Category: Graff Paper

This is an excerpt from issue #10 of Graff Paper, my monthly newsletter. Sign up now and I’ll send you a free book or audiobook—while supplies last! (U.S. addresses only, please.)

I’ve Got the Whole World in My Hands—I’d Better Not Drop the Ball

“Why did you want to become a writer?”

Earlier this year, I announced my intention to begin a deep, soul-searching essay probing this question. As projects piled up and each month became busier than the last, I took many mental notes for that essay but I have yet to begin it.

But I am asked that question several times each week by kids during the Q&A part of my virtual school visits. (They also show enduring interest in when I published my first book, how many books I’ve written, how long it takes to write a book, and which one is my favorite.)

For years I’ve answered the “why” question with generalities, saying, “I don’t know—I think I’ve always been a writer.” When I was five, I explain, I told a story to my father, who typed it up and made it look tantalizingly professional; when I was in sixth grade, I wrote, drew, and assembled little hardcover books; when I was in high school, I wrote a novella. I add that I loved to read and always dreamed of being an author on the shelf next to writers I admired.

I like writing because I decide what happens.

But I never answered that question in a way that satisfied me until a couple of weeks ago, when I dug deeper than I had before. I thought about the feeling of peace and satisfaction that comes over me when I’m writing. I pondered the pleasures of building something out of words.

And I said something like, “I like writing because I decide what happens. The real world can be a confusing and unpredictable place—it feels that way more than ever this year, doesn’t it?—but when I’m telling a story, I’m creating a world where I’m in control of everything, and it’s nice to escape to a place like that for a little while every day.”

Zoom school visits have their disadvantages: I can’t hear murmurs or laughter, and body language can be hard to read. And yet I still felt that answer resonate. With a contentious election looming, a pandemic raging, and so much uncertainty in the air, I could tell kids were taking that on board. I saw teachers nodding.

Writing it down now, it feels like a simplistic answer and yet it still feels like the truest one.

Over the years, I’ve spoken to thousands upon thousands of young readers, and at each stop, I hope that I’ve inspired a few of them to read more books and to write their own stories. I hope they feel empowered to imagine a better fictional world—and I hope they grow up to help us create a better real world, too.

This is an excerpt from issue #9 of Graff Paper, my monthly newsletter. Sign up now and I’ll send you a free book or audiobook—while supplies last! (U.S. addresses only, please.)

One true joy of my writing life is visiting schools in person to share my middle-grade novels. Yes, school visits have a business purpose, but there’s more to it than that: as I explain how books work, I try to inspire kids to be brave writers and insatiable readers. Having learned over the years to hold the attention of hundreds of wiggly fourth- and fifth-graders in libraries, auditoriums, and gyms, I am now able to relax in the moment and enjoy the connections we create. I never fail to feel energized afterward.

This year, all my school visits are virtual, a wrinkle the size of the Rocky Mountains. As I labored to create a presentation for The Tiny Mansion, I had so many questions: Will I be able hold the attention of screen-stunned students? How will we interact? What if we have Zoom-bombers?

I’m pleased to report that virtual school visits are completely worthwhile.

By making my presentation shorter than ever before (20-25 minutes), but with even more slides (72!), and audience polls, I figured I’d probably done as much as I could do on my end. But that was only half the struggle. Stressed, overworked educators are still learning to manage large groups on Zoom and Google Meet. Every school district has its own unique way of doing things—and some of them, out of concern for keeping kids safe, make it almost impossible for librarians to bring in authors.

Would the students and I even have fun?

I’m pleased to report that virtual school visits are completely worthwhile. Yes, they’re a high-wire act, but the technology isn’t nearly as much of a barrier as I’d expected. The biggest issue for me is that, because the kids are on mute, I can’t hear them laugh—but I can see their faces, and in those tiny rectangles I can distinguish excitement, engagement, and even nerves as they work up their courage to ask a question. When they unmute, I can hear their voices, and for every “this is more of a comment than a question,” there’s a query that challenges me to rise to the occasion.

And as for the teachers and librarians, I’m hard pressed to identify a more indomitable bunch. It isn’t easy on the students’ side of the screen, but to see teachers adapt lesson plans on the fly, learn new technology on short notice, manage atomized classrooms, and do it without all the tools of physical presence has been truly astonishing. One of the sweetest scenes I’ve seen so far was kids cheerfully helping their librarian, whom they obviously loved, locate the dashboard button she was searching for.

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Last spring, I planned to write this newsletter about the disparities in resources I often see on school visits. Sometimes when I walk into a building, it’s immediately apparent that a school has a wealth of tax dollars and parent volunteers, as well as students who are used to seeing authors regularly. I’ve also often seen the exact opposite far too many times. On my first virtual visit, I had a fleeting, happy thought that Zoom might level the playing field and make it harder to see some of those differences. But this was soon followed by a much more troubling thought—that I may not end up seeing any of those under-resourced schools at all.

But I’ll keep trying.