Ask the author: Anna McQuinn

Anna McQuinn's series about that spunky book lover Lola is a favorite amongst children, teachers, and librarians. With the third book in the series coming out in February (Lola Reads to Leo), Charlesbridge took a moment to ask the UK author and librarian some questions about the series.


Charlesbridge: Where did the character of Lola come from?

Anna McQuinn: Lola started out as a little girl having some first experiences--I planned to have her go to the library, to a cafe, a swimming pool . . . I started with the library story--probably influenced by the fact that I had just started working part-time running mom and toddler groups in a library. Some of my experiences influenced the story: in my outreach work I realized that many parents were still reluctant to bring little kids into libraries in case they disturbed other readers and I found myself explaining that we had an area for children and they wouldn't be disturbing anyone; I also found myself explaining that little children could enjoy books long before they could read--an argument I'd thought was long won.

However, as I wrote the story, Lola turned into a little book lover--and by the time I'd finished the story, she had a fully-developed character in my head: a book enthusiast who loved going to the library. Happily, Rosalind Beardshaw, the illustrator, totally captured this enthusiasm, so as the drawings came in, Lola's personality developed in my head.

I think this personality comes out more in the second story, Lola Loves Stories, but it really wasn't until I read the jacket copy on the newest book, Lola Reads to Leo, that I realized how much of myself there was in Lola. When I was little, I loved stories--my grandfather was a great storyteller and my dad told us stories every night in bed. As soon as I learned to read, I read constantly--at night by the streetlight outside my window (when I was supposed to be sleeping) and at every other available opportunity (the back of the shampoo bottle when I went to the bathroom, the back of the cereal packet while eating breakfast . . .). All of these stories opened up a huge world of possibilities for me.


CB: The books in this series are first published in the UK, where you live, and then re-published in the U.S. (and other countries!) with some alterations. For example, "Lola" is actually "Lulu" in the UK versions. How does this influence the way you write Lola's adventures, if at all?

AM: Lola started out as Lola--the name came at exactly the same time as her character, as a package. Then, just before Lola at the Library was published, the Charlie and Lola books were televised here in the UK and much to my disappointment, I realized that people would be confused. Happily it wasn't an issue for the U.S., but for the UK edition I searched desperately for a new name, but nothing worked. Then one day, my mom and toddler group was at the park and I heard a Somali mum call her child Lulu. It was perfect--as close as I could get to Lola.

Funnily enough, it doesn't influence how I feel about her. Most of the time I write the story calling her Lola--partly because the first person I show the draft story to is Yolanda Scott, the Editorial Director at Charlesbridge. Then I just change it for the UK. The names are so close it's almost like a friend whose family has a nickname for her (my family call me Anzi, so maybe that's why I barely think about it).

In the Netherlands, she's called Bibi (to alliterate with "bieb," which means "library") and weirdly that also seems to suit her so well that it doesn't cause me a second thought (though the file names for the documents on my computer are all over the place!). I'd love to know what she's called in Korea where Lola Loves Stories was recently published, but I can't read the script.

CB: Like Lola, you love to read as well. What types of books are you drawn to the most?

AM: I've been going through a crime novel phase for about ten years now. It started when I was in a very difficult job and reading stories where the bad guys always got their comeuppance satisfied some big need in my soul! I did my M.A. in the Gothic Novel and used to think that was the link but I've recently read that crime novels are like fairytales for adults--that's my story and I'm sticking to it. My favorites are Walter Mosley, Harlan Coben, Sara Paretsky, Laura Lippman, and Michael Connelly.

In between crime novels, I read a huge variety of things. I'm really drawn to stories which feature children or a child's view of things. One of my favorite books is The Butcher Boy by Patrick McCabe--I think anyone working with children should be made to read it--and another is Orange Mint and Honey by Carleen Brice. This year I really enjoyed Room by Emma Donoghue; America Is Me by E.R. Frank; The True Story of Hansel and Gretel by Louise Murphy; The Story by Faiza Guene; and We Are All Made of Glue by Marina Lewycka (which has nothing to do with children). I'm addicted to Goodreads and I log on every few days to share recommendations and see what my friends are reading.

CB: What do you hope readers will take away from the books in the Lola series?

AM: I hope that little kids will be inspired by Lola to check out the wonderful world that books and stories and reading can open up for them. I see from my work that many children need the tiniest prompt (which Lola provides) to be the characters from their stories: fairies and tigers and pilots . . . so I hope Lola will help them to take that first step from the story on the page to the story in their minds--I hope that little girls in particular will see that they can be anything, not just princesses!

I would love parents to see that finding books which children enjoy reading is the most important thing for these little ones. I'm saddened when I see parents pushing their choices--especially books which are for older children or to what parents feel is right for boys/girls. For many little boys as well as little girls in my group, Lola is their favorite book. And while black children love her, she is also much loved by Chinese, Polish, Spanish, and Lebanese alike--mostly they are responding to seeing their familiar world represented in a simple story.

CB: What's next for Lola? Any new adventures we can look forward to?

AM: I've already started work on the next story--Lola's mommy gives her a section of their community garden and, of course, before she can decide what to grow, she has to go to the library to research . . . Leo is also developing a little personality in my head, so look out for him appearing in his own story.



Do you have some questions for Anna McQuinn?
Email us at trademarketing@charlesbridge.com to sign up for the Lola Blog Tour. Don't have a blog? You can still ask Anna your questions--we'll post your interview here on Unabridged!

Kindergarten Friendships

If not for my childhood friend Frances, it’s hard to say what would have become of me. Frances stuck by me even though I clearly was not a kindergarten, first or second grade star. My early report cards were a smattering of Cs with an occasional B, plus a red DAYDREAMS in the comment section. I didn’t make friends easily; too often, when I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out. And I was not good at recess games, especially not dodge ball.

However, I did have my refuge—a corner of the school library that was all mine. While my classmates scattered among the shelves, I tucked myself away in that corner with Frances, a badger who was as spunky as I was meek.

Why was I so enamored with the star of the Frances books? Perhaps it was because, when insulted, Frances thought up sassy rhymes on the spot instead of falling silent. When Albert excluded Frances from his activities, Frances created a special day of her own, complete with Albert’s favorite foods and a marching sign: BEST FRIENDS OUTING—NO BOYS (Best Friends for Frances by Russell and Lillian Hoban). When my friends excluded me, I slunk into my house and told my mom.

Frances was not perfect. She made messes. She ran away from home. She ate her little sister’s birthday chocolate bar. But Frances had spunk. And I didn’t—not yet.

In the real world, we choose our friends for a variety of reasons (and not because they are perfect). Some are like we are, and some are like we wish to be. The same is true of our favorite book characters. All of these friends, those in the pages of our books and those in the real world, become part of us. My friendship with Frances and other book characters made the school day less lonely and helped me find my voice and make real-world friends. Eventually I gained some spunk of my own (though never as much as Frances).

As an author, I also have the opportunity to rewrite my personal history—and reach children like myself—through my characters. In Polka-dot Fixes Kindergarten, the main character Polka-dot is a bit apprehensive about her first day of school. But unlike me, Polka-dot is resourceful; she’s packed a fix-it kit just like Grandpa’s—complete with duct tape, the fixer of all trouble.

Polka-dot faces a variety of challenges, including a stripe-loving girl named Liz who criticizes everything from Polka-dot’s painting to her fashion choices. (Try to guess the name of the girl from my old neighborhood who was mean to me…) But, unlike me, Polka-dot speaks up. And she uses the duct tape to deliver an unexpected kindness and forge a friendship with Liz, who is experiencing kindergarten troubles of her own. Polka-dot has given voice to my shy kindergarten self and, with her trusty fix-it kit, created a happier, albeit fictitious, ending to my childhood relationship with the real-life Liz.

I hope that teachers, parents and librarians find the book helpful in conveying lessons about kindness and bullying prevention. I hope that Polka-dot becomes a safe and easy friend for some shy child, perhaps hiding in the corner of her school library. And I hope Polka-dot helps that child find her spunk, like Frances helped me.

It’s almost the start of another school year. So here’s to students everywhere—those of you who bound into your classrooms and those who stand back and watch:

You are stars, every single one of you.

Posted by Catherine Urdahl, author of Polka-dot Fixes Kindergarten and Emma's Question.

In That Enchanted Place

I have no memory of my parents reading to me. But when I was sick the aunt who lived downstairs would arrive at my bedside, noisily jolly with a kitchen chair in tow, to read a Dr. Seuss story. She favored the tongue-twisty types and feigned consternation and frustration over saying the right words in the right way and the right order. Her comical performance was generally limited to one read-through, though, and I was always left wanting more. How quiet the sickroom seemed when she was gone!

My first sustained experience of being read to didn't arrive until I was eight. In that long ago time, before parents thought to question a child's placement in school, the name of the next year's teacher was written in cursive at the bottom of the June report.

Grade 3 Miss Flynn Room 10

Quiet in school, eager to be good and do well, I didn't feel my future classmates' glee at our assignment when we left second grade for summer. Miss Flynn, you see, was known in Smith Street Elementary as the teacher who didn't believe in homework. That's the way the kids said it too. They didn't boast that she didn't give homework. The woman didn't believe in it!

In September Mildred Flynn proved to be mild and gray-haired with two routines that endeared her to me, neither of them concerning homework. The first was Oscar, the invisible flee she claimed lived in her hair. The second was circle time at the back of the room, when she read to us.

Oscar "appeared" whenever Miss Flynn held one hand out in front, palm to the ceiling. She talked to him and coaxed him to perform for us, her eyes following his movement as he jumped from one hand to the other with backflips and loop-the-loops. When occasionally he escaped during lessons, Miss Flynn walked up and down the aisles calling for him. Me, me! I'd think. Find Oscar in my hair! But no. Always somewhere else. Now a teacher myself, it suddenly occurs to me that Miss Flynn might have been recapturing straying attention. Clever lady! Perhaps it was a compliment to my attentiveness that Oscar never chose my head for his holidays, perhaps not. Back then, insecure child that I was, I could only wish for proof that she liked me.

I'm standing in the back row, the third from the left.

The stories Miss Flynn read were about A.A. Milne's Pooh. She affected voices for each character--excitable Roo, timid Piglet, depressed Eeyore, pompous Owl and slow-thinking Pooh. (This was before their Disney-fication and, besides Miss Flynn's, the cartoon versions pale.)

"Christopher Robin was going away," began Chapter X of The House At Pooh Corner, IN WHICH Christopher Robin and Pooh Come to an Enchanted Place, and We Leave Them There. The last Pooh story. Little by little it became clear that Christopher Robin was leaving the forest and his childhood for school. Before she could reach the last lines, Miss Flynn was overcome with emotion. As she brushed past me on her way out of the circle, she pushed the book into my hands and told me to read the end out loud.

"So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing."

The magic of these words! The rapt attention of the room!--despite Miss Flynn's theatrical sobbing into a handkerchief in front of the chalkboard. I was hooked. I successfully begged the hearty aunt for my own copy of The World of Pooh (I have it still), and read out loud at home to anyone who would listen. The stories I began writing were, I suppose, gifts to Miss Flynn, Miss Flynn who loved stories, Miss Flynn who collected mine in a desk drawer and told me I might be published some day.

Others in the class began writing stories too, an assignment I don't remember being part of my education at that time or for years afterward. We did it for fun. Room 10 positively sparked with creative energy during free time. We bragged to each other: My story is three pages long! Mine is ten! Those with other inclinations created different gifts. I remember that Ronnie L. wrote pages and pages of numbers. He claimed to have reached incredibly high figures, happily ignorant of the fact that 1,099 is not followed by 2,000.

I went on to imagine my own Oscars too--like the elf in our living room cuckoo clock, who wrote letters to my younger sisters that my aunt allowed me to post with real stamps--and began to wonder if I actually could become a writer.

My first two books were published the same year that my son was born, and some of my favorite memories of raising Peter and, later, my daughter, Gemma, include sharing books out loud. I'm convinced it reinforced for them how to be still and listen, how to focus their attention and use imagination. I feel sure they absorbed sentence structure and vocabulary as well as a love for words. It was after hearing Rikki-Tikki-Tavi that Peter, at four, said with passion, "You have to teach me how to read!"

He soon became a narrator himself, reading books like Brian Jacques's Redwall to his sister. And today I am delighted to read to his daughter, Riley, when she comes to visit. At two, she will sit and listen for as along as I will read. "The end," she announces upon reaching the final page. "Read more, p'ease?"

I wonder how many other flames were lit by the sparks in room 10, torches to be passed along generations.

Ready, Riley? "Once upon a time..."




Posted by Patricia Baehr, author of Boo Cow.

A Red Thread

I was born and grew up in a very small town in the west of Ireland. We were lucky to have a good library. I can't remember joining but I can't remember ever not being a member--so I guess I joined early!

I certainly remember using the library a lot--we didn't have a bookshop in town (though I think I remember the toyshop did stock some Enid Blytons--my mother used to buy me one if I was good at the dentist!) so, even though my parents were teachers and readers, we didn't have that many books.

By the time I was about 10, I had read every children's book in the library, some many times over, and the wonderful librarian, Mrs. Downey, suggested that if my mother approved, she would allow me to have an adult card. Surprisingly my mother said yes--probably knowing that Mrs. Downey would monitor everything I borrowed, which she did. But, in those days before teen and young adult publishing, the adult ticket provided an essential bridge to adult literature--and I did discover some wonderful adult writers like Liam O Flathairte who were perfectly accessible to a young reader. I also borrowed lots of craft books--I don't remember ever making anything, I just looked at the images and fantasised!

Reading was such a joy for me--an escape, an inspiration, educational and challenging, mind-blowing and thought-provoking. It was no surprise that I went on to study English at university and to specialise in Children's Literature as part of my post-graduate teaching studies.

After spending a few years teaching, like so many of my peers in the 1980s, I left Ireland to find work and spent the next 14 years working in children's publishing--starting out as a desk editor, working up to being a publisher, and eventually starting my own small publishing list in 1998. After a very painful takeover and redundancy, I found myself working freelance doing a mix of consulting, writing, editing and project managing.

I have a friend in Amsterdam who uses the expression 'red thread.' She says that a red thread connects all the little parts of your life--things that seem oddities while you're experiencing them often end up later to be significant steps on the way to somewhere else. Well, one of the things I did while I worked in publishing was some voluntary work for a group called the Working Group Against Racism in Children's Resources--how's that for a snappy title! It was made up of three groups--a book group, a toy group and a child development group (which looked at training materials for childcare workers and teachers). We met on Saturdays, developed training courses and materials we could offer to publishers, librarians and teachers; did training; reviewed books and published booklists and sets of criteria so professionals had guidelines pointing out things to look out for in order to both avoid selecting books which could offend or damage self esteem and to confidently select books which positively represented children from a range of backgrounds.

The Book Group was made up of a wonderful range of librarians, writers, illustrators, photographers, reviewers, editors, publishers, teachers and parents from a huge range of backgrounds. I made some fabulous friends during the seven years I worked with the Group and, even after I'd left, often consulted with them when issues arose on books I was developing.

Not long after I was made redundant, I was telling an old friend from this group (herself a librarian) about some work I was doing at a local school. She was surprised to hear I was working directly with children again after so long and asked if I would be interested in a position which had come up in her library.

The position was that of Community Librarian with the government's Sure Start programme (which is similar to the US Head Start). The job would involve doing a lot of outreach work with disadvantaged families and encouraging them to come to the local library--where I was to set up rhyme times and family reading groups. I applied, went for an interview, and in April 2003 became Sure Start Acton's Community Librarian.

Writing this, I can't believe how all the little bits of my life have come to connect--I think the red thread is one big knot now! I work three mornings a week for Sure Start--I don't need to do as much outreach now, so much of the time is spent running various groups in the library and other venues in the community. I read stories (many from books I've developed in the past), do crafts (all those ideas from my childhood must have been filed away somewhere) and sing nursery rhymes and songs. I find working directly with children in turn inspires my publishing work and I've been doing more and more writing, culminating last year with the publication of Lola at the Library--a pre-school picture book that is both inspired and made necessary by my library work.

I've learned so much from my work--learned to appreciate the opportunities I had as a child and especially the easy access I had to free books in my local library. I realise how much that easy access shaped who I am and enabled what I've managed to achieve. I've become evangelical about helping others to access this same wonderland. I will go anywhere there are mothers and babies or toddlers to sell my message--the local medical centre, the baby clinic, the free milk office...

I come across mothers who've fled warzones or catastrophies or poverty and who have no experience of books being freely available for small children. I have to work hard to persuade them that first of all, books are relevant to small children who don't yet read; then, to encourage them to take young children into the library and reassure them that they will be welcome. On the other side, I've had to work hard with my colleagues to identify and remove the barriers that parents face.

It's not enough to put the multi-lingual 'welcome' poster on the wall and think that does the job. We've had to review our forms and expectations of what kind of ID it's reasonable to expect people to provide.

For example, I recently heard a co-worker explain that she hadn't allowed a woman and her child to join the library on the grounds that "she couldn't be the child's mother--what mother doesn't even know her child's brithday?" Obviously, this worker did not understand that some mothers have children in situations where they don't know what day it is (they quickly learn to invent a birthday to suit the demands of bureaucracy). My experiences have taught me that some mothers don't know when they themselves were born. This is to say nothing of cultures that use a different calendar, making it difficult for people to work out a date of birth that fits our calendar.

We've also learned to be sensitive to signs that a mother can't write. Faced with a complex form, some parents suddenly find they have to rush away with reassurances that they'll bring the form back tomorrow, never to be seen again. However, we've also learned not to assume that providing materials in community languages is the answer--some women learn to read and write in English only, and handing them a picture book in their own language "to read with their children" can be less helpful than we believe...

I could go on, but that would be boring--we all have individual stories and anecdotes we could share. All we can do is try to be alert and sensitive and do our best. What I did decide to do was to write a story about a little girl who loves going to her local library. A picture is worth a thousand words, and this could not be more true in this instance--Rosalind Beardshaw has done THE most gorgeous illustrations and perfectly captures the little girl's enthusiasm. Now I use this book to do some of my work for me--it seems appropriate to have come full circle--everything for me begins and ends with a good book!



Posted by Anna McQuinn, author of Lola at the Library and Lola Loves Stories

A Poet Makes A Laughing Sound

In honor of National Poetry Month I would like to write a bit about how my poems come to be. I have always loved words, and I have written poetry since I was fairly young. I remember writing poems in fourth grade, probably my first conscious attempt to be a writer. I think they were about horses.

Here is a poem I wrote in high school that got published in our literary magazine:

Well

Deep, dark, damp, and dank
Smooth stone on smooth stone;
Hollow cylinder, receptacle of Earth's tears.
Hairy beard so sopped with ooze
Dripping, dripping, dripping, dropped.
Ringed rings rolling, rolling
Strike the mossy walls with silence.
Deep, dark, forgotten, lost;
Stones of earth laid by man
Worn and worn and worn again,
Cold, rejected, forgotten, hidden
at the base of trees' naked roots.
Home of rat, spider, and dead mole.
Dripping drops of liquid rock
Dark, forgotten cylinder, receptacle of Earth's tears.

Reading this poem now it reminds me of how much I like the feel, the taste of words. I must have just discovered alliteration as a poetic device. I wrote with rhythm, and I was thinking in images. My poems today are not a whole lot different--I look for rhythm. I taste the words and feel the flow of the words physically as I write them. I think about images.

The poem "The Robin Makes A Laughing Sound" grew out of a walk. I was walking home on a March evening, listening to the bird sounds. A funny noise, soft, yet sudden, made me stop. It reminded me of my neighbor's guinea pigs, the sort of noise they make. I looked around and spotted a robin. I began to think about how to describe the sound the robin had made. This was not its song. This was a kind of call, perhaps a warning. The best I could come up with was a laughing sound. "The robin makes a laughing sound. " Those words fit with the rhythm of my walking. By the time I walked all the way home I had four lines, the beginnning of a poem:

The robin makes a laughing sound
Reminding me to look around
At buds on twig tips swelling big
And swelling worms which robins dig.

The words came naturally as I thought about what I had just experienced. I wrote them down in my journal.

A few days later I came back to the idea. More lines came to me as I revised my first thoughts:

The robin makes a laughing sound
It makes me stop and look around
To see just what the robin sees--
Swelling buds on twigs of trees--
A nice high branch on which to rest
A nice safe ledge to hold her nest.
The robin makes a laughing sound.
I always stop. Look around!

a little kitten says meow
the robin isn't laughing now.

Sparrows in a privet hedge--

Seagulls like dumps and garbage and hang out at the mall

About here I realized I was getting sidetracked, but I had found a rhythm I liked. So I abandoned the last four lines that digress from the idea of the robin. My poem was almost complete. I had circled the two uses of the word "nice" in my journal. Nice is a pretty generic word unless you are trying to make a point about the word nice. What kind of branch would a robin like? What kind of ledge? Also, the line "Swelling buds on twigs of trees" seemed difficult to say out loud.

Here is how the poem looked when I submitted my manuscript:

The Robin Makes a Laughing Sound

The robin makes a laughing sound.
It makes me stop and look around
To see just what the robin sees--
Fresh new leaves on twigs of trees--
A strong high branch on which to rest--
A safe, dry ledge to hold her nest.
The robin makes a laughing sound.
I always stop. Look around!

My poem was almost complete--there were just a few editorial changes: the punctuation was changed to make the poem easier to read. And the last line shifted slightly. Instead of ordering my reader to look around, I kept the line within my own experience--"I stop. I always look around."

The Robin Makes a Laughing Sound

The robin makes a laughing sound.
It makes me stop and look around
to see just what the robin sees--
fresh new leaves on twigs of trees,
a strong, high branch on which to rest,
a safe, dry ledge to hold its nest.
The robin makes a laughing sound.
I stop. I always look around.

"The Robin Makes A Laughing Sound" took only two drafts to reach its essential shape. Other poems were harder to get at.

I liked the line and the idea of seagulls hanging out at dumps and malls. I live in the Midwest, near Lake Michigan, but 1,000 miles from the ocean. Yet I see gulls all year round. I see them most often when I drive down North Avenue, past mall after mall. The gulls are everywhere, perching on street lights, soaring over the parking lots. Why are they here? I began to think about my experience with gulls. Gulls are hard to identify so I used the not quite proper term "seagulls" which encompasses many different species. I wanted to emphasize how out of context the gulls seemed. This was one of my early drafts:

Seagulls

Seagulls like dumps and garbage.
They hang out a the mall.
There is no ocean here for a thousand miles.
But there are lakes an rivers that run to the sea.
And garbage and dumps and malls.

Seagulls make loud noises--
They're not shy. They are the teenagers of birds--
Showing off, making noise,
Traveling in packs. But always competing.
Just like the boys in junior high who hang out at the mall.

One reader suggested that I concentrate on the secon stanza and develop the idea of seagulls as the teenagers of birds. Although I like the idea of gulls living so far away from oceans, I felt it was a good suggetion for bringing some unity to the poem. Here is the version that I submitted in my manuscript:

Seagulls

Seagulls are the teenagers of birds.
They hang out at he mall,
Scrounging for French fires and scraps of burgers.
They laugh. They swoop. They're not shy.
They travel in packs, squawking, playing at tug of war over crumbs,
Just like the boys from middle school,
Who hang out at the mall.

I like the poem and I really liked the comparison of seagulls to kids, but I felt the poem was too literal, too direct, lacked style. I continued to work on it as the book went into production. My "ah-ha" moment was when I realized that I did not need to tell the reader that seagulls are the teenagers of birds--the poem shows that comparison through it's actions. So I dropped the first line and opened with the second. I played with the order of the lines and images until I had simplified the poem. My editor suggested that all the verbs used should be able to apply equally to kids and birds, so "swoop" was out. "Strut" replaced it. The final suggestion, which I am still second-guessing, was to eliminate the last line. It has a repetitive, plaintive note that I like and that my editor and my writer's group felt was unnecessary and did not contribute to the poem. I still miss it.

Seagulls

Seagulls hang out at the mall.
They laugh. They squawk. They strut.
They're not shy. They travel in packs,
fighting over french fries
and scraps of burgers--
just like the kids from middle school.

What do you think? Should this poem end with the lines "just like the kids from middle school/who hang out at the mall."?

Posted by Sallie Wolf, author/illustrator of The Robin Makes a Laughing Sound.