I’ve worn glasses since childhood. I really wanted them. I considered them an accessory rather than an albatross. I remember holding the huge black letter “E” in the wrong direction in the optometrist’s office, even though I could see the vision chart clearly. The doctor must have seen right through this ploy because my first pair of glasses did little to change my nearly perfect vision. Still, for the first week or so, I wore them religiously, glad to come into my third grade classroom appearing a little different than I had just days before.Guest Blogger: Jacqueline Woodson
I’ve worn glasses since childhood. I really wanted them. I considered them an accessory rather than an albatross. I remember holding the huge black letter “E” in the wrong direction in the optometrist’s office, even though I could see the vision chart clearly. The doctor must have seen right through this ploy because my first pair of glasses did little to change my nearly perfect vision. Still, for the first week or so, I wore them religiously, glad to come into my third grade classroom appearing a little different than I had just days before.
During 15-plus years of researching nonfiction for young readers I’ve learned that every project includes at least one pinch-me-is-this-really-happening moment. Such was the case as I researched the Memphis sanitation workers’ strike of 1968 for Marching to the Mountaintop: How Poverty, Labor Fights, and Civil Rights Set the Stage for Martin Luther King, Jr’s Final Hours (National Geographic, 2012).
Kids are forever asking me where I get my ideas. Usually I say, “I steal them.” This is true but incomplete, and today—right here, right now—I’m going to give the genuine answer. The eighth book in the “Ivy and Bean” series, Ivy and Bean: No News Is Good News (Chronicle Books, 2011), is about money and cheese. And wax. And journalism. Also, ethical business practices, the right to privacy, value, the economics of scarcity, and did I mention cheese? How do all these things end up in a book together? Where did they come from and how did I turn them into an “Ivy and Bean” story? Let me tell you ...
I’ve been writing and illustrating children's books for over a decade now. Wow, how time flies! But people are often surprised to hear that I came to this profession unexpectedly. Just like Scaredy Squirrel (Kids Can, 2006), who jumps out of his nut tree into the unknown, I leapt into the world of children’s books. It all started with an art project and a teacher who sent my Leon the Chameleon (Kids Can, 2001) mock-up to a publisher.
No Ordinary Day (Groundwood, 2011) is an uplifting, even joyful story—something you might not expect from a book about leprosy, an age-old disease that has disfigured millions and terrified billions.
I'm a writer because I never had the Creative Writing Class. You know the one I mean, the one that exhorts, "Write what you know. Write from your own experience." If I'd been limited to writing what I know, I'd have produced in these past forty years one unpublishable haiku.