My first inkling there was a thing called children’s literature came at a yard sale. I picked up a thick green textbook, Children’s Literature in the Elementary School, by Charlotte S. Huck. I marveled at the idea that people discussed and studied the books I loved and planned to write, that children’s books were literature, like Moby Dick. I was eighteen, one month out of high school, working as a secretary. The textbook cost a dollar, steep for 1970 tag sales. I wasn’t leaving without it.
I didn’t read the textbook as much as own it. It went with me from job to job, rental to rental, representing a goal I’d reach after I was established in my real career as the next E.B. White. I was aware I’d skipped a crucial step but couldn’t afford college. Drive and desire would have to substitute for formal education. Along the way, I’d brush up on children’s literature.
The publication door didn’t open for me, but I cracked a back window. My first book, and many that followed, were paperback originals, popular fiction that kids bought with their allowance at B. Dalton or ordered from Scholastic Book Clubs. The first two published books gained me entry into the exalted Children’s Book Guild of Washington, D.C. As a guest at monthly luncheons, I was enthralled by talk of school visits, library conferences, and the easy banter of writers comfortable in the club of hardcover publishing. I loved the Guild’s fellowship but even after I became a real member, I felt second-class because my books weren’t literature.
This feeling was underscored by a snub from The Cheshire Cat, the famous children’s‑only bookstore in the tony part of D.C. The Cheshire Cat was my mecca. I dropped hundreds of dollars on new books, including texts on children’s literature for my collection. But I was told I didn’t qualify for an author signing because my books weren’t for the library market. However, once a year, members of the Children’s Book Guild were invited to a reception and group signing. For those Brigadoon evenings, I bought a new outfit. My paperbacks with their photo-realistic covers (so kids would know what they were buying) seemed trifling next to weighty stacks of hardcover books with artistic dust jackets.
Eventually my books were published in hardcover: fiction, nonfiction, picture books. The paperback originals I continued to write sold in the tens of thousands and paid the bills. My husband and I moved, too far for me to drive to Guild luncheons. I fed my children’s lit fix with week-long conferences at Shenandoah University. How I loved strolling around the campus, eating in the cafeteria like a real student (Froot Loops for lunch!), mingling with teachers and librarians.
Next, I treated myself to Children’s Literature New England, an international symposium held at various New England universities. A week of heady discussions and famous speakers left me dizzy: Gregory Maguire, John Rowe Townsend, Paul and Ethel Heins. I yearned to be a smart, serious writer whose papers and speeches were published in prestigious journals. But I was still the girl from rural Willow Springs, Virginia, who never went to college. I attended CLNE for four (expensive) summers, once in England, then stopped, knowing I’d never really belong to that rarified group. Maybe if I got a degree, I’d be legitimate.
There were plenty of college programs for adults. What kept me from getting an undergraduate degree? Math. You won’t find anyone less inept with numbers. Then another back window opened. Vermont College of Fine Arts let me pursue an MFA in writing for children. I was fifty and had never stayed in a dorm. After graduating from VCFA, I was accepted in Hollins University’s graduate program in children’s literature. Now I’d be able to understand the scholarly texts in my collection! Maybe even write papers that would be published in journals!
On the very first day in my very first class, “History and Criticism of Children’s Literature,” a student dropped the term dialogic, referencing a text we were reading. I copied it in my notes, whispering, “Dialogic … what is that? Crap! I am so up the creek!” Despite my fears (and three more summers of dorm life), I felt in my element in the Children’s Literature Alcove, a room devoted to sources and books. I earned my MA by writing passionate papers on the books I loved as a child, ignoring close reading analyses and popular critical theories. Never once did I use academic jargon. No one suggested I submit my papers to journals.
I walked with my class at commencement in May 2008 and in June I was teaching in the program. I enjoyed my students, who only a few months ago had been my classmates, and my apartment (private bathroom!). As faculty, I advised thesis students, attended conferences, and listened to scholarly papers. My colleagues were brilliant. Most of my students were brilliant. I felt like an imposter. Any second someone would find out. My diplomas would turn to dust.
Where did I fit in the world of that big green textbook I picked up fifty years ago? Would I ever make my contribution to children’s literature?
This time a door opened. After I’d written several pieces for Bookology’s Knock Knock column, Vicki Palmquist asked if I’d like my own column. I said yes. We called it Big Green Pocketbook, after my most successful picture book. BGP became the place where I put my thoughts about children’s literature.
I count myself lucky to be in the company of wonderful writers, illustrators, teachers, librarians, and other professionals who devote their lives to creating and sharing children’s books. Bookology makes me feel real. At last, I belong.
It’s so hard, isn’t it– finding where you fit?
Cynthia: Yes, it’s hard finding where we fit in this world. At the age of 11, I was so sure I would be a writer and it would all come easily and naturally. Thank heavens kids can dream! It did not come easily and naturally! Many days, still, I feel like giving up. I never do because I simply love the books too much.
Candice, your column sent me to my bookshelves filled with children’s books to pull down FAIRY TALES OLD old and new by May Hill Arbuthnot, purchased in 1952 while I was a brand new third grade teacher. It has followed me for all these years…I never reached your heights, but my college did give me a Distinguished Alumni Award a few years ago — based, I think, on my community service more than the few books I’ve had published. (Or the need to have an old woman with a cane to walk out on the field at Homecoming?!) Thanks for sharing your story. If you were close and… Read more »
Norma: You deserve that Alumni Award and many more besides. You read to your children (and still are!). I come from a non-reading family. No one read aloud to me until I started school. I struggled to learn to read (didn’t learn till second grade) so I could get into those stories. Your students and children are better people for your reading to them and sharing stories. And I’d give you a hug, too!
Oh, I can relate! There is something reassuring knowing a brilliant writer like you has had the same misgivings. Thanks for this!
Love this retrospective of your career. ALSO, I read a lot of Apple Paperbacks and Going on Twelve looks very familiar. What year did it publish?
Melanie: I loved Apple paperbacks! They were fun and affordable for kids. Going on Twelve was part of an unintentional series called Kobie Roberts. I wrote Thirteen first, then Fourteen and Holding with the same character, then Fifteen at Last. The books were doing so well that I was asked to “go backwards,” which I did with Going on Twelve (published 1988), and finishing up with Almost Ten and a Half.
Dear Candice, We are so hard on ourselves as authors, aren’t we, always waiting to be “found out” as imposters. I am so grateful for my writing mentor, Judy Delton. When, at the age of 40, I was taking classes from her, sitting around her dining room table with other hopeful writers, I so badly wanted to be a serious writer of children’s Literature (with a capital “L”). Judy was the one who helped me find my voice as a humorous writer, and told me that there was nothing inferior about writing funny books for kids. She stopped me from trying to be something that I wasn’t.… Read more »
David, I’m a fan of your books and am so glad you commented. Judy Delton’s work paved the way for many of us – I loved her series books and used them as models. Lucky you for taking classes from her. My earliest books sold and I received fan mail. Now that I’m aiming for Literature, I have not so great sales and never get any fan mail (part of this is a sign of the times – no one writes letters). You learned a valuable lesson early – be yourself. I think I’m still learning that … Thanks for commenting!
Candice, Although I haven’t published any books, I used to feel like an imposter in my own chosen field, a feeling that we can never have enough education. Your books are well-loved.
Vicki, you are one of the smartest people I know, but you are also kind and caring, a combination that few achieve. I still long for a PhD (ridiculous considering I hated writing papers in grad school!) though I’m not sure why. I substitute reading all I can, my own post-graduate school.
Hi Candice. I felt like an imposter in my graduate courses and then my advisor told me about “imposter syndrome.” It’s a real thing, or as much of a thing as one makes it. Now that I teach graduate students, I have them read about imposter syndrome, and so many of them identify with it. Once uncovered, it can be overcome! Thank you for relating your experiences because so many of us can identify with them.
Heidi: I have never heard of imposter syndrome and will look it up! In a way, feeling inferior my entire life has been an odd gift: I’ve worked harder. I always felt I was “behind” because I didn’t get an undergraduate degree. So I worked and worked and worked … and one day, I looked around and realized I was well ahead of many of my peers. It was such a strange feeling. Then I put my head back down and barreled on.
Aimee: I love your picture books and your nature-themed work! I am so far from brilliant it’s not funny. I simply work hard all the time. I have never acknowledged “talent” as a factor in success, but discipline and drive. After 40 years of full-time book-writing, I admit I’m a little tired!
Candice, I feel like this all the time. Sometimes the feeling of being an imposter has kept me from joining in conversations or pursuing opportunities – for fear of being found out. Thanks for the inspiration to overcome fear and dive in! I’m wondering, too, whether this feeling of being an outsider sometimes fuels our empathy and ability to create characters who truly connect with readers facing their own insecurities.
Catherine: I think you are on to something here. I never thought that being an outsider – something I’ve been my entire life – helps me create characters who, I hope, readers can connect with. Most of my characters are outsiders themselves. Your comment about fear of being found out – I know that feeling, too! I wouldn’t raise my hand in class when I knew the answer and no one else did because I thought I was probably wrong. And at conferences and other events where the audience can ask questions – I never, ever ask a question, not wanting to call attention to myself or sound dumb. So glad you and others commented, making… Read more »