Fire Escape's 2008 Teen Contests Closed

The Fire Escape's sixth annual teen short story and poetry competitions are now closed. I've had a record number of entries in both categories, so please check back on July 1, 2008 for the winners.

Religious Authors and Children's Fiction

In response to yesterday's post about Stephenie Meyer and Mormonism, Pooja Makhijani asked an interesting question:

Don't you agree that an author's religious worldview MAY somehow shape his or her fiction and this is worth a critical--but non-offensive--discussion?

An author's religious worldview definitely shapes his or her fiction, but I worry about assumptions that drive such a discussion in the realm of children's literature. A story has always been a dialectic between a storyteller and the one who hears or reads it. When it comes to life-changing influence, I'd even make the case that the person on the receiving end has more power than the one who tells it -- even when the teller is an adult and the receiver is a child.

In the world of children's literature, a critical discussion about an author's faith tends to devalue the role of the child or teen reader. This can lead to talk of censorship. But a human being old enough for story is no tabula rasa. Even if a storyteller is trying to be powerful and didactic, the receiver of the story retains the right to interpret and synthesize it. 

Does that mean I'd let my eleven-year-old (hypothetical) daughter read the Clique novels or Gossip Girls (which also reveal the authors' religious world views)? Or Stephenie Meyers' Twilight for that matter? If my darling, grazing here and there during her weekly library visit, ends up clutching those novels, so be it. She might hate them. Or find them boring. But if she re-reads a story or craves the next book from a particular author, I'd definitely hope to engage her in a conversation about the themes, issues, and world views possibly driving the stories and shaping the author. A reading of Twilight, for example, sounds like good material for a long car-ride discussion about femininity, masculinity, romantic relationships, and even religion.

Let's face it -- in the parent-child dialectic, or even between teacher and student, the power swings to the adult end of the relationship. Children love stories because for once they sense equality in a relationship with a grownup. It's rare to seek therapy because an author forced a world view on us through fiction.

Manhattan Dinner With Kid Lit Legends

After the awards ceremony at Lincoln Center last night, the gracious folks at Simon & Schuster, including Emma Dryden, veep-cum-publisher-cum-editor, invited several of us to Josephina's to celebrate Theresa Nelson's win. 

I had the privilege of sitting across from Richard Jackson, who has edited books for 46 years (including Susan Patron's The Higher Power of Lucky), and next to Phyllis Naylor (of Alice and Shiloh fame), who sponsored the PEN work-in-progress award and walked hand-in-hand to the restaurant with her husband of 48 years.

Before the evening ended, I asked the witty and easygoing Mr. Jackson about his dreams for the publishing industry. He thought for a minute. "I'd give five hardcover books to every registered voter in the country," he said. We'd spent a good  chunk of the conversation mourning the loss of relationships and manners in the industry, as well as the the waning place of books as artifacts in our society. 

Of course the star dinner companion from a teen guys' perspective was Kevin Cooney, Theresa's husband, whose impressive resume includes roles in two Austin Powers' flicks and appearances on Will Smith's Fresh Prince of Bel-Air -- I can hardly wait till they come home from school so I can say I had dinner with "Whitey." Wow.

Day Six of My School Visit Marathon

For some reason 8 straight days of school visits sounded like a good idea last year when I booked them. Last Monday through Thursday I started my townwide tour of Needham by visiting oodles of fifth graders, then stopped by Barbieri Elementary School's annual author day on Friday (along with Jackie Davies, Jarret Krosoczka and Barbara Macgrath, among others), and am beginning this week with two more days in Needham and Wednesday in Newton at Underwood Elementary School. As my Dad asked today in amazement: "You tell the same jokes in every show?" Yes, Dad, I do. And thankfully the kids are still laughing (at me? with me?), so I must be making some sense.

Take Us Away, Driscoll Students

At Brookline's Driscoll School last week, I offered my Creating A Sense of Place in Fiction workshop, and once again the 8th graders took us to a myriad of places through the power of imaginative writing. Some samples excerpted below for your reading pleasure.

I sit in the car with the heated seats warming my insides. I look up through the roof at sky scrapers slowly passing by. A slight snow drifts down from the gray clouds. The car zig zags through traffic. The snow crunches under the tires and then we stop. The door opens and I step out, the umbrella shielding me from the snow.

The sun glinted off the freshly painted walls. The wind blew the curtains gently into the room. The mirror reflected the rays of sun so they fell across my bed lighting up the colorful stripes. The door hung open. Honey and fresh cut flowers spiraled up the the stairs and hung lingering in the air.

The tennis stadium filled with 70,000 people cheering, singing. My heart beating at an extreme level, my palms sweating. The whole world watching. The aroma of water, sweat and smoke in the air. The feel of the grass just cut. The taste of Gatorade bubbling in my stomach.

I strolled into the club and heard the loud music blaring. I could see the speakers bouncing. This was it alright. The largest Neptunian rager of all time. The club was huge, and I couldn't see the end of it. I could see people dancing for miles. I got a whiff of the scent of baby corn.

The night air was warm, the stars and moon smiling down on me ... Red and orange flames stained the darkness with color, and the black smoke shone in the dim patio lights. My shirt was flapping in the wind, the cool breeze wrapping around my arms ... I heard the laughing of my friends, my own laughter, and the faint popping of the wood as the flames squeezed the air out of it. I laughed again and threw another card into the bronze dish, only to have it become engulfed in flames. I smiled and backed up so my friend could throw his card.

The golden framed windows glared at me. The door was huge and made of glass and for one second I didn't want to go inside because the building seemed like an animal about to swallow me up. My knees were trembling as I walked towards the shiny golden elevator. My entire career would depend on the next half hour. My whole life, even. I had always wanted to be an actress. I loved the creak of the stage floor under my feet and the rustling of the curtains, but the best part was the applause ...

The officer pushes open the door; the cheap wood feels grainy and decrepit. As he steps onto the threshold, the reek of sewage and spoiled food makes him go to tears. The officer takes out his gun; he doesn't dare to go into the kitchen. He steps into the bedroom. To his dismay, he finds a man lying down with a knife in his back.

The soft, damp grass tickled the bottoms of my feet. A warm wind blew wrinkles in my hair ... The sun warmed the back of my legs as I let my ankles swish though the grass ... The smell of dandelions was sweet and pungent ...

In Which We Create A Sense of Place

I spent two days last week doing assemblies and workshops on writing place at Pike School in Andover, Massachusetts.

When I arrived, I was totally intimidated to learn I was the second author they'd invited to come, with the first being the hilarious Jack Gantos. The librarians were extremely hospitable, though, and the kids so kind that I managed to get over myself quickly.

Here are a few excerpts from the students' (fifth and seventh graders) excellent writing during the creating a sense of place workshops, with the first-person voice being my requirement:

...The door swings open and my brother is on the floor licking a bottle of coke, my twin sisters fighting over a doll, my scared brother hugging a bear in the corner, the bathroom door ajar with the dog drinking from the toilet, and the cat skipping across the piano playing her own tune. I drop my bag and grab a mop to clean up the puke on the rug ... The twins are scribbling on each other now, I take the markers and throw them away .. From the other room, I hear the t.v. moaning as it turns on, the computer loading up to check e-mails, and the phone ringing off the hook. "Lucy, what is 2 + 4?" "6," I scream ...

...As I look out across the dark blue river, I hear the whine of the oncoming water plane. I try to peek over the snow-covered bristly trees. As the plane comes into sight a flock of bright brown Canadian geese fly from where they are roosting. The calm water instantly erupts as the water plane lands ...

The murky damp air smelled of car exhaust. The street lights were dim, barely breaking through the pitch black sky. In the distance I could hear the siren of a police car. I checked each alleyway to make sure that nothing was there ...

The DJ was playing a pathetic mix of incomprehensible raps and scratching electronic beeps ... that shook the crowded room. Strangers around me were failing in their attempts to sway their bodies in matching rhythm. The glitter of sequin tank tops blurred my eyes. I could feel sweaty arms rubbing against the small of my back, and I recognized the too-strong scent of Macy's perfume swirling in the air ...

... Lawn mowers thwacked and roller skates glided and spun. Car engines roared and gasoline hung in the air. ... I plucked a juicy red cherry tomato form the garden, popped it into my mouth, and let the taste of summer wash over my tongue ...

...The court was quiet and still. I could hear my own thoughts. The leather ball felt like an extension of my hand. I shot it. "Swish." The sound was as smooth as silk ...

The cold gray wind sliced through my thin jacket as I stumbled back home. My hands were raw and red from washing dishes all night. As I flipped my collar up and rubbed my chapped hands, hoping to get a little warmth, the wind roared and whistled instead my ears leaving a hollow echo. An empty coffee cup bounced and clattered across the dirty road ... I kicked it, watching it bounce against the grimy walls of an abandoned factory. Shoving my hands in my pickets I trudged back to the place I was forced to call home...

I rushed through the heavy iron doors and right at that second I knew crispy golden brown chicken burgers were on the grill. Sweat dripped off my face as I struggled to pull the Fudds Signature hat and apron over my curly hair. "Ahem! I would like the fajita roll with a jumbo oreo milkshake." I had forgotten to ask the grey-haired, hefty man what he would like and his clenched fists told me he wasn't about to wait ...

...Cars were jammed in a row, all I could hear was honking, and none of the noisy cars were moving. People were chasing, bouncing, laughing on the bumpy sidewalk while I tried to find a way to get through ...

I've been receiving some lovely thank you notes, like this one:

Thank you for coming to our school. I have improved my writing already. All thanks to you. I know you are a busy person, so you don't have to e-mail me back. Thanks again.

Now that's courtesy, and don't worry, I wrote him back.

Author Visit Season / Spring 2008

This is my fourth year of visiting schools, and I'm learning that most want to book an author during the fall or the spring. Brookline, for example, invited me to be their Sakar Fund author this March and April in all eight of their elementary schools. The Town of Needham, too, wanted an author to visit every school during April and May so they won a grant and invited me to come.

Schools in my home state are unusually open to author bookings. Brookline and Needham are both twenty minutes away. I drove to Thoreau School in Concord, Massachusetts last Wednesday, and am day-tripping twice to the Pike School in Andover, Massachusetts next week. I do repeat performances every year in my own town of Newton, where you have to be approved by the Creative Arts and Sciences Division to visit schools. So I may be spoiled when comparing the options available to authors based in other states, but I think the school visit soil in most places may be arable if not as fertile.

How does an author get started? In 2005, I created and offered a few (horrible, I'm afraid) presentations for free, was previewed and reviewed, improved and adapted my shows to enhance the curriculum, and slowly word began to spread. I researched, asked other authors what they charged, and put some middlish-of-the-road fees on my site in an a la carte list along with descriptions of my presentations. Some authors don't mention money on their sites -- they prefer to negotiate individual offers or use an agent. I do my booking myself (I like the control and prefer the direct access to educators), figuring that publishing my fees online might deliver me from countless back and forth emails.

Why do school visits at all? For me, as an ex-teacher who hated grading but loves teaching, it's first and foremost fabulous to be back in a classroom. Second, I get paid to be silly (and to educate, don't worry). Third, it does get the word out about my books. Fourth, I connect to the culture of my readers. Fifth, I receive awesome fan mail. Sixth, I still have time in my week for revision and promotion (if I don't waste it all playing Scrabulous). And finally, school visits leave me with an uninterrupted six months of summer and winter for writing; a nice seasonal rhythm that is beginning to shape the fleeting years.

Kid Questions and Brain Pings

I love answering questions during author visits. What I've learned, though, is that most questions reveal more about the people asking them (i.e., the kids) than about the person going on and on up front (i.e., me).

After years of fielding questions during my presentations at schools and libraries, I'm finding myself getting pinged by a variety of odd thoughts. Sometimes it's worth listening to those internal noises before I answer. Here are three questions I was asked during a visit with fourth, fifth, and sixth graders last Wednesday, for example, and the corresponding muttering in the strange place called my brain:

Q. Do you feel more at home in the California house you grew up in or in your house here in Massachusetts?

Brain Ping: This kid looks a bit wistful. She might have two homes herself. Divorce? A recent move? Tread carefully.

A. Both feel like home. That's the amazing thing. You can feel at home in many places if you're willing to be flexible and enjoy the best things about all of them.


Q. If you could go back in your life and change something that happened, what would it be?

Brain Ping: Shy kid. Boy. Took guts to ask such a deep question. Maybe has a regret?

A. I've learned that the hardest things I've gone through have made me the person I am, so I wouldn't change them, no. Now that I've survived them, I find I'm most thankful for the challenges in my life. When I regret something I've done, I try to ask for forgiveness, but there's no use letting it haunt me forever, right?


Q. How do you stand living so far away from your parents?

Brain Ping: This girl's from Bangladesh. She gets the intensity of my South Asian filial ties, even though I'm middle-aged. I can give it to her straight.

A. I can't. I hate it. I miss them every day, every moment.


I stick to the truth because the pings aren't always right, but I like listening because they remind me that it's never about me -- it's about the kids with the courage to raise a hand and ask a question from the heart.

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #10)

I slept and dreamed that life was joy.
I woke and found that life was but service.
I served and discovered that service was joy.

— Rabindranath Tagore

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #9)

Read Anastasia Goodstein's thoughtful Ypulse post about teen magazines' responsibility to stop the "onslaught." The same challenge applies to those of us who write books for teen and tween girls.

Poetry Friday: Contest Winners

I'm delighted to present the winners of the Fire Escape's 2007 teen poetry and short fiction contests. Congratulations to the writers, and to all who entered. The 2008 contests open 9/1/07. Feel free to browse through the best poems from 2003, 2004, 2005, and 2006, and prize-winning stories from the past.

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #8)

You get to meet heroes who slog away for years doing one of the most important jobs on the planet. Take this note I got yesterday from a teacher describing the place of her assignment:

... Our school is in a high-poverty neighborhood (80% of our students receive free school breakfast and lunch). We are also a corrective action school which needs to raise the standardized test scores for our ELL and special education students in order to meet our state annual yearly progress (AYP). I have been a teacher with the NYC Department of Education for 33 years ... We have not had a visiting author come to our school (tight budget) since 1999 ...

Her invitation was so full of enthusiasm and passion that even if I weren't already planning a trip to New York and New Jersey in May, I'd leap into my car and drive to Queens just because she asked. After all, this school isn't far from the school I attended in Flushing when we first came to America; I might just meet another newly-arrived word-lover sitting under this veteran teacher's tutelage. Can't wait.

For new visitors to the Fire Escape, here's a reprise
of an on-going series of reasons to write for young people:

#1: Fascinating Fan Mail
#2: Editors With Good Shoes
#3: My Mom Is A Chick Magnet
#4: The Glam and the Glitz
#5: Happy Endings
#6: A Mutual Admiration Society
#7: Those Stylish Independents

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #7)

Visitors to the Fire Escape may be keeping track of my list of reasons to write for kids. (FYI or to refresh your memory, here are reasons #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, and #6.) During a recent three-day tour with Charlesbridge publicity director Donna Spurlock and editor Judy O'Malley (lunch included, as evidenced in the photo), I discovered yet another reward of writing for children: the opportunity to connect with independent booksellers, commonly known as "indies."

These are usually cozy, welcoming sanctuaries where one may imbibe the culture and ethos of a community. They provide young browswers a venue to mingle face-to-face with fellow book-lovers instead of via the impersonal glare of a screen. They support local schools by providing curriculum-based literature to students (often at big discounts), host parent-child book discussions that spark lively conversations between the generations, and partner with libraries to unite towns around particular novels. Here's a rundown of the Massachusetts bookstores we visited in order of appearance:

• Brookline Booksmith, where in a run-of-the-mill kind of event for the store, author Nora Ephron was speaking later that day about how much we hate our necks;
• Cornerstone Books, a spanking new addition to the renaissance in downtown Salem, close to the wonderful Peabody Essex Museum;
• Banbury Cross in Wenham, a children's-only cottage stocked with classic and contemporary goodies for mind and soul;
• Sundial Books in Lexington, flooded with light and staffed by a couple who obviously live, breathe, and adore literature -- and each other, although we only met one of them;
  
• Bestsellers Cafe, chock-full of the aroma of fair trade coffee and welcoming seats overlooking the river as it curves through Medford;
• Newtonville Books, my bookstore, where I get hugged, kissed, and cosseted every time I pop in to visit The Lizard's Tale, their amazing new children's space;
• Wellesley Booksmith, sister to the store in Brookline, where the community is about to be lavished with a series of visits from children's books luminaries like Megan McDonald, author of the Judy Moody series, and National Book Award winner Kimberly Willis Holt; and the
  
• Concord Bookshop (pictured below), where we were greeted with words of gratitude for Monsoon Summer and a delighted anticipation over the publication of Rickshaw Girl that encouraged me thoroughly as I crawl back into my writer's cave.
  

In each place, Donna, Judy, and I marveled at the culturally-suited architecture, thoughtful decor, and imaginative display strategies. Everywhere, we met staff who are passionate about providing fun and transformative literature to young readers. As they've shown time and again, neighborhood handselling has the power to set nationwide trends that's beyond the capacity of the chains.

So, as we head to the New England Booksellers Assocation's Trade Show in Rhode Island this Friday night to banquet with a table of no-brand-name booksellers, here's a Churchill-esque cheer for the independent, budget-battling baristas of the book: "NEVAH GIVE IN! NEVAH, NEVAH, NEVAH, NEVAH ..."

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #6)

You make great friends. Whether it be through SCBWI, Kahani, my critique group (Karen L. Day and J. L. Bell both have a web presence), or at Kindling Words, the encouragement and support I get from other writers is unique, I'm convinced, to the realm of children's literature. We rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.

As an example, check out the Blue Rose Girls, a group of writers, illustrators, and one editor. Here's how they describe their mission:

In the early 20th century, three women illustrators: Jessie Willcox Smith, Elizabeth Shippen Green, and Violet Oakley lived and flourished together in a shared space above the Red Rose Inn. As their careers blossomed, they were called "The Red Rose Girls." At a time where society and the illustration profession was male dominated, the Red Rose Girls painted their own path and succeeded -- an example which we dare to follow.

In 1996, three women illustrators: Grace Lin, Anna Alter and Linda Wingerter forged a bond via the internet. Relying on each other, the seeds of their children's book careers began to take root; and they named themselves "The Blue Rose Girls," as an homage to the friendship of Red Rose Girls before them. As their work bloomed, they sent out runners and authors Libby Koponen, Meghan McCarthy and editor Alvina Ling, soon found themselves planted.

You go, girls. I'm going to love eavesdropping on your chat.

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #5)

Yesterday, I sent out this post to the listserv associated with the New England Chapter of the Society for Children's Book Writers and Illustrators:

I got my author copies of "Rickshaw Girl" from Charlesbridge today. There's absolutely nothing like the feeling of holding YOUR BOOK in your sweaty palms, fondling it, inhaling it, barely keeping yourself from biting out a chunk and savoring it like a piece of dark, sweet chocolate ... Yes, I'm going a bit nuts.

In re-reading it as I received congratulatory off-list responses, my cheeks flamed. If you change the words "your book" to some other possibilities, the entire post could read like a bad-but-steamy romance novel. Subliminal midlife crisis? Perhaps. It doesn't matter, though, because children's literature does share one thing in common with the romance genre: the possibility of happy endings.

As I re-read Rickshaw Girl, which is the story of a poor Bangladeshi family, I was grateful that I could leave my readers with hope. Unlike those who write for grownups (or even young adults), I don't feel the need to kill off a major character or underline the bleak condition of human nature. Arundhati Roy's lyrical prose in her mesmerizing God of Small Things, for example, wrecked one of my beach vacations by depressing me thoroughly. And WHY did Rohinton Mistry use the last three pages to tip his glorious Fine Balance -- and me -- into the pit of despair?

Ah, well. That's their problem. I write for kids.

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #4)

Okay, I'll confess my least noble motive: writing books for kids can provide a bit of glam and glitz. Yes, my fellow desperate housewives, the writing life is studded with moments that brighten the midlife doldrums. Join me for 24 hours of fun at the American Library Association Convention in New Orleans (where you proudly join 18,000 other attendees in the city's first major post-Katrina Convention) ...

You arrive at the Loews Hotel and discover that Random House has reserved a king deluxe suite for you on the fifteenth floor with a stunning view of the river. You shower and change into the birthday-splurge outfit presented by your stylish mother-in-law with writing appearances in mind.

You walk to the Morial Convention Center and (finally) find the room assigned to your "Books Between Cultures" program. Fighting nerves, you deliver your presentation to a kind-faced audience, bolstered by the undeniable fact that you are wearing fantastic footwear (from same mother-in-law who understands your immigrant-ish inability to spend huge sums of money on shoes).

Relieved that your program is done, you trot off to a cocktail party hosted by Random House at the Louisiana Children's Museum. Upon arrival, you and other authors and illustrators are pinned with red roses and told to mingle with bunches of lovely librarians. Gladly, you do, pausing only to sample crab cakes, coconut shrimp, and stuffed mushrooms. You meet literary luminaries and feel like a star yourself, even though most guests peer at your rose and nametag with a blank look (exceptions include fellow blogger Fuse No. 8, who shyly returns your impulsive hug).

Next, Charlesbridge is hosting dinner for their authors and illustrators at the Palace Cafe on Canal Street, where you feast on Mahi Mahi with stone-ground grits and raspberry crumble, also stealing a bite of editor Judy O'Malley's dark chocolate extravaganza. You chat and laugh and talk books until almost midnight, when you finally head back to your hotel.

Sunday begins with more food -- munching on eggs and toast in your room while clad in the spotlessly white bathrobe provided by the hotel. Back at the Convention Center (now wearing a travel-friendly Indian-ish dress you bought in Tanzania at 1/100th of the price your mother-in-law paid for the other outfit), you sign books and banter at the Little Brown and Random House booths. Finally, you sprint around the enormous exhibit floor, pick out a few graphic novel freebies for your teenagers, and race to catch your flight.

Now you're back in the Massachusetts suburbs confronting an empty fridge and mounds of laundry. But -- ah! You've had your glittery 24 hours, your next story is waiting to be written, and there's really no place like ... the fire escape. It's good to be home.

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #3)

To refresh your memory, here are reasons one and two. (Remember: not ranked in order of importance.) Okay, ready for #3? Writing YA can score you major maternal points when it comes to your teenaged sons.

How might your books earn the admiration of this tough crowd, you wonder? After all, you are the Queen of Dorkdom in the Castle; these are the guys who started calling you "Momdeeza" after you cheered too strenuously for the voluptuous woman-of-color American Idol contestant. Not to mention that your books are way too "girly" for their robust masculine tastes.

Here's how it works. Every now and then, a hot girl will saunter across the cafeteria to where your son is sitting. "Isn't your Mom an author?" she'll ask. "Didn't she write blankety-blank? I loved that book!"

"Yeah," your son will answer casually, as his buddies look on with envy. "That's my Mom."

Stay tuned for Reason #4.

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #2)

In my experience, people who choose to edit kid lit are trapped in grownup bodies -- they KNOW that all work and no play makes book a dull read. Dedicating themselves mind, heart, and soul to an author's story, they receive little or no recognition for the telling of it (although the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators is trying to change that). Who else will agonize with you over the progress of your story, word by word, or bird by bird, as Anne Lamott put it so well? As a personal trainer is to your physique, so an editor is to your novel. Here's a list of the editors who have kicked my writing butt into better shape, along with a brief foot-oriented factoid:

Megan Tingley. I wrote the novel for fun because I was bored at work and sent it into a Little Brown contest on a whim. Three weeks later, the phone rang. To my utter amazement, a lowly assistant editor told me that they loved my book and wanted to publish it. "You have a wonderful voice for middle-grade fiction," she said, instantaneously combusting a career. She then proceeded to edit The Sunita Experiment with a meticulous eye for detail and a wide-hearted vision for the story I was trying to tell. These talents and loyalty paid off: Megan is now THE Publisher of Little Brown Children's Book Group. To me, though, she'll always be that young twenty-something voice on the phone who first informed me that I -- yes, me -- actually had a voice. Footwear factoid: wears sandals to show off baby blue toe polish while lunching al fresco at Quincy Market.

Françoise Bui. My second novel had been soundly rejected for years. I was sick and tired of the revision-rejection-revision process and burned out on the story and characters. Finally, my agent called and said a Delacorte editor wanted to buy the book (much dancing, weeping, and prayers of thanksgiving ensued). The manuscript arrived, laced with gentle-handed editing and kind-voiced suggestions, and I girded up my loins to begin revision #43 of Monsoon Summer (I think; I lost count.) Françoise's notes often included something like, "Why not end here?" Always, she was right about cutting the last paragraph or six in a chapter or section. Why drone on explaining how my characters feel and respond instead of giving my readers the space to feel and respond? Thanks, Françoise, for showing me the power of understatement. Footwear factoid: watch for a pair of petite, elegant feet in stilettos traipsing through the streets of midtown.

Sangeeta Mehta. When Little Brown decided to reissue The Sunita Experiment, the book was handed first to Alvina Ling (another editorial powerhouse on the rise), and then to my utter delight, given into the care of an INDIAN editor named SANGEETA (the name I had given Sunita's sister in the book years before!) Thanks to her youthful, bi-cultural savvy, The Not-So-Star-Spangled Life of Sunita Sen was released with a gorgeous new cover and a revised ending that eliminated the unnecessary "exoticization" of my main character. Footwear factoid: pumps and silk stockings by day and chappals with ankle bracelets for those dance-until-three-in-the-morning bhangra parties.

Judy O'Malley. I was signing at a regional booksellers' convention. It was one of those demoralizing events where the authors seated next to me all had long lines snaking from their tables, and I was tapping my pen. Thankfully, a compassionate type took pity on me every now and then and merged over to get a book signed. Judy O'Malley of Charlesbridge was one such visitor. "Do you have anything in the works?" she asked. "I have a picture book called Rickshaw Girl," I said hesitantly. It, too, had been rejected quite a few times. "Send it to me," she said. I did, and she came back with something I've heard over and over again: "Your storytelling is intended for a wider venue. Don't squish it into the PB format." Patiently, she worked with me to extend and revise Naima's story into a novel, scheduled now for a January 2007 release as one of Charlesbridge's new Bridge books (yes, that's the cover). Footwear factoid: high-heeled leather zip-up boots keep long legs warm -- and looking sharp -- through a never-ending Boston winter.

Margaret Woollatt. Dutton asked Laura Rennert, my agent, if one of her writers could submit a proposal for a book about a president's daughter. Laura and I worked together on a plot treatment and sent it off just as the ALA midwinter convention was meeting in Boston. I paid for a day pass into the exhibit halls, which proved to be a good move. Stephanie Lurie, the head honcho of Dutton, was there, and she invited me to pitch my proposal. "I love it," she told me on the spot. "I'll buy it." And she did, handing the editing of the book to Margaret Woollatt. Now, as I'm revising book one (First Daughter: My Extreme American Makeover, Spring 2007) of what morphed into a two-book series and interacting with the brilliance of yet another twenty-something editor, it feels like I've come full circle. Margaret reminds me eerily of Megan Tingley fifteen years ago, and Penguin just might have a publisher in the making. Footwear factoid: keds are definitely the new dolce gabbana.

I just watched Malibu's Most Wanted (yet again -- I love that between-cultures flick), so here's the fire escape's final shout-out to the hardworking editors of kid lit: "fo' shizzle my sizzles (and the occassional bizzle), you gangstas r da BOMB." (Hmmmm .... so that's why middle-aged mothers of teens should never attempt to use hip-hop slang in any shape or form ... )

Why I Write For Kids (Reason #1)

School visits. How many writers for adults get to meet regularly with readers who lavish them with encouragement and share intimate details about their own lives? At the risk of bragging, but for the sake of enticing more storytellers to write for kids, I share a few excerpts from a packet of 50 or so thank-you notes I just received from sixth-graders (emphasis, spelling, and grammar all theirs):

...it was very exciting for me to hear a wonderful exquisite author come in and tell us what you can do if you put your mind to it ...

...I have read a few of your books and I love them. How you describe the culture and confusion of those girls is amazing. I am trying to be a writer too. But it is not really panning out ...

...one thing I can definitely associate with is what you said about your mother and how guests can barely walk after eating at her house, you have yet to meet my grandmas (Russian and Jewish)...

...thankyou for your phenominal powerpoint presentation about your life and your great overview of your amazing books. Your speeches were very mind attracting ...

...I was expecting someone boring and not able to speak English but you were neither of those...

...You spoke about getting your heart broken in middle school. My heart is in the works of being done so. Oh well. The more my heart is broken the more interesting my artwork will become...

...Although I have never been in the situation you were in, I do understand what it is like not to know anyone, or for that matter have no one like you. I liked that I could make this kind of connection with an adult, because it is rare that I am able to...

...I think you are correct and that stories, especially in books, can heal your heart...

...My mom and I had a long discussion about your story at dinner. I am one of the few kids you will meet whose favorite food is Indian food ...

...Jambo! I bought all your books I really enjoyed them (so did my dad). You can really make a great story. I'm finished with them and am reading it again, (its like my first time reading a book again). After reading the book I realized that im lucky to come from another country because I can talk 5 more languages than my whole english class can...

How many authors of fiction for adults get that kind of encouraging, interesting fan mail? Kids will often add stimulating postscripts with ID info, too, like these two:

P.S. I was the girl at the end who was talking to you about putting ferrets in the freezer.

P.S. I was the kid in the red hat in the second row who said that he liked to talk out his problems to himself.

So that's reason #1 (not ranked in order of importance). Stay tuned for several more wonderful benefits of writing for young readers that I'll share throughout the summer out here on the Fire Escape.