One Small Step: Words to Live By

“That’s one small step for (a) man; one giant leap for mankind.”  These words, spoken by Neil Armstrong on July 20, 1969 as he stepped onto the surface of the moon, quickly became the iconic phrase that summed up the entire Apollo 11 mission.   It was a pivotal moment in U.S. History - one that served to remind people that anything is possible.

It’s a message that bears repeating.  Anything is possible.  But first you have to take that “one small step.”  It’s something I’ve always had trouble with.  That first step.  I must confess that I’m not the most confident person in the world.  I was that shy, nerdy girl in school who liked to read and keep to herself, who never wanted to try anything new and was always the last picked in gym class.  It wasn’t until I went away to college that I suddenly felt that urge to do something different.

The spark came in the way of a flyer that I saw on the cafeteria table.  It was an advertisement that read, “Come join the circus!”  And then the three magic words: “No experience necessary.”  I was intrigued.  I was curious.  And I was…a wimp.  There was no way I was walking into the unknown by myself.  I mentioned the circus to a few people in my classes, but no one seemed interested in going with me.  Until one day, a girl in my communications class leaned over and said “I heard you talking about that circus a couple of weeks ago.  I’m thinking about going to check out their practice tonight.  Want to come with me?”  YES!!!

Okay, so I needed a little nudge with that first step, but I got there.  Over the next few years I learned to walk a tightwire, juggle, eat fire, and ride a unicycle.  But most importantly, I learned to believe in myself.   And one day, when my boyfriend (and future husband) said to me “Hey, you know all of that writing you do?  Maybe you should try to sell some of it,” the idea didn’t seem quite so absurd.  So, with another little nudge, I began to submit.  And submit.  And submit.  The rejections piled up.  The acceptances came slowly.  Just a poem here and there for magazines, but it was all I needed to keep me going.

Much like landing on the moon, it took many years (and many small steps) for me to achieve my ultimate goal: a book contract.  The dream has become a reality.  The fact that the manuscript began simply as a challenge to myself to see if I could pull off the “terse verse” style, makes its publication even more incredible.  Anything really is possible.

It’s no longer a message that needs to be repeated to me.  And I don’t need that nudge anymore.  I am finally able to take those small steps all by myself.  Although these days, those steps are taken in skates.  Because last year, all on my own, that shy, nerdy girl who was afraid to try anything new…went and joined a roller derby team.  Told you anything was possible!

 

Posted by Linda McReynolds, author of Eight Days Gone, which releases on July 1st. Linda has published many poems in children's magazines, but Eight Days Gone is her first children's book. She lives in Montgomery, Illinois.

Get your justice on! Bill the Boy Wonder is now available. Don't see THE DARK KNIGHT RISES without reading the full story behind the legend of Batman.

Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman

by

Marc Tyler Nobleman

Illustrated by

Ty Templeton

Visit the website for the discussion guide, games, and more information.

The cat you rescue may rescue you

"When a man loves cats, I am his friend and comrade, without further introduction."  Mark Twain

Few people in history loved cats as much as Mark Twain.  And if he were alive today, he'd probably be delighted to discover that June is "Adopt-a-Cat Month."  While a boy growing up in Hannibal, MO, and known by his given name, Samuel Clemens, he watched his mother adopt cats in June...July...August, as well as the remaining 9 months of the year.  While the Clemens family were of modest means, they were rich in cats.  Any neglected, homeless, hungry feline would find food and shelter with Jane Clemens. "Some people scorn a cat and think it not an essential; but the Clemens tribe are not of these," Sam would write later.  

When Sam became the world-famous author Mark Twain, he filled his fanciful   Connecticut mansion with enough cats to delight his daughters and provide inspiration for his pen.  Then, as an old man grieving over the death of his wife, he adopted his daughter's black cat, Bambino, as solace for his grief and loneliness.  From his guardianship of Clara's cat, Mark Twain would learn how much he meant to his fans and readers.   

It was this last story about Mark Twain that intrigued me. I started to consider it as a subject for a children's story, exploring the concepts of loss, grief, friendship, and consolation.  I had been asked by my editor at Charlesbridge (Randi Rivers) if I would consider writing another children's story about a famous person and their pet.  Picasso and Minou had been released and it was time to think of a follow-up story.    

As a cat enthusiast myself, it was easy to list several people who could fit this topic.  But Mark Twain seemed to be the ideal candidate.  He was my favorite author as a child and I continued to study his life and writings through high school and college.

At first I thought of a story about young Sam Clemens, who lived in Hannibal, Missouri with all those cats.  Did he really give patent medicine to one of his mother's darlings, providing the basis for the "Peter and the Painkiller" episode in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?   But a quick search through cyberspace uncovered the Bambino chapter in Mark Twain's life.  

In November 1904, a few months after the death of his wife, Olivia, Mark Twain moved into a  townhouse on New York City's bustling 5th Avenue.  With him were his youngest daughter Jean, their housekeeper Katy Leary, and "Bambino," a black cat that belonged to Mark Twain's older daughter, Clara.  But Clara was away in a sanitarium, trying to recover her health and strength after the death of her mother.  Until Clara was strong enough to return to her family, Twain would care for Bambino.  

Photo of Bambino by Mark Twain's daughter, Jean Clemens
from the archives of the Mark Twain Papers, University of California, Berkeley.

Shut up in his townhouse, Twain cut himself off from society, especially the press.  For years he had been one of the leading celebrities of the time and the darling of the media.  Anything he did or said could generate a news story and "Sam" loved being in the limelight.  But in the Fall/Winter of 1904-1905, he remained secluded inside 21 Fifth Avenue and refused to see anyone.  

Then in the Spring of 1904, Bambino disappeared!  It was assumed that he jumped out of one an open window during spring cleaning, when rooms were routinely "aired out."  Where he went and why is the subject of speculation.  However, we do know that Mark Twain placed an ad in all the New York newspapers offering a reward for Bambino's safe return.  Immediately the story of Mark Twain's missing cat was picked up by newspapers all over the country.  For three days in April 1905 it was the human interest story everyone followed.    

And while he waited for Bambino's return, Twain became the target of what amounted to something of a flash mob event.  Fans young and old brought their cats and kittens to their favorite author to comfort him until Bambino's return.  Now Mark Twain was willing to meet the world and thank his admirers for their concern.  And when Bambino did return home, there was a change in Mark Twain.  He would soon adopt the white "summer suit" as his signature attire and return to his public platform.  

Did Bambino's mysterious disappearance and re-appearance really cause Mark Twain to re-connect with his public?  I would like to think so.  The good wishes of so many of his admirers had to lift his depression enough so he could return to the world again.  

If animals could speak the dog would be a a blundering outspoken fellow, but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much." - Mark Twain

P.I. Maltbie is the author of Picasso and Minou and Bambino and Mr. Twain. She lives in Long Beach, California. Click here to watch a video book review of Bambino!

Celebrating Asian/Pacific-American Heritage Month

In 2002 the Maine Humanities Council, through their New Mainers Book Project, commissioned me to create a picture book about a Cambodian American family.

The task was a daunting one. "Who am I to undertake this," I wrote in my journal at the beginning of the process, "to presume the ability to know, to understand, to represent?" I knew that I couldn't create such a story myself, but I thought that if I immersed myself in the experience of Cambodian Americans and listened long enough, perhaps a story might come through me.

I read stacks of books detailing the Cambodian experience, nearly all survivor accounts. I learned from a specialist in torture and genocide about how trauma is repressed yet lodges as "shards of memory," evident in "a silence, a gap, an absence," and how that memory is often retrieved by the third generation. I looked at Cambodian art, listened to Khmer music, watched Cambodian dance.

Sketches of Dara from A Path of Stars

And finally, I sat in the living room of my friends Veasna and Peng Kem as they graciously shared their own memories. They talked of their beautiful homeland, of the roses and hibiscus, the coconuts and mango trees, of favorite recipes and games, of family star-watching and the star stories elders would share.

Veasna remembered her own escape from the war, lost in a bamboo forest, fearing wolves and other wild animals, saying to herself, "I'm going to die here." She recalled praying to Buddha and to her ancestors for help. "Your parents are the ones you respect the most," she told me, "the ones who gave birth to you and took care of you since you were 'red' (a baby). They mean more to you, more than the big ocean. The spirit of my parents protected me."

Having gathering all of this, I waited. And waited some more. And finally one day, an image came, of a girl in a garden picking a tomato and a single yellow rose.

Ten years later, A Path of Stars (Charlesbridge) has just been released. In words and oil paintings, it tells the story of young Dara and her beloved grandmother, Lok Yeay, who escaped from Cambodia with the only two survivors of her family, one of whom would grow up to be Dara’s mother. Lok Yeay passes on to her granddaughter stories of the beauty of Cambodia and her survival and flight from her homeland, but when a loss triggers her traumatic history, Dara must use what she’s been given to help her grandmother heal. To my knowledge, it’s the only available fiction picture book about the Cambodian American experience.

The book's release has created wonderful chances to connect with Maine's Cambodian community, which numbers about 2000, including Portland's Cambodian Dance Troupe. Taught by a classical dance performer trained in Phnom Penh, the troupe includes sixteen girls, ages 4 to 20. Some are 2nd-generation Cambodian Americans whose parents escaped the Khmer Rouge; others were born in Cambodia and adopted by American families.

Portland's Cambodian Dance Troupe

When I met with the girls in February, one of the ideas that struck me is that their identity is a relatively new one. Communities of Cambodian Americans, such as ours here in Maine, began taking root in the U.S. in the late 1970's. The oldest American-born Cambodians--in any significant numbers--are in their 30s. What it means to be Cambodian American is being defined now, in all its variety, by these young people, creating a brand-new, unique piece of the American mosaic. I look forward to the day when books about the Cambodian-American experience will be written and illustrated by the people who are living that story.

The book is also creating opportunities to connect the wider community to their Cambodian neighbors. In April I shared A Path of Stars with 3rd-5th graders in Westbrook, Maine, and Framingham, Massachusetts. The students then created Happy New Year cards with a drawing of a lotus and greeting in Khmer, which were mailed to local Cambodian temples.

Happy New Year cards

This spring I'm helping to develop a project, "New Neighbors," to promote reading projects with children's books like A Path of Stars. Such books can spark conversations in which differences of language and culture, race and religion, can be explored through the lens of what we have in common--grandparents, family stories, immigrant journeys, special foods, love of the natural world. The "I'm Your Neighbor" website, currently under construction, will contain a list of recommended books and an evolving list of engagement materials for educators, librarians, and community organizations who seek to build bridges. (Sign up at www.ImYourNeighborBooks.org to receive email notification of the project launch.)

 

Anne Sibley O’Brien (AnneSibleyOBrien.com) has illustrated thirty-one books for children, fourteen of which she also wrote. The Legend of Hong Kil Dong: The Robin Hood of Korea won the Aesop Award, the Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature, and was named to Booklist’s “Top 10 Graphic Novels for Youth.” After Gandhi: One Hundred Years of Nonviolent Resistance, which she co-wrote with her son, Perry O’Brien, won the Maine Literary Book Award and was named an IRA Teacher’s Choice. She blogs about race, culture and children’s books at “Coloring Between the Lines” (www.coloringbetween.blogspot.com).

Rhyme Time with Jane Yolen and J. Patrick Lewis

April is Poetry Month! Two renowned authors, Jane Yolen and J. Patrick Lewis (current Children's Poet Laureate), teamed up to celebrate poetry by interviewing each other about their experiences as poets. Even better, they've done it in rhyme...

Jane Yolen:
So you say you're a poet,
So how do we know it?
Do you wear special clothes when you rhyme?
So, like how do you show it?
Do you go with the flow? It
can't mean that you rhyme all the time.

J. Patrick Lewis:
I rhyme for a nickle, I rhyme for a dime,
A penny, a quarter--it's strange.
I rhyme when I go to the grocery store.
I rhyme when I'm looking for change.

But I won't if I don't really feel like rhyming.
Sometimes words like playing around
On the horn in my mind or the drum on the page.
I sit back enjoying the . . . noise.

Jane:
As for me, I've been rhyming before I could talk,
with a goo . . . and a gaa . . . and a waa.
I rhymed for my daddy, my uncles and aunts,
and especially rhymed for my Ma.

I began with real verse in rhymed couplets for school
when I was in first grade, I'm told.
(Though I must admit that I'm growing a bit,
Getting better as I have grown old.)

I did a long poem, all in rhyme, at thirteen,
an assignment about New York State.
A great rhyme for Otis, who made elevators,
and I did not turn it in late.

I won a Scholastic award for my verse
and the poetry prizes in college.
I sold my first poem to a real publication
before I'd amassed enough knowledge.

So--over to Pat, catch us up with your verse.
Do you think you're now better or now getting worse?
(To keep rhyming this way can be seen as a curse
Or a-musing.)

Pat:
How can you write sonnets or epics if, Lordie,
You don't meet Ms. Prosody till you turn forty?!
Where was she hiding? My Pied Piper teacher
In third grade? In eighth grade? Dark mystical creature
To juggle me the noun and swivel me the verb,
To give me a special hat, Do Not Disturb:
The Boy in the Corner May Turn Out To Be
A Man of Outlandish Whimsicality.

Nowhere, I tell you, my wee muse had flown,
So I had to stumble ahead on my own.
My ear is improving, I'm glad to report.
I'm learning by doing this indoor sport.
Who knows? If I practice both day and night,
By flashlight and candle, I may get it right.

Both:
So the word from the experts, is just keep on moving.
The more that you do it, the more you're improving.
And whether you've rhymed from your childhood or dotage,
If you work at your poems, then you're sure to get quot-age.







Stay tuned for the upcoming release of Jane and Pat's next poetry collaboration, Last Laughs: Animal Epitaphs, due out July 2012.

Vinnie Ream and the Middle School Student: An Open Invitation

The first time I saw a photograph of Vinnie Ream, I was taken by her intelligent eyes, lively expression, and the abundance of chestnut colored curls cascading down her shoulders. Barely five-feet tall, she stood next to a clay bust she had sculpted of Abraham Lincoln. It invited further investigation, and only after I'd read of her feisty personality and the battle she waged to sculpt Lincoln during a time when no American woman dared to proclaim herself a working artist, much less a sculptor of presidents, did I completely fall in love with her story, determined to bring it to life in a children's picture book biography.

It's a similar process for my own students, minus the president, the diminutive stature, and the hair, of course, but the goal is the same--draw them in! From the moment my 8th graders cross the threshold of my classroom, I'm hoping to entice them with an explosion of color, opening their eyes to all that room 228 has to offer by coaxing them to look closer, maybe even fall in love with one of the hundreds of books lining the shelves, or the writing journals they'll use to explore the essential questions about literature in connection with their own lives.


"If you lie down to rest on the green grass, watch the sunlight glisten and the leaves glow; coax the birds to come and sing to you . . . Watch the ants toil and take from their patience. Watch the spider weave its web and take lessons from its skills. Listen to the thousands of voices and hear how busy nature is. She does not lose a moment. She does not tire. Why should we?"
--Vinnie Ream

"She for real?" a student asked after listening to Vinnie's opening quote from Vinnie and Abraham. A teenager's world is the antithesis of solitary contemplation. From texting friends, downloading music, and updating tweets, to middle school relationships realigning with Kim Kardashian speed, fast is what middle schoolers do best.

Persuading them to slow down long enough to read, contemplate and write, much less re-write, is a teacher's greatest challenge. In the language arts classroom, providing students the opportunity for choice through reading and writing workshop helps foster a sense of autonomy and purpose. At Orange City Schools, they embrace the idea that young adult literature has rigor and relevance, and back this philosophy with financial as well as educational support in the form of teacher training workshops, Junior Library Guild subscriptions, book fairs, extensive classroom and school libraries.

An additional way to connect with students and embody Vinnie Ream's philosophy of passionate persistence is through sharing my own struggles as a writer. Nothing cheers teenagers more than hearing that their teacher has been "dumped" (hundreds of times!) through rejection letters that I've received from publishers. Better still are the editors' red-penciled criticisms containing corrections and suggestions for improving my writing.

After Lincoln was assassinated and Vinnie beat out all the renowned male sculptors of the day, winning the commission to create the life-sized statue of Lincoln, she invited the public into her artist's studio in the Capitol to watch the work in progress.

It was a brave and risky invitation. All those naysayers and critics betting that it couldn't be done, gazing over her shoulder as she worked, waiting for her to give up. After all, she was just a young woman, still in her teens, and most people thought that she would certainly fail. Still, she showed up and worked hard day after day until she had completed the Lincoln statue that still stands in the Capitol Rotunda today.

Similarly, at the beginning of every writing assignment, students need to ignore the inner critics and silence the naysayers that exist in their own minds. They must be persistent like Vinnie and have a fierce determination and belief in themselves and their voice. Most importantly, they need to be willing to slow down, take the time to explore, and risk making mistakes while focusing on the process and not on the grade.

At the end of the school year, our 8th graders take a class trip to Washington D.C., where they will have the opportunity to view Vinnie Ream's famous statue of President Lincoln holding the Emancipation Proclamation in his hand. Hopefully, her creation serves as a reminder of the invitation extended at the beginning of the school year to join our community of readers and writers, and also as a promise to return one day, sharing their own adventures and celebrating their creations. Part of the joy in teaching is learning how our students' stories turned out!



Posted by Dawn FitzGerald, author of Vinnie and Abraham.

African American History Month: Spotlight on Magic Trash

Author Jane Shapiro writes about her latest book, Magic Trash, a picture book biography of African American artist Tyree Guyton, who used his paintbrush to transform the decaying, crime-ridden neighborhood where he grew up into the Heidelberg Project, an interactive sculpture park in Detroit, Michigan.






An inspiring birdcage

While volunteering as a docent at the art museum of Michigan State University, I noticed the popularity of Tyree Guyton's American flag-painted worker's lunchbox locked inside a birdcage. Adults wrote poetry about the caged lunchbox, and children reached out to touch it.

I wondered then if the story of Tyree's art--complete with antagonists, disappointments, and triumphs--would appeal to a wide audience of children.


A working artist

Tyree Guyton and Jenenne Whitfield, Tyree's wife and the director of The Heidelberg Project, have both been helpful and supportive through all the years of writing. They patiently answered questions such as "What size paintbrush did Grandpa Sam give you?" Jenenne has been my main contact since Tyree is busy producing art and interacting with visitors on Heidelberg Street. But the day I observed him creating a sculpture was a real privilege and thrill.





Paint your world

My favorite passage from the book is:

"Paint the world," Grandpa said.

Tyree dipped into Grandpa's cans of color, sloshing purple, slapping yellow, aiming his brush like a magic wand. Abracadabra! Tyree's shyness vanished.

Sweet apples crunched when he glopped the red. He'd never seen Lake Huron, but now it splashed in a pool of blue.

I sign Magic Trash: "Paint your world" because that goal applies to all people, grown-ups, too.

Setting of Detroit

I've asked people attending book readings to guess the references to Detroit on the pages of Magic Trash. One woman eagerly called out, "Vernors ginger ale!"

When I researched the sixties of Tyree's youth in Detroit, I found that Martin Luther King had marched and spoken of his dream, Motown songs skipped off everyone's lips, and many residents were horrified when National Guard tanks rolled through the city.

Change had begun in the fifties when urban renewal encouraged residents to flee the city for the suburbs. Neighborhoods were bulldozed to build an Interstate, leaving many people homeless. Joblessness had begun to take hold with the infancy of outsourcing.

Heidelberg Street of even earlier decades had bustled with a diverse population of immigrants and folks from the south working in industry. Jenenne informed me that, as a child, the long-time White House correspondent, Helen Thomas, had lived in the same house in which Tyree grew up.

On recent visits to Detroit I have walked along the river, past the Tigers' new baseball stadium, on to the busy Eastern Market. I have seen Tyree's art exhibited at the Black History Museum, the Detroit Institute of Arts, and Wayne State University. I have enjoyed a restaurant thriving in an immaculate 1894 mansion, and attended a jazz concert with original music dedicated to Tyree's work. Detroiters, like Tyree and Jenenne, are still inspiring others.

What is art?

My mother was an artist who encouraged my three brothers and me to be creative. She once won first place in an exhibit by painting a watercolor using a sponge dipped in dishwater.

I've never stopped enjoying and studying visual art in its many forms. Currently I lead school groups through the Portland Art Museum in Oregon where students can consider the question: "What it art?"






Posted by J. H. Shapiro, author of Magic Trash: A Story of Tyree Guyton and His Art, illustrated by Vanessa Brantley-Newton.