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Curiouser and Curiouser with Kao Kalia Yang

When A Map into the World found its way to my desk last year, I had to remind myself to breathe. This gem of a book cap­tures feel­ings of love and friend­ship in a way that cross­es gen­er­a­tions and speaks to each of our hearts. What else had she writ­ten, I won­dered? Her mem­oir for grownups, The Late­home­com­er: a Hmong Fam­i­ly Mem­oir, caused quite a stir when it was pub­lished in 2009. She fol­lowed that book with a book about her father, The Song Poet. If you haven’t read them yet, I high­ly rec­om­mend that you do so. Kali­a’s lan­guage is not only lyri­cal and soul-touch­ing, but her vision is pierc­ing, her sto­ry­telling astute. Her newest pic­ture book, The Shared Room, will be released in June. It is the sto­ry of a fam­i­ly’s grief at the loss of a child, a sis­ter, a daugh­ter. It is a book that will help you when your own need to grieve presents itself. The Shared Room will encour­age your chil­dren to devel­op their own empa­thy. We are for­tu­nate that Kalia gen­er­ous­ly answered our ques­tions about the work she does and how she does it.

What does your work­space look like?

I have a white desk before a white framed win­dow. There is a big fire­bush on the right side of the house and it is so big and tall that it now tan­gles with my per­spec­tive of the world out­side. In front of me, there’s a qui­et street. The house across the street is well-tend­ed but most­ly emp­ty; its own­ers live on a farm in a state down south and vis­it only once or twice a year. Our mutu­al neigh­bors, a lone­ly father and son, take care of their yard. It is lush, an even green. My own yard is not so lush or so green. The dan­de­lions love my yard. They flour­ish here among the grass: yel­low blooms, low to the ground. I stand at this desk or I sit before it and I write when­ev­er I can.

Kao Kalia Yang's office

Kao Kalia Yang’s office

What memen­tos do you have near your writ­ing space?

There is a pic­ture on the wall to the right of my desk. It was a wed­ding gift from a men­tor of my husband’s, whose hus­band, Peter Leach, took it at the Japan­ese gar­den at Como Con­ser­va­to­ry — when they heard that I loved the place. There’s dark water reflect­ing the tan­gling of tree limbs, bare bark, ris­ing from green growth among big rocks, set against a back­drop of dark­er green. In the mir­ror of the still water, tree debris float like speck­les across ancient glass, there is a touch of sky, against its light, we see the reflec­tion of the limbs. I know the gar­den well but I do not know where this pho­to was tak­en and I like it that way. There is a touch of mys­tery, a sto­ry that I don’t know even as I love what I can see, what it remem­bers, what it recalls.

What are your writ­ing tools of choice?

I jour­nal before I write. I write on my lap­top. My jour­nal­ing is for me. I use up note­books, some actu­al diaries and spe­cial books I’ve received as gifts, but I’m not choosy. I’ll hap­pi­ly take up a reg­u­lar note­book and work my way through, line by line, page by page. I write with the every­day pens I find lit­tered about the house, the free ones that I receive at writ­ing con­fer­ences, the few from col­lege pres­i­dents giv­en to me as gifts, the many from old­er men and women who come to my read­ings, ask for my sig­na­ture, and give me as a token of their gen­eros­i­ty, the writ­ing uten­sils from their purs­es and pock­ets. There is no greater sat­is­fac­tion for me than to see a pen’s ink run out in my hands, to see the words fad­ing into the impres­sions I’ve made on the paper. I jour­nal the mun­dane details of my life, upload all man­ners of feel­ings and thoughts that cloud my head, shift my focus, and store my prob­lems away before I tack­le the work of actu­al writ­ing on the lap­top. Jour­nal­ing is my way of meet­ing the world as I know it before jour­ney­ing to worlds unknown to me.

Kao Kalia Yang

Kao Kalia Yang (pho­to cred­it: Shee Yang)

Do you have a rou­tine or a rit­u­al about writ­ing? A cer­tain time of day, a way you begin? Do you write every day?

Before I had chil­dren, there were things I loved to do in the morn­ings. I liked to water my col­lec­tion of orchids, my vines, the grow­ing things around me. I made a cup of hot mint tea and admired the things out­side of my win­dows, one at a time. When I made it to my writ­ing space, I turned on my feet warmer (I work in Min­neso­ta!) and then I opened my jour­nal and I start­ed there, then tran­si­tioned to my lap­top. I sipped from the hot cup, watched the steam rise and rise and rise and the words flowed from my fin­gers just like air.

After I had chil­dren, the over­whelm­ing feel­ing was of exhaus­tion and while time stopped at all hours of the night with the most imme­di­ate child in my arms, each time I made it to the page at all, whether only to my jour­nal or that and the lap­top, all I could do was pon­der the sweet, gift of sleep. I was so tired all the time. To stay up, I shift­ed the mint tea into Earl Gray. I turned off the feet warmer. I cracked my neck. I hunched over my desk and I made myself work. Writ­ing became hard work. All the rit­u­als and rou­tines I’d loved were replaced but the ele­ments I need­ed to ensure work could be done.

Now that the chil­dren are big­ger (a six-year-old girl, iden­ti­cal twin boys who are four) I’m some­where in between giv­ing into what I love each time I write and doing the work I need to do to ensure that the peo­ple I love are sup­port­ed by the work I do. I have dis­cov­ered that the only rit­u­al I need is the jour­nal­ing before the actu­al writ­ing, the depar­ture from where I am phys­i­cal­ly, emo­tion­al­ly, intel­lec­tu­al­ly into the place I want to go on the page.

How does an idea gath­er ener­gy for you to turn it into an essay or book?

Every essay I have writ­ten or book I’ve worked on first began as a feel­ing I car­ried at some state of the world, some lived expe­ri­ences, some sto­ry some­one shared that pierced me. I car­ry it for hours, days, months, some­times years until there is no more room inside of me to house them any­more. Then, I turn to what I know to oust these feel­ings into the page, offer them to the world in the hopes that they will find a home else­where, live as a brethren and a friend — not one more thing I must car­ry. Each thing I write first began as occu­pied ter­ri­to­ry inside of me, a feel­ing that holds my heart tight and squeezes and squeezes until there is rupture/rapture.

You have now had two pic­ture books pub­lished. How do you go about this kind of writ­ing in a way that is dif­fer­ent than writ­ing mem­oir or biog­ra­phy or the essays you write for The On Being Project?

Pic­ture books are an offer­ing to enter into a gen­tler space. They are a con­fined form; all I have is 32 pages to do the work of the sto­ry. They are col­lab­o­ra­tive. The words I write must have the abil­i­ty to con­jure up not only a set­ting and char­ac­ters, but a sto­ry in the mind of anoth­er artist. Where I begin is only that: a begin­ning.

When I write for adults, it is very dif­fer­ent. I have more room to play in exper­i­men­tal forms and page num­bers. I’m not rely­ing on another’s artis­tic con­tri­bu­tion to make the book whole. I am in charge of the descrip­tions that will evoke set­ting, char­ac­ters, and the sto­ry in my read­ers. I am in charge of the begin­ning, the mid­dle, and the end of the sto­ry (of course with the assis­tance of edi­tors, copy edi­tors, and the pub­lish­ing team).

So, when I write for chil­dren, I have to write with a lighter hand, a more restrained hand, but also one that can fly at a moment’s notice. I have to leave room for the illus­tra­tor to enter with their imag­i­na­tion and their con­tri­bu­tions. I have to remem­ber that the world of chil­dren is a ten­der thing. I have to think about the work of a page turn very dif­fer­ent­ly than I do in the world of adult writ­ing; adults are chas­ing sto­ries, caught in the grip of lan­guage, chil­dren are curi­ous beings, their page turns are more like the end­ing of a line of poet­ry; it is a leap of faith, a space where any­thing is pos­si­ble. It is a fact in the world of children’s lit­er­a­ture than any­thing can hap­pen to a child at any point in time; time and space are not gov­erned by sim­ple knowl­edge; every children’s book author is mak­ing fire, blow­ing, blow­ing, gen­tle breath into embers, push­ing kin­dling close, hop­ing to light a fire for­ev­er. It is a dif­fer­ent respon­si­bil­i­ty entire­ly.

What is the process you go through to find the right words for a pic­ture book?

At first, I play with a sto­ry. I begin some­where and I take it all the way to the end. I can do this with pic­ture books because they are a short­er form. Once I have the first draft, I read it and see if I’m moved by it. If I am, I share it with trust­ed fam­i­ly and see if they are moved by it, too. I’m not look­ing for edits at this point. I’m not edit­ing myself. I’m look­ing for emo­tion­al hon­esty, hop­ing to con­nect and to build a strong emo­tion, to see if sto­ry I’ve writ­ten is alive. Once I deter­mine that there is indeed the spark of life, then I share it with a pro­fes­sion­al, an edi­tor or an agent, and see how they feel. If they are in, then we are in. We have some­thing to work with and work from, to direct and to pro­duce. I’m not mar­ried to the par­tic­u­lars of my first drafts, but I’m def­i­nite­ly look­ing at the draft to see if I can com­mit for­ev­er. Once I com­mit, I will do every­thing with­in my pow­er to make it the most healthy and beau­ti­ful and life sus­tain­ing thing I can.

Do you pic­ture your audi­ence while you are writ­ing your books? Are you aware of the read­ers with whom you’re shar­ing your mind and imag­i­na­tion?

I don’t pic­ture my audi­ence when I’m writ­ing at all. I don’t think about them seri­ous­ly. I know they are out there. I know they can be any­one. I want to keep that sur­prise alive in my writ­ing. I want an old man to pick up one of my pic­ture books and see his long lost grand­child peek­ing from the pages. I want a lit­tle girl some­where to meet one of my sto­ries and find some dream that they’ve had but couldn’t quite artic­u­late. I want that mag­ic to per­me­ate into my process so I nev­er lim­it my audi­ences to the folk I can imag­ine would be inter­est­ed in my work.

With that said, I do take very seri­ous­ly my respon­si­bil­i­ties as a writer, my oblig­a­tions to my read­ers. I want to ensure that the mind and the imag­i­na­tion they are tan­gling with is as pure and as unadul­ter­at­ed as pos­si­ble, the real deal.

What have you dis­cerned about the illustrator’s role in cre­at­ing a pic­ture book?

Illus­tra­tors are magi­cians and wiz­ards and witch­es and fairies and they have pow­er like ghosts to haunt, like vam­pires to suck blood from ink, the sacred abil­i­ty to trans­form the world of a writer’s sto­ry for­ev­er and always. An illus­tra­tor is car­ry­ing the oth­er side of the pole. Between us is a boil­ing caul­dron of melt­ed gold sea­soned with pearls, dia­mond, and all man­ners of pre­cious­ness. We are bal­anc­ing that trea­sure between us. We have to walk in-step, keep our bal­ance, hold our end of the bar­gain, and make sure there’s no trip­ping. I have so much respect and trust in illus­tra­tors and their tal­ent. They make books beau­ti­ful. I’m so thank­ful they are in our world. But do I under­stand them? Not real­ly. I also pre­fer it this way: to pre­serve the mys­tery and the mag­ic of their process.

Kalia, thank you for shar­ing your­self with our read­ers. I know they will grow to love your books as much as I do.

Intrigued? Please vis­it Kao Kalia Yang’s web­site for more infor­ma­tion and a selec­tion of her books.

books by Kao Kalia Yang


Curiouser and Curiouser with Lee Bennett Hopkins

Lee Bennett Hopkins

Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins

As I read each of Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins’ col­lec­tions of poet­ry, I find my curios­i­ty piqued: “How does he do this?” When I was a grad stu­dent, I came across Mr. Hop­kins’ book, Books Are by Peo­ple: inter­views with 104 authors and illus­tra­tors of books for young chil­dren. Those inter­views pro­voked my imag­i­na­tion and pro­pelled my career. It’s a priv­i­lege to be inter­view­ing Mr. Hop­kins for Bookol­o­gy.

Lee: My good­ness! Between 1969 and 1974 I inter­viewed 169 book peo­ple; l04 in Books Are By Peo­ple and 65 in More Books by More Peo­ple. Thank you for remind­ing me of these incred­i­ble adven­tures.

You have been an edu­ca­tor, an author, and an influ­encer. How did you turn to poet­ry books as a path in your life’s work?

I began to real­ize the impor­tance of poet­ry when I began teach­ing sixth grade in Fair Lawn, New Jer­sey, in 1960. I used verse with all stu­dents but found that slow­er read­ers were excit­ed over poems. Vocab­u­lary was often with­in their reach, works were short; more impor­tant we learned that more could some­times be said and felt in 8 or l0 or l2 lines than some­times an entire nov­el could con­vey.

Been to YesterdaysBeing a city child my entire life, I think the rust­ed metronome start­ed beat­ing, telling me to write ‘city.’ “Hydrants” was the first poem I wrote for chil­dren. At a din­ner par­ty of her home in Long Island, I read it to May Swen­son, one of America’s most renowned poets, who told me she liked it. I was hooked. This led me to cre­at­ing Been to Yes­ter­days: Poems of a Life (Boyds Mills Press/Wordsong). Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished in 1995, now close to 25 years since its pub­li­ca­tion, the book is being used in Al-Anon pro­grams, youth groups, and stud­ied in writ­ing cours­es. In essence, it is about a strug­gling teen who wants to “make/ this world/a whole lot brighter” to grow up to become a writer.” My life has been, is, blessed with poet­ry.

After teach­ing six years and get­ting my master’s degree at Bank Street Col­lege in New York (when Bank Street was on Bank Street in Green­wich Vil­lage), I was offered a job to work at Bank Street’s Resource Cen­ter in Harlem, enrich­ing lan­guage arts cur­ric­u­la into class­room pro­grams with an empha­sis on poet­ry.

Don't You Turn BookOn May 22, 1967, when Hugh­es died, I could not share his only book for chil­dren, The Dream­keep­er and Oth­er Poems, pub­lished in l932, due to the stereo­typ­i­cal depic­tion of blacks. I bold­ly called Vir­ginia Fowler, edi­tor at Knopf, ask­ing why a new edi­tion had nev­er been done. Vir­ginia asked me to lunch, also sug­gest­ing I do a new col­lec­tion. The result was one of my first antholo­gies, Don’t You Turn Back: Poems by Langston Hugh­es, illus­trat­ed in won­drous two-col­or wood­cut engrav­ings by Ann Gri­fal­coni (l969). In addi­tion to a host of awards, it was an ALA Notable.

In 1994, the 75th Anniver­sary edi­tion of The Dream Keep­er was pub­lished with wood engrav­ings by Bri­an Pinkney. I was invit­ed to write the intro­duc­tion to the book by Janet Schul­man, an icon in our indus­try.

The Dream KeeperI then began to do many antholo­gies with the aim to bring a bevy of poets’ works to chil­dren.

Hook­ing chil­dren on read­ing at a young age is imper­a­tive. I believe they should be read to in the womb! Poet­ry, in par­tic­u­lar, brings a sense of song, melody, sootheness into a child’s life. This can be a life­long gift.

Which comes first: the idea for a book of poet­ry, the theme, or do poems swirl about you until they sug­gest a col­lec­tion?

Each of the three above hap­pen. At times I get an idea or focus on a theme; at oth­er times poems do swirl that sug­gest a col­lec­tion.

What are the steps by which you gath­er poems for a book?

I have a vast library of poet­ry to turn to. Thank­ful­ly, I have a very good mem­o­ry. Ask me for a ‘horse’ poem, a poem about piz­za, or a poem about a jacaran­da tree and I’ll have it for you in min­utes. If I am cre­at­ing a new col­lec­tion of poems espe­cial­ly com­mis­sioned for a book, I issue a BY INVITATION ONLY to a select group of poets.

Do you scout new poets?

At times I do. How­ev­er, “new” poets scout me. I real­ize how dif­fi­cult it is to get one’s work into an anthol­o­gy since very few are pub­lished each year. Hard­ly more than two to five are pub­lished annu­al­ly.  A pic­ture book themed poet­ry col­lec­tion might have between 16 to 20 poems. Major poets must be includ­ed. How­ev­er, I love giv­ing new voic­es a chance. I have start­ed many poets on their path to suc­cess.

Do you visu­al­ize how a poet­ry book will be laid out when you’re select­ing poems?

All of my col­lec­tions have an arc. I want read­ers to read a col­lec­tion as if they were read­ing any book. There is a begin­ning, mid­dle, and end.

When you’re assem­bling a new book, do you think about bal­ance? Col­or? Sound?

Most def­i­nite­ly. All of these are impor­tant.

A sampling

A sam­pling of Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins’ pop­u­lar poet­ry antholo­gies

Do you ever run out of the right poems for a book? What do you do then?

For­tu­nate­ly, I work with pro­fes­sion­al writ­ers who will go back to the “draw­ing board.” It some­times takes many rewrites to get to the place where one feels the work is done. Poets only want their best to be pub­lished.

What are the tools you work with? Pen, scis­sors, jour­nals, the com­put­er?

I work on the com­put­er. Poets send work via email attach­ments. I print them, edit them, often cut and paste. Some­times a poem comes through full-blown; at oth­er times a poet and I will work togeth­er.

What does your work­space look like?

I work in my library/study sur­round­ed by thou­sands of books. I have a large cher­ry-wood desk com­mis­sioned by an Amish crafts­man ide­al for space, fil­ing, etc.

Lee Bennett Hopkins' office

Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins at work in his library/study

Some of the bookshelves in Lee Bennett Hopkins' office

Do you work in silence? Or is there sound sur­round­ing you?

I work in total silence. I love the noth­ing­ness of qui­et. I have a per­fect view from the win­dows in my study, look­ing out at sway­ing palm trees, a rush­ing water­fall, beau­ti­ful sculp­ture. I’m star­ing at all this as I write now. Mag­ic in the mak­ing.

The view from Lee Bennett Hopkins' office window

The view from Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins’ office win­dow

The fountain and grotto at night

The foun­tain at night

What is your favorite object in your work­space?

I have many. A few? A piece of wood sculp­ture the poet and dear­est friend Aileen Fish­er made for me. A let­ter open­er from a won­drous friend who died far too ear­ly in life. A bronze bust of Har­ri­et Tub­man with a sto­ry too long to tell. A paper­weight designed by Tri­na Schart Hyman that launched the first issue of Crick­et mag­a­zine. And shelf upon shelf of trea­sured auto­graphed books by author-friends, lit­er­al­ly A‑Z — Alma Flor Ada to Char­lotte Zolo­tow. These are a life­time of trea­sures.

What pleas­es you about the work you do?

My entire career has been devot­ed to bring­ing chil­dren and poet­ry togeth­er. Poet­ry is life in its deep­est form.

You leave the chil­dren of the world with the gift of poet­ry. We’re thank­ful for the work you’ve done, the wis­dom you’ve shown, the ded­i­ca­tion that has shared poems that res­onate with indi­vid­ual read­ers. Thank you, Mr. Hop­kins, for your con­tri­bu­tions to the world of lit­er­a­ture.

Lee: AND … I thank YOU for bring­ing chil­dren and books togeth­er.

Lee Bennett Hopkins Guinness Book of World Records

Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins is in the Guin­ness Book of World Records as the per­son who has pub­lished the most poet­ry antholo­gies, num­ber­ing 113 in 2011 when he broke the record.

Intrigued? Please vis­it Lee Ben­nett Hop­kins’ web­site for more infor­ma­tion and a wider selec­tion of books.


Curiouser and Curiouser with Melissa Stewart

Pipsqueaks, Slowpokes, and StinkersThis month we’re fea­tur­ing Melis­sa Stew­art, author of sci­ence books for young read­ers and a seem­ing­ly tire­less advo­cate for read­ing non­fic­tion books, par­tic­u­lar­ly expos­i­to­ry non­fic­tion (“5 Kinds of Non­fic­tion”). Melis­sa has writ­ten more than 180 books in her career, the first of which was pub­lished in 1998 and the most recent of which is Pipsqueaks, Slow­pokes, and Stinkers: Cel­e­brat­ing Ani­mal Under­dogs (illus­trat­ed by Stephanie Laberis, pub­lished by Peachtree Pub­lish­ers). We recent­ly put our heads togeth­er for an inter­view address­ing our curios­i­ty about Melissa’s books and her work. Pull up a chair to the table and join us!

Do you work on more than one book at a time?

Yes, I usu­al­ly work on at least a half dozen books at a time. I might be writ­ing the rough draft of one and revis­ing one or two oth­ers. I might be research­ing one, and wait­ing for research mate­ri­als for anoth­er. I could be review­ing illus­tra­tor sketch­es or check­ing lay­outs or review­ing notes from an edi­tor or copy edi­tor. There’s a lot of jug­gling. Each day, before I stop work­ing, I make a list of what I plan to work on the next day. This helps to keep me orga­nized.

Melissa Stewart

Melis­sa Stew­art

You work on many dif­fer­ent types of books with­in the pletho­ra of knowl­edge about our nat­ur­al world. How do you clear your head to work on a joke book after you’ve writ­ten about the droughts in our world?

Some­times it’s a strug­gle, espe­cial­ly when I need to shift gears between writ­ing with a live­ly, humor­ous voice and a more lyri­cal voice. If my voice is off, I stop writ­ing and start read­ing to get in the right mind­set. It’s sort of like cleans­ing my palate with sor­bet or pick­led gin­ger between dif­fer­ent cours­es of a meal.

You write for a vari­ety of pub­lish­ers includ­ing Peachtree Pub­lish­ers, Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Kids, Beach Lane Books, and Harper­Collins. Do you pitch your ideas to these com­pa­nies or do they come to you with ideas for the books they’d like?

A lit­tle bit of both. When pub­lish­ers have a large mass mar­ket series, such as Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Read­ers or HarperCollins’s Let’s‑Read-and-Find-Out-Science®, they usu­al­ly decide what top­ics they would like to add and then search for a writer. But for pic­ture books and oth­er trade books, I devel­op the idea. For pic­ture books, I need to sub­mit the com­plete man­u­script, and then the pub­lish­er may accept it or they may reject it. For longer books, I sub­mit a pro­pos­al with an out­line and writ­ing sam­ple.

author Melissa Stewart reading When Rain Falls with a kindergarten class

Author Melis­sa Stew­art read­ing When Rain Falls with a kinder­garten class

When you’re writ­ing a book that a pub­lish­er hired you to write, do you have para­me­ters with­in which you need to stay?

Yes. They give me a word count and usu­al­ly tell me what text fea­tures to include. I use exist­ing books in the series as mod­els.

Do you find that dif­fi­cult to do?

No. I find it com­fort­ing to have guide­lines. It’s sort of like putting togeth­er a jig­saw puz­zle. All the pieces are there. I just have to fig­ure out the right way to put them togeth­er.

With pic­ture books, I’m invent­ing the puz­zle. I find that chal­leng­ing, but I enjoy being able to exper­i­ment and play. It’s a more cre­ative expe­ri­ence.  

How do you keep your research orga­nized?

I don’t real­ly have a good sys­tem. I type all my notes into a Word file. Over time, it becomes unwieldy.

Before I start writ­ing, I think about the major cat­e­gories of infor­ma­tion I’ll need. Then I cut and paste, cut and paste to cre­ate major chunks of relat­ed infor­ma­tion. Depend­ing on the book, even these chunks can still be unwieldy. Thank good­ness Word allows me to do search­es to find exact­ly the infor­ma­tion I need.

Some­times I use index cards or sticky notes to help me decide the order in which these chunks will be pre­sent­ed in the book. I like that I can phys­i­cal­ly move them around.

Do you return to that research when you’re writ­ing a new book?

Some­times I try. After all, it would be more effi­cient, but there are two rea­sons that it usu­al­ly doesn’t work out.

  1. Because our knowl­edge of the world is chang­ing so quick­ly, notes I took 5 or even 3 years ago may be out of date.
  2. Even when I include the same ani­mal in two books, my hook is inevitably dif­fer­ent, so my notes may not have the spe­cif­ic details I need.

Who finds the pho­tos that are includ­ed in your books?

Some­times me. Some­times a pho­to researcher who works for the pub­lish­ing com­pa­ny. And some­times we work togeth­er. It depends on the pub­lish­er and the project.

Can an Aardvark Bark, Under the Snow, A Place for Birds

Do you have any input for the illus­tra­tors who have worked on books such as Can an Aard­vark Bark? and Under the Snow and A Place for Birds?

Some­times I play a role in select­ing the illus­tra­tor, and some­times I don’t. It depends on the pub­lish­er and the project. Some­times I pro­vide a pack­age of ref­er­ence mate­ri­als for the illus­tra­tor.

Because I’m the con­tent expert, I always have an oppor­tu­ni­ty to review the illustrator’s sketch­es and com­ment on any­thing that isn’t sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly sound. It isn’t unusu­al for the illus­tra­tor to do sev­er­al sets of sketch­es. S/he keeps work­ing until all the details in the art are accu­rate.

Melissa Stewart's office

a look at Melis­sa Stew­art’s office

If you could break your week down into the per­cent­ages of what you do, how much time do you spend on the dif­fer­ent tasks required of a suc­cess­ful writer?

This has shift­ed a lot over the years. When my first book was pub­lished 20 years ago, authors weren’t expect­ed to play a role in mar­ket­ing. Most children’s books were sold to schools and libraries. But in the ear­ly 2000s, school book bud­gets were slashed and many school librar­i­ans lost their jobs. For a while, there were sev­er­al large brick-and-mor­tar book­store chains, and they were major play­ers in the mar­ket. But now, most of them are gone.

Today social media is explod­ing and authors are expect­ed to be active­ly involved in sell­ing their books. And so I spend a lot of time blog­ging and tweet­ing and devel­op­ing mate­ri­als for my web­site. That means I have less time to actu­al­ly work on books.

While there real­ly is no typ­i­cal day or week, I can say that I now spend only about 50 per­cent of my time work­ing on books. The rest of the time is devot­ed to mar­ket­ing, speak­ing at schools, attend­ing con­fer­ences, and read­ing recent­ly pub­lished children’s books.

Of the time I do spend work­ing on books, prob­a­bly about 50 per­cent of the time is spent phys­i­cal­ly writ­ing. The rest of the time, I’m doing research, devel­op­ing ideas for new projects, or read­ing adult books and arti­cles about sci­ence.

What’s your favorite aspect of your career?

The phys­i­cal act of writ­ing, espe­cial­ly those mag­i­cal hours “spent in the flow.” But a close sec­ond is spend­ing time in schools speak­ing with and lis­ten­ing to kids.

What do you wish were dif­fer­ent about your career?

I don’t think any­one likes rejec­tions, but it’s an inevitable part of the writ­ing process.

If you could select one of your back­list titles, which book would you like to see peo­ple read­ing with more fre­quen­cy? Can you tell us why?

Because sci­ence is always chang­ing, some of my old­er books con­tain infor­ma­tion that is out of date. In fact, I some­times cheer when I find out a title is going out of print. I’m more than hap­py to have young read­ers focus on titles I’ve pub­lished in the last 5 or 6 years.

Curi­ous about Melissa’s books? Vis­it her web­site.

Edu­ca­tors, don’t miss the many, many resources Melis­sa has made avail­able for you. Her site is a ver­i­ta­ble trea­sure lode!

Melissa Stewart's Educators' Resources