As I write this, the idyllic woodland community of Paradise, California lies in ashes--destroyed by the forest fire that swept through over a week ago. My brother escaped, abandoning  his home of 20 years when a pine tree in his neighbor's yard burst into flame. He'd spent the morning watering down his roof, hoping for the best (not packing in anticipation of the worst). Now, there were only moments to grab a couple of essentials and GO.
   The next day, he came home to us, in the Bay Area, with only his truck, computer, sleeping roll, and the clothes on his back.
   After a week and two days of limbo, we now have confirmation that his house is destroyed. The fire service posted a photo online. Other than a few deformed metal furnishings--the stove, the desk, the fireplace insert (and chimney)--not much is recognizable. Yet the layout is still there. We see the house still--in our hearts and minds.
   Here it is, nearly Thanksgiving. And we ARE thankful! Over 70 Paradise residents (and possibly many more) lost their lives under tragic circumstances.
   My brother came home!
   Out of the ashes, inspiration?
   I don't yet know if anything inspiring will come from the ashes of the Paradise disaster. But I'm searching, and I'm hopeful. And since picture books are the playground of hope, tonight I'm turning to Out of the Woods by Rebecca Bond, for solace.
   Out of the Woods is the true story of a little boy (the author's grandfather) living in his mother's big, busy, raucous, riotous sportsman's hotel beside a lake in Ontario, Canada in 1914. It's a story of history. A story of childhood memories and fascinations. And a story of a devastating forest fire that drove every living thing--human and animal alike--into the lake for a long, dark day and night while the fire raged. With images of hunter and moose standing shoulder to shoulder, knee-high in water, Out of the Woods is ultimately a story of coexistence and of setting aside differences in the face of disaster.
   My heart goes out to all the residents of Paradise. So much was lost. But I hope every survivor finds solace and inspiration in the fact that they are whole and safe--and out of the woods.

     October is my favorite month. I love the crisp, sunny weather that reminds me of my mid-October wedding day. My older daughter's birthday is this month. And then there's Halloween! This year I will have two silver-clad alien princess to chaperone around the neighborhood. Lucky me!
     And then there's one of my all-time favorite October events...Susanna Leonard Hill's "Halloweensie" contest. This year's teeny tiny writing assignment was to produce a Halloween themed children's story no longer than 100 words, containing the words shiver, cauldron, and howl. I wrote two entries (one in poetry, one in prose)--for double the fun!

     I was fortunate to hear Sophie Blackall speak at the 2016 SCBWI Summer Conference and know that she's a collector of "curious and unfinished things." She loves historical objects and imagining the people who used those objects before, or in the case of "Hello Lighthouse," historical places and the lives that were lived there. It must be that kind of curiosity about and reverence for the past that made "Hello Lighthouse" possible, because the book holds so much in so few pages. It holds lives and histories and the passage of time, and presents all this to children with incomparable style and charm.

     Although I haven't read her book yet, I love this quote from writer/editor Calista Brill during her recent interview on The Children's Book Podcast (September 19, 2018). It goes to the heart of creating original work that also succeeds in speaking to an audience.

     Oops. The ropes fail, and (furniture fiasco!) the new couch ends up lost in a field with only one curious witness to notice--Llama.
     Don't worry. The family and Llama will cross paths, later. But before their stories converge, there's a whole lot of llama-ish exploring to be done.
     Check out this charming book. You'll want more llamas on library shelves. And you'll come away with a new appreciation for your couch.

   Infinity and Me is a jaw-dropping blend of fact & fiction and text & art. I don't know how they did it, but the balance is perfect.
   Pretty much, you could pick up this book and read it to a child of any age, and they would probably be captivated by the art, the story, and the concept of infinity.
   You heard me... The concept of infinity. 
   I read the book to my daughter yesterday. A few minutes after we closed it and I had moved on, I noticed she was reading it again. Somehow, it drew her right back in. That's a successful book!
   How does the author, Kate Hosford, do it? How did she create a contemplative story about such a vast and complex concept--and keep it fresh and engaging for young readers?
   Here's the breakdown on her interesting approach:
   We have a girl (Uma) with new red shoes who looks up at the stars and asks a big question--how can I imagine 'infinity'? Remember those red shoes--they're important. They ground the story in the real world and serve as a structural framework, since they come back in at the end. Those red shoes are actually a nice little set of bookends.
   All through the middle of the story, Uma asks various people how they imagine infinity. She has a chance to try out all their definitions and see if they work for her.
   In the final pages, Uma has a personal experience that becomes her 'a-ha!' moment. She comes to realize what 'infinity' means to her when her grandmother, a source of infinite love, notices and compliments Uma's shoes.
   In a perfect circular ending, the two end the story looking at the stars together.
   So, structure serves as an indispensable aid to conveying this difficult topic, as does grounding the story with real-world objects (the shoes) and relationships/emotions.
   Add to this the careful attention lavished on this book by the art director and illustrator, and you have a final piece that is beautiful, intriguing, delightful, informative--and important.

     Here’s what I think the books have in common:

• Both books are deeply thoughtful and designed to help kids manage strong emotions—in one case, the jumbled desire and anxiety that comes with jumping off a diving board; in the other case, the condition of being inflexibly attached to a beloved object.
• At the same time, these stories are fun and realistic and sprinkled with gentle humor. Overall, they just have a great, even tone that takes the reader on a smooth journey.
• Both books represent children of color, and do it seamlessly, without any sense of it being forced in order to satisfy the marketplace.
• What I admire most is the way these authors incorporate watchful, caring parents into the stories, yet maintain an utterly true and respectful child’s-eye-view. Sophie’s Squash does it. And one of my all-time-favorite un-sung stories--The Queen of France—does it. There’s nothing easy about including parents in a picture book, and I really admire what Cornwall and Kraegel have achieved here.
• Finally, these books are great for boys! They help kids understand strong emotions…AND succeed at being super-appealing to male readers.

 
I’m glad these charming books are on the shelves. They have a lot of heart and delight to offer their young readers.

    Oh happy day! It's time again for Vivian Kirkfield's "50 Precious Words" challenge, in which writers compose a complete (beginning, middle, end) children's story--not exceeding 50 words in length.
     I'm going nonfiction with my entry this year. And of course, poetic. (Because I can't help it.)

Magnify Me!
 
Mallard swims and braves the weather
in a raincoat made of feather.
 
Feather? What a silly coat!
Can it really help him float?
 
…Magnify me!
What do you see?
 
Tiny branching barbs and hooks
offer more than handsome looks--
trapping heat and blocking wet.
 
…How much closer can you get?

     As an exercise, I've zeroed in on some of my favorite lines from picture books I love. These are the lines that hooked me, the lines that charmed me, the lines that made me feel I was reading a book made just for me.
     I might keep doing this. I might make it a regular thing.
     If I'm lucky and pay close attention, I might just learn something from this. Yup. I'm banking on it.

There Might Be Lobsters, by Carolyn Crimi / Laurel Molk
“But Suki was just a small dog, and the stairs were big and sandy, and she hadn’t had lunch yet, and her foot hurt a little, and she might get a shell stuck up her nose…”
            Why I like it: Try to read this line out loud without laughing. Here’s where a cute list of small fears and picayune complaints turns ridiculous and so, so funny. The reader knows puppy Suki doesn’t have far to go to conquer her fears, and we’re rooting for her to take that first small step.
 
also:
“So Sukie sat at the top of the stairs with Chunka Munka by her side.”
            Why I like it: This is the first appearance of the book’s funny and charming refrain, “with Chunka Munka by her side.” Chunka Munka is the puppy’s security toy—a floppy plush monkey. This moment is so childlike, so relatable—both the situation and the depth of feeling behind it. Those deeply felt small fears juxtapose hysterically against the name Chunka Munka, which is pure comic relief.
 
The Antlered Ship, by Dashka Slater / The Fan Brothers
“He had so many questions. Why do some songs make you happy and others make you sad? Why don’t trees ever talk? How deep does the sun go when it sinks into the sea?”
            Why I like it: I like how the third question in the sequence shows us the character’s limited world perspective. We know he’s going to strike out soon (onto that sea) and find a bigger world.
 
also:
 “We are going to a wonderful island, with tall, sweet grass and short, sweet trees.”
            Why I like it: I like how this vision captures what a deer’s idea of paradise might be. It's fun and fanciful, and thoughtful to imagine that perspective.
 
After the Fall, by Dan Santat:
“Then one day, I fell. (I’m sort of famous for that part.)”
            Why I like it: I like the candid voice established by the parenthetical. It feels personal and confiding.
 
Blue Ethel, by Jennifer Black Reinhardt:
“Ethel was old. She was fat. She was black. She was white. And she was very set in her ways.”
            Why I like it: I like the sense of her orneriness.
 
also:
“Every day Ethel went outside to survey the land, monitor the weather, chase villains, and explore her favorite sidewalk square…”
            Why I like it: I bring my own childhood associations to the idea of the sidewalk square. I can feel it, earthy and solid and sun-warmed.
 
also:
“It wasn’t easy being Ethel, but she was good at it.”
            Why I like it: This is cute and contradicts the illustrations, which are of a cat being rather lazy.
 
Adele and Simon, by Barbara McClintock:
“Simon, how can you lose things like this?” asked Adele.
Simon shrugged his shoulders. He shook his head. He didn’t know.
            Why I like it: I love the short sentences. I love the realness of this. It’s exactly how a dreamy little child would respond.
 
Bernice Gets Carried Away, by Hannah E. Harrison
“Everyone else had gotten a frosting rose on their piece of cake…but not Bernice. All she’d gotten was a plain white square from the middle.”
            Why I like it: To me this is brilliant. We all know what it feels like to get the piece with no frosting—the hopeful anticipation, and then the disappointment. We know it, yet probably no one has written about it before.
 
Balderdash! John Newbery and the Boisterous Birth of Children’s Books, by Michelle Markel / Nancy Carpenter
“Welcome! This book’s for you. Every page, every picture, every word, and even its letters are designed for your pleasure. Lucky, lucky reader. Be glad it’s not 1726.”
            Why I like it: Fantastic voice. It reaches right out and grabs me. I’m so hooked. What were things like in 1726? I have to read on. I know the story will be historical with a contemporary voice that will reach through time and allow me to relate to the past.
 
A Sick Day for Amos McGee, by Philip Stead
“He would wind his watch and set a pot of water to boil--saying to the sugar bowl, ‘A spoonful for my oatmeal, please, and two for my teacup.’”
            Why I like it: I adore that he speaks to his sugar bowl, and politely too. When I’m alone, I often talk to myself—and probably also to my household items. This is a cute, tender, intimate moment that shows me the character’s good heart.
 

     What's better than candy or roses or diamonds or anything shiny? It's...

Valentiny!

     There's nothing like a kid-lit writing contest to cheer you up in the thick of winter. With that in mind, here's my entry for Susanna Leonard Hill's annual "Valentiny" Contest. To meet this year's criteria, the story had to include someone who's "hopeful." And as usual, it must be super-duper short--just 214 words or less. Good luck to everyone participating. This is a fun one!
     Now put on your scuba suit. We're going under the sea for this valentine tale...

At Little Swimmers Sea-School, Ms. Fish said, “Reach into the shell and choose a valentine pal.”

“I wonder who’ll get me,” squ-eel-ed Elektra.

“I’ll take anyone,” swished Angelica “…except Icky Ichabod.”

Elektra didn’t answer.

It was Ichabod’s turn to choose. He hoped and hoped for…

Elektra!

Ichabod puffed up…poking Angelica.

“Hey! Stay away.”

“Sorry.” Ichabod deflated.

How he wished Elektra’s card could be special. The trouble was…

his untidy writing. Somehow his spines got in the way.

            Bee Mi vaLuntiin.
            Love, iKedod

Ichabod swam, searching for answers.

Here was a sprig of golden kelp.

It might help Elektra remember the day he shared his seaweed sandwich with her.

Here was a many-colored shell—just like the rainbows they drew together.

And here was a pearl—the same kind they used to play catch-of-the-day.

Ichabod made a card...

without words.

“Icky, your envelope’s poky and puffy—like you,” snipped Angelica.

Ichabod didn’t answer.

He set the card on the Elektra’s desk—and hoped for the best.

“Oh!” said Elektra. “Who did this come from?”

She noticed the kelp, and glowed.

She spotted the shell, and shined.

She observed the pearl, and her smile became…electric.

“Look!” said Elektra. “My valentine’s one-of-a-kind. Just like my good friend…

Ichabod!”

Angelica didn’t answer.

Ichabod did…

“Be my valentine, Elektra!”