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!”
 

     Wabi Sabi, by Mark Reibstein and Ed Young...I don't know a more beautiful picture book. Beautiful in word. Beautiful in concept. Beautiful in art. Beautiful in its integration of all those elements--and in conveying a complex philosophical concept to children.
     It doesn't look like author Mark Reibstein has produced any other books for kids since Wabi Sabi. I wish he would!
     Wabi Sabi was published 10 years ago. So, not a new-release, in any sense. But it's new to me because I just got my personal copy in the mail yesterday, and I'm so excited to hold this creation in my hands again. I read a library copy to my kids when they were younger, and I've wanted this book on my shelves ever since.
     It's fascinating to know that the richly tactile collage art for this book was lost (taken from the agent's doorstep, apparently), and then recreated entirely from scratch by artist Ed Young. In his book dedication, Young refers to the incident and how he came to terms with this loss:

     You can learn more about the story behind Wabi Sabi--it's conception, its artwork, and its loss and rebirth, in this YouTube video.
     And now, I'll just post some pictures and let them speak for themselves.

     Sailing into port with a girth of 40 pages and a cargo of nearly 800 words, The Antlered Ship is one of the most substantive picture books I’ve read in years. It’s long, thoughtful, and patient—and I love it. Could the longer picture book finally be making a comeback?!
     This gorgeous, gently philosophical story is about questions without obvious answers, friends who accept each other’s differences, and allowing yourself to ride out life’s storms. It’s a story that takes its time.
     The main character, a fox named Marco, asks deep questions—and we’re allowed time and space to hear them. The other characters aboard the antlered ship have different viewpoints, desires, fears, flaws, and approaches to life. Readers are permitted to see and absorb these differences without feeling rushed. There’s a respect here for the characters. They are given enough space to show themselves…and to grow. (Kudos to the publisher, Beach Lane, for allowing this book to be as long as it needed to be.)
     I’ve been a “fan” of the Fan brothers (Eric and Terry) since encountering The Night Gardener and of Dashka Slater since making the acquaintance of her friendly, salad-seeking French snail in Escargot. Put their talents together in a book as dreamlike, charming, and deep as The Antlered Ship, and I am a happy reader.

     Ho, ho, ho! Get ready for holiday fun. Thanks to Susanna Leonard Hill's "Holiday Contest" (a close cousin of both the "Hallo-weensie Contest" and the "Valen-tiny Contest"), I have followed through on a story idea I've been sitting on for a while.
     This year's contest theme? Write about a holiday surprise. The rules? Keep the story to a 250 word limit. (Mine falls at 250, on the nose.)
     Good luck to everyone entering the contest!

It was Christmas, and Rigby Bear still didn’t have a gift for his friend.

“What to get the otter who has everything?” Rigby wondered.

Something special,

incredible...

surprising!

He lumbered through the neighborhood, thinking….

and slathering peanut butter onto bread. (Rigby always brought a snack.)

Soon he passed a persimmon tree.

“Persimmon popovers!” said Rigby. “Tuttle loves them! Luckily, I’m the best baker in town.”

But Rigby had given popovers before--

on Valentine’s Day,

April Fool’s Day,

and even Teacher Appreciation Day.

“On second thought,” said Rigby. “Popovers aren’t surprising.”

He bit into peanut-buttery bread. (To help him think, of course.)

Rigby padded into the countryside…

and past a pumpkin farm.

“Pumpkin pie! Good thing I’m an excellent baker.”

But he had given pie, many times before--

on Tuttle’s birthday,

Halloween,

and even National Paperclip Day.

“Come to think of it,” said Rigby. “Pie isn’t surprising.”

He shuffled into the forest...

but couldn’t dream up a Christmas surprise.

Huckleberry tarts? No.

Granola bars? No.

Frosted eclairs? Nope.

Rigby plopped down and sighed. “I only know how to bake. I can’t make anything else.”

He reached for a slice of bread...

picked up a pinecone instead…

and slathered it with peanut butter.

“Oops.”

Just then, Tuttle appeared, wearing bird-watching gear.

Rigby waved.

The icky-sticky pinecone clung to his fur…

and thirteen little birds perched on his paw, happily pecking peanut butter.

Chirp!

“A pinecone birdfeeder, for me? Thanks, pal!” said Tuttle. “What a surprise.”

“It sure is,” Rigby agreed...

“Merry Christmas!”

   Folks, Drew Daywalt has got "voice".
   Want to know what a great narrative voice can do for your stories?

• It can induce fits of giggles from a room full of kids.
• It can give readers permission to not just read, but ENACT a story.
• It can transform story time into an EPIC adventure of LEGENDARY proportions that will enter your family's lexicon and live FOREVER. (As in, "Okay kids. In the epic battle for tonight's dinner, who will win? It's Chicken versus Pasta!")

   Before the author talk got started, I wasn't so sure The Legend of Rock Paper Scissors was going to be my cup of tea. But after hearing my 8-year-old giggle her way through Drew's fantastic reading, I promptly changed my mind. The read-aloud quality of this book is an absolute gift to parents. There aren't many picture books that give you this much of an opportunity--a script, really--for  stepping into character. It's so, so fun to transform in that way, and it makes for precious reading moments with kids.
   We met Drew, got our books signed--including a Glow-In-the-Dark edition of The Day the Crayons Came Home--and picked up some lesser-known fun facts, straight from the author:

• There's a Picasso tribute hidden in the crayon  scribbles on one page of The Day the Crayons Came Home (TDTCCH)--it's on the page with Big Chunky Toddler Crayon. I haven't yet figured out which Picasso painting it's based on. For now I'm taking Drew's word for it.
• The crayon fort at the end of TDTCCH is an actual object--a box structure--that still hangs out in a corner of Oliver Jeffers' studio.
• Thanks to Adam Rex's ingenious layout, if you look at the cover of The Legend of Rock Paper Scissors in the right way (maybe squint a little), you can read it as "Drew Daywalt LEGEND".

     My 8-year-old daughter made me read this line from Mac Barnett and Jory John's "The Terrible Two" over and over. Then once more the next night. Then we recited it aloud together. It's a pretty special line and I just want to put it down here, for inspiration:

     To me it seems reminiscent of that historical quote (Winston Churchill) / movie trope: "It's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."