📌 My Kidlit Writer Origin Story

Mostly, this is about how good it feels when you take lifelong blinders off.

If you know me, you know I’m a Julie Falatko fan. Well, she’s got a Substack, and today she shared a Q&A all about her journey to publication. Of course, as a fabulous IRL author of very many hilarious children's books, Julie had a lot to say on the subject (you should become a paid subscriber to read it and all the rest of her goodness!—or at least subscribe to the free stuff, which is totes great, too!), but what I kept coming back to was how weird this business is. I've lost count of how many times I've heard someone I'd always assumed was destined to be a kid's writer (essentially) say: "I just never saw (being an author) as a career path." Until, of course, one fateful day, they do.

Anyway, I started commenting on her post, but then I kept typing. And typing. Words spilled out like each of my fingers was (were?) a teapot spout, and my hands were very full of tea.

That broken dam of thoughts seemed like a sign maybe I should talk about how I got here. If not for others, for myself.

I, too, have loved doing this kind of creative work all my life but always had my blinders on to it as a profession.

What's weird is, in my case, I knew "book creating" was a job because I loved Beverly Cleary's Dear Mr. Henshaw (wherein the MC writes back and forth with an author named Boyd Henshaw) and Lois Lowry's Anastasia Krupnik books (whose MC has a literature professor and published poet for a father). Even so, it didn't dawn on me that being an author was something *I* could maybe do for a real job? (This sounds so dumb, but I think maybe it's partially because those characters were both men?--even though the writers of those characters were women!?!?!)

And I continued to wear my "Elayne can't be a professional kidlit writer" blinders, even as I did all the things that could/should have alerted me to this latent desire.

The "Lifelong Passion for Children's Literature" receipts include (but are not limited to):

Exhibit A: Me, age 4, super-psyched at owning my very first desk.

Exhibit B: My first publishing rejection, at the tender age of 8, back in 1986. (Followed soon by a second.)

Exhibit C: My 1989 "Student Library Aide Service Award." I was the only student to win this award that year--and definitely the only one who cared.

Exhibit D. Most damning of all, perhaps. My 1990 foray into writing middle grade, at age 12. Please note that this being my first attempt ever to write a novel did not deter me from declaring it #1 in a series. ("Boy was she ever wrong!!" 😂)

A large, all-female character cast! Can you guess which Babysitters series I was breathing in daily then?

Did I have picture books in my dorm room? Yes. Did I buy kids' books at yard sales, well before I had kids? Yes. Did I claim I "collected" kids' books to justify them when people wrinkled their brows and asked me about them? Yes. Despite these things (and many more), the author names and bio flaps of all those books I read and loved might as well have said "written by Other People (Not You, Elayne)" for all the authorly imagination I allowed myself.

It didn't help that it was only later in life that I saw my first "real-life" author. Before that, authors and illustrators might as well have been Hollywood stars—sure, you see them, but that doesn't mean you can be them. (We never had author visits at any school I went to!)

Then, of course, when I was in college, I did go to many author readings and signings—because I liked to read. But even then, I thought, "I finally belong....to the appreciative audience of readers!" (Which I do! We all do!)

It was around 2013 when I went my first David Sedaris book reading, and it changed everything—after that, I knew I wanted to be a funny writer. He just made it seem effortless! (Which, of course, it's not! Thankfully, I didn't know that at the time!) However, I did start writing—for an audience I imagined as adults (mostly funny things to amuse myself and—god help me—blogging) while running the Friends of the Library group at my local library and focusing extensively on the kids' section and kids' events (LOL). Unfortunately, every time I read what I wrote, I thought, "Why do I keep writing about my childhood? This is too weird and childish to submit anywhere. Bummer." (Yeah, the lightbulb never even flickered.)

And then, feeling like a humor writing failure in some ways, in 2018, I found myself creatively restless again. So I did what perhaps no one would do: I took a bunch of evening and weekend classes in (and this is true) beekeeping, script writing, collecting art, pickling and preserving vegetables, and, finally, a one-night-only class with Jessica Young and Sharon Cameron called "Writing and Publishing Books for Kids."

How to describe this class? If I'm being honest, I barely remember what they actually said. However, I get a flood of so.many.things every time I think about how I felt that evening. How warm, smart, and delightful Jessica and Sharon were. Seeing their gorgeous published books (by publishers whose names I recognized!) set out on a table, and what it felt to hold them in my hand while seeing two people who LOVED their job chatting happily about how they learned to do what they do. I remember my brain was babbling to itself: "OMG, OMG, OMG. Two intelligent local ladies can do that?!?! Maybe you/I can do that?!?! " I also remember slow-walking out of that class with a signed book from Jessica, completely BUZZED.

And then, within a month or two, I went to yet another David Sedaris book reading (which amped me up further and is its own story in my journey), and then we moved to Australia, and I was like, "This is it! I'm going to do this thing! I need this!"

Except…I didn't do it. Not right away. Instead, I dabbled (because global move, and a new job, and learning to drive on the other side of the road). That is, I played around until late 2019, when I found my notes from Jessica and Sharon's class and was like, "Oh, yeah, I meant to check out this SCBWI thing...."

And I would count that day as the day I started to actually, actually, finally, finally (as Julie says) do the work.

And here I am. And I have never, in my life, felt so much like I finally found "my thing"—the thing I could never get bored of (outside of my partner and kids). It's such a wonderful feeling to know that (whatever happens) I really, truly care about this, innately—even on the toughest days. Here’s a brief rundown of what I’ve been doing since that time.

It feels so, so satisfying for those blinders to be off finally! Let’s see what I can do, when I see all the options before me clearly, eh?

Yours in reflection,

Elayne

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