hold?

What was his bedtime prayer when nighttime came?

I shared several exercises for mining a character's heart in a 2017

TeachingAuthors post, as did Ruth Vander Zee in our January, 

2018 interview and my fellow TA Carmela Martino in her 2017

post.

But, it also turns out, I needed to (bravely) plumb the depths of 

my own heart.

                                        

Marian Dane Bauer's What's My Story? A Young Person's Guide

to Writing Fiction (Clarion, 1992) took my writing to the Next

Level, illuminating a Truth I'd been unwilling to confront.

The writer needs to put his story into the story he's telling.  

That's the only way the Emotional Plotline can be all it must be

to do its job for the Reader.

Mind you: the writer needn't have experienced the actual

inciting incident; he needs only to reconnect with the feelings

that incident provoked, that "I know just how that feels"

sentiment.

In other words, the writer must first connect with the character

if the Reader is to do ths same, if the Reader is to have what

Jane Yolen called the Recognizable Sentiment.

"One heart in hiding, reaching out to one another," Katherine

Paterson wrote of her two characters Jeff Arons and Leslie

Burke in Bridge to Terabithia.

IMHO: this beautiful insight speaks of the character-writer

connection, too, as well as, ultimately, the character-Reader

connection.

            

Fortunately, it wasn't too late in my Writer's Journey to learn

the Why and Wherefore of the Emotional Plotline  (the true

inside story) vs. the Physical Plotline  (the outside actions.)

A story works as it should, as it must, when all three hearts

are inter-connected - the character's, the writer's, the Reader's.

Only then can the story's heart cause another's heart to beat

and burst.

I liken the connection to the three notes of a fine perfume -

the top note, middle note, bottom note - that allow the

singular scent to be known, register and be remembered.

My favorite Coach, Joe Maddon, said it best, though he was

writing about the game of baseball and how it should be

played: "It's all about the heartbeat."

Here's to keeping ours and our Readers' hearts beating!

Esther Hershenhorn

P.S.

Thanks to Ramona and PLEASURES FROM THE PAGE

for hosting today's Poetry Friday.

How Long Does It Take?

I am delighted to kick off our next TA series on the topic: "Answer a writing question I often get from readers or my students."  I have done very few author visits since I am in the classroom with my own 4 and 5-year-old students during the school day.  So, I asked my students if they had any author questions for me. Here’s what they said:

- How do you make the pictures?  How do you make the words?

- How hard does it take?

- How long does it take to write the words of a book?

- How long does it take to make the whole outside of the book 

         and how was the outside of the book made?

- How long does it take to make all of the pages?

- How do you write the words like this?

- How do you write a whole book?  Would it take 20 hours?

- Does the illustrator and the writer have to draw what looks 

        like the writer wrote?

- So, what stories do you do on those books?

Overwhelmingly, the students asked about process and more importantly about the amount of time it takes to write and/or create a book. 

 Interestingly, I think many writing-curious adults wonder the same thing. So, I am going to tackle this as a teacher and as an author.

As a teacher, the most important thing I teach about writing is that it is a process, not a product. That it is a joyful habit filled with delight. 

We recently had a professional development in which writing was looked at by many of my colleagues as an unpleasant necessity of life, a task to teach unwilling children, steps to impart in a lesson. When writing is taught as a task, it lacks the element of time.  Why would you want to engage in an unpleasant activity over a sustained period of time?  Better to suck it up, push through to the end, and complete the obligation.  It makes my heart hurt.  Probably the biggest disservice is to the revision process.  In school, we destroy future writers by demanding that writing should be revised almost immediately after the first draft is written.  It wasn’t until I became an author that I understood the magic of the revision process and how time away from the words helps the writer see the repetitions, poor use of words, leaps in logic, and holes in the story.  I had been trained from a very young age to leap into revising as a tedious process that one had to complete to get to the end.  Let’s stop doing this to new writers.  Let’s give them the gift of time and pleasure.

As an author, this question is a bit more nuanced and complicated.  All authors have their own process.  I usually begin with a theme that I want to explore (same as my process as a visual artist).  Then I develop a “what if” these characters were faced with “that”.  From the “what if” emerges a story.  I often sit on this developing story while it simmers, stews, and swirls around my brain sometimes for days, months, or possibly years.  Sometimes I write it down and try to find the story although it often evades me when I do this. When I use this method, I usually run it past at least a couple of critique groups a few times and then past a couple of critique partners before sending it to my agent for her notes.  This can take weeks or months. More recently, I think on it, dream on it, and let it marinate until it’s ready to burst out onto the paper/screen.  Sometimes if I’m lucky, the story that jumps out is intact. If this is the case, I usually show it to one or two critique partners then send it off to my agent for notes.  This process can take as little as a few days to a week, before the manuscript is ready to go on submission. Recently I had a conversation with a writer at a retreat who adamantly stated that they hated writers who brought their untouched first draft to critique sessions without having reworked it several times first.  Clearly, they have a different process and didn’t take into account the time the story spent in my head before it poured out in one attempt. Time is irrelevant during the creative process.  There is no right or wrong.  There is only what is right for the writer/artist in their authentic process.

Time plays a part in the querying process.  This can be excruciatingly long and is often not fruitful. I have manuscripts that have been on submission to various editors for a few years.  Sometimes we get feedback/rejections within the first couple of weeks and sometimes the submission process drags on.  For an author there seems to be no rhyme nor reason.  I am often amazed at the randomness of it all and rejection is an agreed upon part of this lifestyle.

The question of time also comes into play in the actual production of the book after the manuscript is sold. I believe the norm is 2 years for a picture book. The manuscript for Hello, Little One was sold in 2018 and the publishing date was in 2020. The manuscript for Egyptian Lullaby was sold in 2018 but the publishing date was not until 2023.  Sometimes the length of time changes according to the availability of the illustrator.  Generally speaking, the production time of the books is more predictable than the creative time of the author before the sale.  

Process over product cannot be measured by time.

By Zeena M. Pliska

author of 

Hello, Little One:  A Monarch Butterfly Story

Egyptian Lullaby

Chicken Soup For the Soul For Babies - Say Thank You? (But Why?)

Chicken Soup For the Soul For Babies - A Gift For Me? (I Want It!)

click here for www.zeenamar.com

Last Line of this year's Progressive Poem

The 2025 Progressive Poem

Ends Here!

Howdy, Campers, and welcome!

As Linda Baie wrote (exclamation marks and all): “Irene Latham began the Progressive Poem and hosted it from 2012-2019. Those archives of the poem can be found HERE! Margaret Simon took over
in 2020, and those archives are HERE!”

The rules: 1) The poem passes from blog to blog. 2) Each poet/blogger adds a line. 3) The poem is for children.

Here are some juicy quotes from Heidi Mordhorst’s March 29, 2018 interview with Irene Latham and Liz Steinglass about each Progressive Poem's team over the years:

Irene: People may come with some idea of where they would like to take it, but also an understanding that it may not go there at all.

Liz: And I think this exercise can be a reminder to let go, relinquish control, and see where things go.

Heidi: It’s a situation of “trust without danger,” isn’t it, and the reason I think that most of us (even though many of us who want to write tend to write by ourselves and it IS hard to give up ownership), can do it in this case because there’s really no stakes. It’s just for fun, it’s to play, and if things don’t go quite the way we expected, we just step back and say, “Oooh, that’s so interesting!”

Irene: I will tell you that some people take it very seriously, talk about how they couldn’t sleep the night before their line, and I think people really want to bring their best and that they really love the positive feedback. That’s a good thing in our community, being encouragers and cheerleaders of each other’s efforts, and you know you’re going to get that, but you also want to be the person who brings some really cool word to the poem, turns it in a new direction, but that’s why we’re here: to encourage each other! That’s why people invest in it, because they want that—being pushed by the community to bring their best to it.

........................................
Confession: I'm one of this year's participants who've lost sleep over it.

Can I say how much I love the line Linda Mitchell chose to start the poem? It makes me want to open my windows wide.

I began wondering...could I repeat Linda's first line as the last line? Would it work with the mystery line coming my way? If it does...our poem would be an envelope poem! (There are several definitions of envelope poems. Here's my post which includes a Writing Workout towards the end about envelope poems)

When Deborah Davis' evocative 29th line flew onto our poem, I began playing with the rhythm of her line. In trying to emulate her rhythm, I looked up the word April in different languages. The Finnish word sounded promising: huhtikuu (hooth-teek-koo) Until it didn't.

Instead, I found inspiration in Linda Baie's line (4th-from-the-end). And the rest is history.

........................................

And now, drum roll, please...

photo by Nguyen Tuan Hung from pixabay

Here, without further ado, is our CPP-2025 (Complete Progressive Poem of 2025):

SPRING WISHES FOR US ALL title by Linda Baie (slightly modified by my dog Sadie)

Open an April window
let sunlight paint the air
stippling every dogwood
dappling daffodils with flair

Race to the garden
where woodpeckers drum
as hummingbirds thrum
in the blossoming Sweetgum

Sing as you set up the easels
dabble in the paints
echo the colors of lilac and phlox
commune without constraints

Breathe deeply the gifts of lilacs
rejoice in earth’s sweet offerings
feel renewed-give thanks at day’s end
remember long-ago springs

Bask in a royal spring meadow
romp like a golden-doodle pup!
startle the sleeping grasshoppers
delight in each flowering shrub…

Drinking in orange-blossom twilight
relax to the rhythm of stars dotting sky
as a passing Whip-poor-will gulps bugs
We follow a moonlit path that calls us

Grab your dripping brushes!
Our celestial canvas awaits
There we swirl, red, white, and blue
Behold what magic our montage creates!

Such marvelous palettes the earth bestows
When rain greens our hopes, watch them grow, watch them grow!

                                           ........................................
Regarding a title, I asked Margaret Simon, Irene Latham, Amy Ludwig Vanderwater, Robyn Hood Black, Doraine Bennet, Jeannine Atkins, and Linda Baie: who titles our completed poem? Apparently, there is no rule.

So, Campers ~ Here's your assignment:
1) Read this terrific prompt about titling a poem, which Margaret pointed me to...
2) After you've been blown away by the example in that prompt...
3) I'd love to hear your suggestion for the title of this year's poem! ........................................
HERE'S THE COMMUNITY OF POETS WHO HATCHED THIS POEM:
April 1 Linda Mitchell at A Word Edgewise
April 2 Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect
April 3 Robyn at Life on the Deckle Edge
April 4 Donna Smith at Mainely Write
April 5 Denise at Dare to Care
April 6 Buffy at Buffy Silverman
April 7 Jone at Jone Rush Macculloch
April 8 Janice Scully at Salt City Verse
April 9 Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference
April 10 Marcie at Marcie Flinchum Atkins
April 11 Rose at Imagine the Possibilities
April 12 Fran Haley at Lit Bits and Pieces
April 13 Cathy Stenquist at Cathy Stenquist
April 14 Janet Fagel at Mainly Write
April 15 Carol Varsalona at Beyond Literacy
April 16 Amy Ludwig VanDerwater at The Poem Farm
April 17 Kim Johnson at Common Threads
April 18 Margaret at Reflections on the Teche
April 19 Ramona at Pleasures from the Page
April 20 Mary Lee at A(nother) Year of Reading
April 21 Tanita at {fiction instead of lies}
April 22 Patricia Franz at Patricia Franz
April 23 Ruth at There’s No Such Thing as a Godforsaken Town
April 24 Linda Kulp Trout at Linda Kulp Trout
April 25 Heidi Mordhorst at My Juicy Little Universe
April 26 Michelle Kogan at: Michelle Kogan
April 27 Linda Baie at Teacher Dance
April 28 Pamela Ross at Words in Flight
April 29 Diane Davis at Starting Again in Poetry
April 30 April Halprin Wayland at Teaching Authors

It's time to dance, poets ~

here's a song for our celebration:
"The Last Line"

Thank you, Sadie, for hanging out with me
for hours while I sweated over this post.

(This is Sadie, watching her current favorite movie, FLOW,

made in Latvia, and winner of the 2025 Academy Award for Animation.

It's wonderous! Run, do not walk to see it)

PS: For me, April is whiplash month. I'm constantly turning around, wondering who just called my name--when they're simply making dinner reservations. Yes, my birthday is in April; I was named for the Ogden Nash poem, "Always Marry an April Girl". 

3 Books for Poetry Month

As a follow-up to my co-blogger April Halprin Wayland's post about 3 Discoveries for Poetry Month, today I'll share three books to help celebrate poetry this month. And at the end of this post, you'll find a link to this week's Poetry Friday round-up, too. 

The first book I'd like to share is a 2024 title I learned about on Jama Rattigan's blog. After reading Jama's post about Grant Snider's Poetry Comics (Chronicle Books), I couldn't wait to get my hands on a copy. 

The book lives up to all Jama's praise and more. To be honest, I generally don't enjoy reading graphic novels, but Snider melds the form with poetry in wonderful and often unexpected ways, making his book a pleasure to read. The poems are clever, touching, and even instructional, as is the case with the four poems about writing poetry. I encourage you to check out Jama's detailed post filled with wonderful images and poems from the book, and then go out and read a copy for yourself.

And while you're on Jama's website, I encourage you to check out her National Poetry Month Kidlitosphere Events Roundup for all sorts of ways to celebrate poetry this month. The page includes information about the Kidlitosphere Progressive Poem--our own April Halprin Wayland will be one of the contributors!

I'm currently reading (and savoring) the second book I'd like to share today: If I Could Choose a Best Day: Poems of Possibility (Candlewick), an anthology selected by Irene Latham and Charles Waters and illustrated by Olivia Sua. The publisher describes the book, which was released just last month, as follows: "An ode to imagination and the power of  'if,' this exhilarating poetry collection features the voices of thirty-one diverse poets." The book's poems, which all begin with the word "if," are divided into four categories: Everyday Magic, The Power of You, Kinfolk and Companions, and Anything is Possible. 

While most of the poems are new, there are several classics, including this one from Emily Dickinson, which is in the Power of You section: 

      If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking

      If I can stop one Heart from breaking
      I shall not live in vain
      If I can ease one Life the Aching
      Or cool one pain

      Or help one fainting Robin
      Unto his Nest again,
      I shall not live in Vain.

 Original © by Emily Dickinson, now in public domain 

I've enjoyed all the poems in the collection that I've read so far, especially Georgia Heard's "What Kind of Word is If?"

Finally, I'm thrilled to announce that the third book I'm recommending for Poetry Month is written by my friend and critique group partner, Eileen Rajala Meyer. Eileen's new picture book, Build a Sandcastle, releases April 24 from Reycraft Books. It's a wonderful rhyming story about sharing a fun day at the beach with a friend and it's marvelously illustrated with mixed media art by Manica Musil.   The book also includes text sidebars featuring a clever starfish who offers
"5-star" STEM tips about building sandcastles that will surely inspire young creators. 

Unfortunately, the cute and clever starfish doesn't appear on the book's cover. So I encourage you to check out Eileen's latest post on the Rhyme Doctor's House Calls blog to see a sample page and check out some of her poetic text. I hope you'll also purchase a copy of the book for your favorite child and/or ask your local library to order one. (Check out the Acknowledgements on the copyright page to see a familiar name. 😊 )

And don't forget to visit this week's Poetry Friday roundup hosted by Jone Rush MacCulloch for more Poetry Month fun.

Happy Poetry Month and happy writing!

Carmela

3 Discoveries for Poetry Month!

Howdy, Campers ~ and Happy Poetry Friday! (poems and link to PF below)

Hello, hello, on this glorious first week of Poetry Month ~ I have a shower of 3 poetry discoveries just for you!

My 1st Poetry Discovery:

On October 3, 2024, Carmela's post was about a new poetry anthology, Clara's Kooky Compendium of Thimblethoughts and Wonderfuzz edited by Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong and illustrated by Frank Ramspott (Pomelo Books). Her post, which you'll find here, is worth reading. (Full disclosure: both Carmela and I are proud to have poems in this collection).

The BREAKING NEWS is now, there's a companion to Clara's...called MY Kooky Compendium. It's a guided journal (blank book) with illustrations to inspire 8-13-year-old thimblethinkers and wonderfuzzers.

Read Sylvia's March 21st LET'S GET KOOKY! post about the companion book here--and make sure you watch the 1-minute not-to-be-missed video about it (which is filled Janet and Sylvia's good humor and lots of animations) at the end of her post. Now, go to Pomelo Books for more info and to order both the original Clara’s (long title--you know it by now) and its new companion, MY Kooky Compendium of Thimblethoughts and Wonderfuzz.

My 2nd Poetry Discovery:

I've just finished my first year of a 3-year term on NCTE's Poetry Awards Committee ~ and man-oh-man! was THAT an experience! At the beginning, as the books came to our doorstep, it felt just like Christmas (says the Jewish girl): OMG--a present almost every day! But within a few months, it felt like The Sorcerer's Apprentice (the familiar theme begins about 2 minutes in this 10 minute performance), when I was screaming: PLEEEEEEASE! NO MORE! 

After just a month or three, there was (literally) no room in my office. Soon, the books took over shelves in our guest room...and then they crept onto the floor of the guest closet, and more and more and more and more! I'm a s-l-o-w reader. All I can say is this first year was like climbing Mt Everest. I escaped with my life, and I sure learned a ton! I wish I had had the courage to apply for this committee decades ago. It definitely would have made me a better teacher. So...thanks, Janet, for insisting I apply to this committee. I will never forgive you...and I'm forever in your debt.

And now, drum roll, please: here are this year's NCTE outstanding poetry picture books and verse novels...and here's the marvelous NCTE Poet of the Year we chose. 

My 3rd Poetry Discovery:

Here's a poetry prompt I heard listening to Highlights Foundation's webinar on April 1st, featuring Charles Waters and Irene Latham leading Highlights Foundation's first-ever National Poetry Month Celebration, showcasing their new poetry collection for children, IF I COULD CHOOSE A BEST DAY. In addition to Charles and Irene, JaNay Brown-Wood, Lacresha Berry and Jolene Gutiérrez What a great group!

Here's one poetry prompt that stole my heart: (Irene, could you remind me who shared this prompt?)

List 10 things you can't live without.
Cross out all but 5 of them.
Cross out all but 3 of them.
Cross out all but 1 of them.

Now, write a poem about that.

I tried it...and here's a rough draft of my first effort: 

JUST ONE by April Halprin Wayland

If I had to choose
just one thing,
it would be you, dear one.

Not to butter you up,
but I dream of you,
I do.

I dream of how tender,
how warm,
how sweet you are

in all your purple finery.
Please forgive me
for putting you

in the microwave.
..................... 

Here is my initial list (in no order):

1. purple potatoes ~ you’ve got to watch this 2.3 minute video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye21IDArJP
2. poetry
3. my husband
4. our son and daughter-in-law (yeah, it's cheating, but they come in one package)
5. my friend Bruce and his wife (Bruce and I have been writing a poem a day to each other since 2010)
6. my sister and her husband
7. my sister’s husband children and grandkiddos (yeah, that's seriously cheating...)
8. Sadie
9. Kitty
10. our baby tortoises, Meredith and Derek

Try it! I'd love to hear what you come up with. It sure will be fun to teach!

Thank you, Irene, for hosting Poetry Friday at Live Your Poem

 

drawings and poems (c) April Halprin Wayland. All rights reserved.
posted by April Halprin Wayland
with help from Sadie & Kitty, who I apparently bored to sleep

Of Walking and Writing

 

We are supposed to talk about Our Best Day Ever. To be honest, I’m having a hard time coming up with something to say. I’m in the middle of grading final projects, then there’s all the other stuff. You know what I mean.

So I went for a walk, needing a break from the grind. Along the way, I met First Guy. I met him seven years ago, when I first started this route. He was a robust republican in every way back then. He’s five years older than I am. Haven’t seen him for a while. He’s recovering from yet another surgery, after surviving cancer in his prostrate and lungs. He’s riddled with tumors.

His wife, whom he always called the love of his life, is ten years younger than him (and five years younger than me). They met decades ago, when she was the first lady supervisor of his company. She has Alzheimer’s on the level of Gene Hackman, and no longer recognizes First Guy. She also has Parkinson’s and can barely move.  Turns out, the two of them worked for decades for a company that extracted asbestos from buildings. Even his hazard suit and mask had asbestos in it. Only now did he discover – and not through his company – that it was probably the asbestos that did this to him and his wife.

Also on my walk, I met Second Guy, another robust republican in his day. He’s my age, a retired marine who suffered a traumatic brain injury while on duty some time back. He was also exposed to burn pit environs. He was part of a lawsuit for compensation, until abruptly that lawsuit was dropped. Also, his vet office was recently closed, and he no longer has access to mental health offices. He compensates by drinking, and brags about what he gets away with.  There’s a gash on his head that I suspect is only the beginning.

Listening to First and Second Guy talk, it was beyond any judgment toward them. The hard reality is, between the three of them, they probably don’t have five years left. As First Guy said, a hundred years ago, he would have just died. And he added, maybe that was for the better.

 No judgement. But there's something deeper that touches the core fabric of who we are, and the consequences of our votes.

I am reminded of a poem by Carl Sandburg, The Long Shadow of Lincoln: A Litany (from The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg. Copyright © 1970 by Carl Sandburg.): 

 

Be sad, be cool, be kind,

remembering those now dreamdust

hallowed in the ruts and gullies,

solemn bones under the smooth blue sea,

faces warblown in a falling rain.

 

Be a brother, if so can be,

to those beyond battle fatigue

each in his own corner of earth

      or forty fathoms undersea

      beyond all boom of guns,

      beyond any bong of a great bell,

      each with a bosom and number,

      each with a pack of secrets,

each with a personal dream and doorway

and over them now the long endless winds

      with the low healing song of time,

      the hush and sleep murmur of time.

 

 Too much thinking, I decided.  I walked for six miles. Not bad for having a hip replacement not 18 months ago. Daffodils are all abloom, as are the crocus, the violets and dogwood. And the forsythia is burning bright! Robins are up for the early worms. Crows are arguing with each other, as always. A woodpecker is working a bit too hard. It was a good day for a walk.

Rather than grading, I decided to work on this Big Project. I’ve been challenged by my most excellent editor Eileen Robinson of Charlesbridge Move to write a horror story. I’m working on something akin to a splice between monster horror, legend and fantasy, reflecting some of the themes of fantasy, history and identity I explored in my new book -- The Barbary Chronicles -- coming out in Spring 2026. In horror, the question becomes: am I strong enough to survive? In fantasy, the question becomes: am I worthy? Seems quite apropos, don’t you think?

 

May today be your best day ever!

-- Bobbi Miller

Note: The quote "The trouble is, you think you have time" attributed to Buddha, comes from Jack Kornfield's interpretation of Buddhist teachings, from his book "Buddha's Little Instruction Book".

My Best Day (OK, Four Best Days)

 I am blessed to be able to count many best days in my life, but this is a writing blog. Let's narrow it down to the writing related ones.

There was the day I got the phone call telling me that Viking was buying my first book, My Best Friend. I was at my parents'. Dad went out to the liquor store at 10 in the morning and bought a bottle of Moet Chandon, which we consumed right then. (Mom was a teetotaler. Besides, she was at work.)

Six years later, a different editor called to tell me that My Best Friend had won the Ezra Jack Keats Award. My daughter was getting ready for her figure skating lesson. 

"I can't find my tights," she screamed from downstairs. "Where's my GAP sweatshirt?"

"Look in the dryer," I yelled back as my editor babbled something about "award" and "My Best Friend"and "Ezra Jack Keats." I think I said "Well, that's great but I have to get my kid to skating right now. Send me an email." (I was talking on a landline, and didn't have a cell phone.)

I was halfway to the skating rink before the editor's words registered. The Ezra Jack Keat Award? I had been a librarian; I knew what that was. A big picture book award!  

One blessing is that both my parents were alive to share in my publishing success. The best day I ever spent with my mom was my first school visit/book signing in Oxford, Mississippi. The day began with a book discussion with an AP English class at Oxford High School, then a signing at Square Books Jr., just across Courthouse Square from its parent store, Square Books. I knew not to expect a bunch of people at a book signing. It was for my first published book, Yankee Girl. First time authors don't draw crowds. Heck, I didn't even know anybody who lived in Oxford. Or so I thought.

The first person in the door was a high school friend I hadn't seen in over 30 years. She was a local doctor, had seen the ad about my appearance, and wondered if it was me. She was followed by a pair of librarian friends from my first job, two hours away in Corinth, Ms. Then two carloads of teachers from the rural Tennessee junior-senior high school where I had taught for eight years. I was bowled over that my good friends had driven three hours on mostly two lane country roads to be there. All the while, people introduced themselves to Mom, wanting to know more about the events in Yankee Girl. 

I remember the trip home from Oxford as one of those blissful Mississippi April evenings of pink skies and soft breezes. Mom was never one to seek the spotlight, but she glowed with the experience of sharing our family's story with a group of my friends. A Best Day for us both.

The fourth Best Day was when my dad invited me to speak to his Retired FBI Agents group about Yankee Girl. The book is based on my family's moving to Mississippi in the summer of 1964, Freedom Summer. My dad was one of 500 FBI Agents assigned to the "Mississippi Burning" case of three missing civil rights workers. Their bodies had been found in their burned out station wagon, buried in an earthen dam, right before my family arrived. I was ten, and between worrying that the Russians would nuke us, or the Ku Klux Klan would firebomb our house, I never thought I'd live to see eleven.

Dad is on my right with the brass bowl over his head

The FBI has a culture all its own. The agents (all male at the time)were never to speak of their work outside the office. Dad was always getting middle of the night phone calls to come into work. We never knew why, although a couple of times we could hear why; bombs going off within a mile or two of the house. Dad would be sent out of town for weeks and months at a time and we wouldn't know where. If there was an emergency, we were to "call the office" and they would get in touch with him. If Dad was ten minutes late coming home from work, Mom would pace the driveway until she saw his car. We worried he'd be shot or kidnapped or have his car bombed.

Although there were other "Agent Kids" my age, almost all of them went to Catholic school. There was one other "AK" in my school, but we were in different classes, lived in different neighborhoods...and he was a boy. The local kids were either distantly polite ("Southern manners") or out and out ugly, calling me names, telling me to "go back up North where you belong." It was a lonely time.

Back to the Retired Agents meeting. About half the group were from the original 500 agents of 1964. They listened as I read parts of the book that dealt with the fear and loneliness I experienced. When I finished, there was a long, long silence.

Uh-oh, I thought. This was a bad idea.

Then slowly the men started clapping, louder and louder, and the ones who could, stood up. One by one they came over to me, with tears in their eyes.

"I didn't know my kids were scared," they said. "We thought we had kept what we did a secret."

"We didn't know our kids were being bullied.  They never said anything to us."

Of course we didn't. We knew our parents were dealing with life and death stuff. Being called a "damn Yankee" or a "N-word lover" was small potatoes in comparison. 

One man took my hands and said, "My daughter is about your age. I'm going home right now and calling her and apologizing for not being aware of what was going on with her while we were working."

My dad was a quiet man, perfect for an FBI agent. I adored him, but if we spoke three sentences in a week, it was a big deal. He spoke only when necessary. That's just the way he was. That day on the way home from the meeting, for the first and only time in my life, he said, "I'm proud of you."

Another Best Day.

Posted by Mary Ann Rodman

My I-Didn't-Know-It-Then-But-I-Know-It-Now Best Day Ever

I count my Blessings like a lawyer, on the quarter-hour basis.

That's how grateful I am.

So when tasked to choose My Best Day Ever from a bounty of Best Days

both personal and professional, I was downright flummoxed.

Confounding the matter was that my mind was already otherwise 

engaged, remembering, reflecting, fully-focused on My Best Boy and his 

upcoming March 4th Big Five-O Birthday.

One remembrance continued to pop up, and each time it did, I felt my 

heart smile:

my son at two, settled in my lap, uncharacteristically still, 

uncharacteristically quiet, as we found ourselves lost in a Mr. Rogers

episode.

Fog had descended upon the world of Make-Believe - an enormous 

close-to-the-ground cloud, Mr. Rogers explained, so that Bob Dog 

couldn't find his stone.

Jon's dark brown eyes widened at the wonder of it all.  When Lady 

Elaine used her boomerang to lift the fog, his mouth formed a perfect 

"O."

Whatever this thing was, with the snap of a finger it made 

everything and everyone DISappear, but then, just like that, begin to 

REappear! It was Pure Magic and my Best Boy wanted some.

By the time Mr. Rogers finished singing "Wishes Don't Make Things 

Come True," I heard myself whispering, "Yes! Yes!"

Bob Dog had found his stone but even better, I had found my 

long-ago Dream to someday, one day, write a children's book!

"Jon," I said, "Mommy's writing you a picture book, all about a little 

boy who wants to catch a piece of the fog.  You'll have it by your 

very next Birthday."

I now know: that day's promise of a book not only set me on a 

professional path I liken to my very own Yellow Brick Road.

It forced me to mine my pluck and grit, to keep marching forth in 

step with my Best Boy, sometimes even over, under and through, 

to recover my buried voice so I could realize my Dream.

It picked me up every time I fell; it chased away all doubts and 

fears.

True, the road was longer than first imagined; I greatly under-

estimated my arrival time.

(FYI: I honored my promise nineteen years later, though with a

different story. The Fogcatcher, alas, still awaits publication.)

But to my surprise, despite the Despites, not only did honoring

that promise gift me with countless unimagined unexpected

Kodak Moments - Best Days, if you will. It continues to do so.

Just like my sunny Sonny Boy, it's the gift that keeps on

giving.

Each time I added an appositive noun to my name - author,

award-winner, teacher, writing coach, colleague, friend and

amazingly, blogger, each time I advocated for children's

book creators, I could feel my heart smile. 

"Who would have thunk it?" I'd hear myself ask.

Hopefully, each Thanku I posted over the years adequately 

expressed my gratitude - for my "storied treasures," my 

"new berries," my mentors, our Children's Book World, my 

fellow bloggers and you, our Readers.

This one, however, long over-due, I'm tucking inside my

Best Boy's Birthday card.

       My Sunny Son Jon

       A Maker of Dreams Come True

       Marching forth always!

Here's to discovering your Best Days Ever!

Esther Hershenhorn

p.s.

Thanks to Laura Purdie Salas for hosting today's Poetry Friday.