© Loree Griffin Burns
A couple weeks ago, Sara Pennypacker visited our local library. Being mother to one of Clementine’s best friends (or so she says), organizer of a Mother & Daughter Book Group that has read lots of Clementine adventures, and also a fan of Ms. Pennypacker and Ms. Frazee (writer and illustrator, respectively, of the Clementine books), I went. And something Sara said resonated with me deeply. She told us that the reason she likes to visit schools and libraries is simple: conversation.
Yes. That’s it exactly.
We writers toil and tinker until we’ve got down on paper a story that we think will have meaning for someone. We think what we’ve written is important, and so we send our words out into the world hoping the readers who need them most will find them. Once the book is gone, though, there is not a lot we can do to be sure that happens. We try to spread the word, of course, but so much is out of our hands. In order to avoid the agony of waiting and wondering—and also to keep food on the table—we get busy on the next book.
Eventually, we hear from reviewers. If their criticisms are kind, their whisper of a reply feels good. Sometimes we hear from readers by letter or email, and this also feels good, especially when there is an opportunity to respond. But for me, neither reviews nor letters compare to eye contact with a reader, to an actual exchange of looks and expressions and thoughts and ideas. That sort of loveliness happens only in person, and mostly in a school or library or bookstore setting.
For me, sadly, these events are few and far between. But listening to readers, hearing their responses to my work, knowing—finally!—their thoughts on what I did right, what I did wrong, and what I should do next, is always a humbling experience. I am able to respond, to ask about their thoughts and ideas … and in the asking begins a true, honest-to-goodness conversation. These moments change me in ways that are as profound as they are unexpected.
That Sara Pennypacker is one smart cookie.
All of this is on my mind, of course, because I’ve just returned from two days of school and library visiting in Athol, Massachusetts. The conversations I had there were organic chocolate chip cookies for my writing soul, I tell you …
I met a boy who I think is going to be this world’s next champion of honey bees, a beekeeper with verve and smarts.
I chatted with a girl whose books we will likely all know one day, and she bravely shared with me the opening of her newest short story. It was fabulous … and composed, she told me with a frankness that knocked my breath away, during my presentation. (“When I realized you were going to talk about bees and not writing,” she told me, “I had to tune out. This story had to be written!”)
I sparred with a thoughtful man who is as worried as I am about agricultural chemicals. We are on the same team, he and I, but we use different playbooks, and he reminded me that even in disagreement, conversation is worthy and important.
Many thanks to all the fine folks I met in Athol this week; I am so glad we had time to talk.
A postscript on the illustration: this is an old photo of a special conversation between one of my children and the author of his then-favorite book IBIS: A TRUE WHALE STORY, John Himmelman.
A postscript on my postscript: Yes, I forgot to bring my camera to Athol!
