I have been fascinated with falconry–the art of hunting using falcons, hawks, owls, and eagles—my whole life. In fact, I spent about 10 years attempting to write a book about a boy and a hawk, but it never quite worked.
Each month, we ask one distinguished author or illustrator to write an original post that reveals insights about their process and craft.
It’s important to remember how volatile the world was during World War I, and how fragile it remained in the aftermath. With this fragility came a new threat.
I spent the entire summer of 1978 at the local public library reading as much as I could find about the last tsar and his family, and of course about the mystery of Anastasia. Did she survive? Was she Anna Anderson? I felt like a young investigative reporter.
When my daughter was old enough, I told her stories about dark brown girls like herself, girls who sailed the skies and saved the world. It was important to me that she saw herself in stories.
“the condition of the human heart is unchanging. Your age, the period you live in, and your economic or cultural background don’t matter; we are all linked by our need to be loved and understood, and our fear of loneliness and sorrow.”
Injustice makes me want to leap into the fray and help, but it also leaves me with a feeling of helplessness because I’m not sure how to be most effective.
It had never occurred to me that authors could be (nearly) as important as teachers and librarians in the process of a child becoming a reader.
Much to my surprise, the question I heard most often, phrased in different ways, was: How do I write queer characters that are three-dimensional?
Years later, when I embarked upon writing The Underneath, I thought about how we are all subjected to hard things in our lives. We all experience pain.
For my upcoming book, I had to imagine what it might be like to be related to the Queen of England. To better imagine, I turned to research.