Books are important. For those of us fortunate enough to have had them in our homes when we were small; to have had someone who was not only willing but eager to read those books to us, we were given a life-defining gift that opened new worlds with each turn of a page.
In my own case, our mother was both an avid reader and a lover of theater. She had the ability to take the written word and unleash its magic, transporting each of her six children to other times and places, into moments of heart-breaking grief and unbridled joy, to light our imaginations and teach us to think and to wonder. This “reader’s theater” built life-long book-lovers of her children.
I still remember the day our mother told us she had written a children’s book and was sending it to a publisher. I was wowed beyond words and proudly shared the news with all of my friends. Our mother had written a book that would excite other children just as the books on our shelves excited me! As it turned out, her worthy effort brought a rejection letter, a familiar sight for most authors. Although she continued to write, she lost confidence in her ability to find a place for her words in the world. But I will always remember the glow of that moment; the glow of knowing my mother had written a book.
Over the years, throughout most of my adult life, I too, dabbled with writing. The serious commitment though was a long time in coming. But come, it did. And one day, wonder of wonders, I became the person who had written a book. Last year, when I began accepting opportunities to do author visits, one of my first visits was to a local preschool. My assignment was to talk to tiny human beings about being an author and to then be their “guest-reader” during story time. And oh, it was a blast!
One month later, I was asked by the same preschool teacher if I could fill-in for a few days as her “teaching assistant.” That first morning, I remained in the classroom prepping craft materials while the teacher went to gather her pupils at the front door. As the patter of small feet hurrying down the hallway grew louder, I heard the teacher say, “Today, we have a special helper. Her name is Ms. Deb.”
This announcement was immediately followed by a little girl’s voice, exclaiming, “Ms. Deb?! The author?!”
It made my heart smile. It also reminded me of just how important books are to kids and how in awe they are of the people who pen them.
As an adult who gets out of bed each morning hoping, trying, yet quite often failing, to be the best version of myself, the “mystique” thing is hard for me to comprehend. And yet, the former child in me, the one who trusted and believed in the physical and emotional truths of the books I loved, understands it completely. As an author, I am humbled by that simple faith that children place in us and in the stories we tell. I will never take that responsibility lightly.
In this old photo, my granddaughter and I, “reading glasses” and all, cement our bond over books.
What a beautiful tribute to the power of books! I’m sure your mother would be very proud that you have become an author of such wonderful books!
Thank you, Karen! And I think you’re right about my mom. While she was still with us, she read or listened to every story I wrote, even when she was quite infirm. She encouraged and cheered me on for so many years.
Deb,
I just love this post! Not only for its humble sense of our responsibility as authors, but also for the joy of reading to young ones that you so clearly portray. As a former reading teacher who read to her students every day–even when I taught high school–and reads to and with her now grown daughter snippets of favorite books old and new to this day, I can attest to the joy and importance of sharing books with kids. Thanks for passing along this important message through this heartfelt blog post! I look forward to reading more from you.
And congratulations on your upcoming release!
Thank you so much, Judy! And yes, reading to children has always been a favorite pastime of mine as well. When my own children were young, we read every single night. Those memories are among my most treasured. You mentioned reading still with your grown daughter; my mother read aloud to my father, as well as to all of her children.
Deb,
I, too, had a mother who read to me everyday, and who passed on her love of reading and books to me. It was my grandmother who loved writing, as well, but like your mother, she lost her confidence after receiving several rejections. Fortunately, you and I have stuck with it through the rejections and are starting to reap the rewards. You have a wonderful storytelling voice (both in the writing and in the reading aloud of your words), and children will be lucky to read or listen to your books well into the future.
Thank you so much, Edie! Those of us who had books introduced to us when were very young were certainly given a gift! (So sorry for the delay in this response; it seems to have gotten lost somehow.)