Over on Goodreads, a reader requested that I share a YouTube video of my bookshelves. I didn’t realize bookshelf tours were a thing, but an hour later on YouTube, I can see that they are quite a thing.
It’s neat to see so many ways of organizing books (and the other cute goodies tucked into people’s bookshelves).
Well, without further ado, on the recommendation of Fantasy & Felines, my bookshelf tour.
Enjoy!
May marks Mental Health Awareness Month, which exists to help raise awareness and educate the public about the mental illnesses affecting so many Americans as well as the effective strategies for attaining mental health and wellness. Mental Health Awareness Month also exists to draw attention to suicide, which can be precipitated by mental illness, and to reduce the stigma surrounding mental illness.
As you may know, my middle grade novel Things You Can’t Say (Simon & Schuster 2020) deals frankly with suicide. Twelve-year-old Drew, the protagonist, had his life upended three years prior when he lost his father to suicide. In the years since, he’s struggled to understand his father, but it’s through the events of one remarkable summer that he begins to see things differently, and to articulate his own concerns and feelings to his family and friends.
Suicide is the second leading cause of death among individuals between the ages of 10 and 34. According to the 2017 CDC report, suicide annually claims the lives of over 47,000 Americans. If you have lost a friend or a loved one to suicide, I want you to know that you are not alone. There are countless people out there who understand what you are going through, as well as trained professionals who want to help.
If you or someone you know would like to talk with a licensed mental health professional, consider reaching out to a therapist through:
The American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy
The American Counseling Association
The American Mental Health Counselors Association
The American Psychological Association
The National Association of Social Workers
Further Resources:
This national network of crisis centers offers free emotional support, 24/7, including specific resources for kids. Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255).
Crisis Text Line
The free 24/7 confidential text message service for people in crisis. Text HOME to 741741 in the United States.
American Association for Suicidology
A nonprofit organization advocating for suicide prevention, which envisions a world where people know how to prevent suicide and find hope and healing.
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention
AFSP is the nation’s largest nonprofit dedicated to saving lives and bringing hope to those affected by suicide.
The Portland, OR-based National Center for Grieving Children & Families provides support in a safe place for children, teens, young adults, and their families grieving a death to share their experiences.
Eluna offers resources and programs—including camps—to address the needs of children experiencing confusing emotions in the wake of a loved one’s death or addiction.
National Alliance for Grieving Children
This professional member organization specifically addresses issues about child bereavement and offers continuing education, peer networking, and a national database of children’s bereavement support programs.
Suicide Awareness Voices of Education
SAVE’s mission is to prevent suicide through public awareness and education, to reduce stigma, and to serve as a resource for those touched by suicide.
While life has been disrupted in so many ways by the coronavirus pandemic, one of the things I miss the very most has to be the public library. I can’t recall a time in my life where I’ve gone this long (6 weeks, tomorrow, not that I’m counting or anything) since I last visited my local branch of the Cincinnati Public Library.
It’s not just that I miss getting new books. (Truth be told, at the time our library system closed down, I had 60 checkouts….) What do I miss, honestly? The habit of walking with my heavy L.L. Bean tote, full of returns, eager to pick up my holds and chat with my favorite librarians. I miss my library book club, even if some of us never read the whole book. I miss the creative displays in the entry way. The witty writings on the chalk board. All of it.
Of course, just because public libraries are not open right now doesn’t mean librarians aren’t still working to serve patrons virtually. They are available in virtual ways for those in need. And I know personally I’ve been reading a few library e-books to bide the time (love the Libby app!). But I’m sure I’m not alone in yearning for the day, however far away it is, when I can step foot into a library again. In the meantime, I just hope that librarians and library staff everywhere are safe and healthy. <3
To celebrate the joys of the library as space, I thought I’d put together a brief bibliography (once a librarian, always a librarian, right?) of middle grade novels in which a library plays a central role.
Middle Grade Novels <3 Libraries
Ban This Book by Alan Gratz
Booked by Kwame Alexander
Finding Langston by Lesa Cline-Ransom
The Forbidden Library by Django Wexler
A Girl, A Raccoon, and the Midnight Moon by Karen Romano Young
Here Lies the Librarian by Richard Peck
Insignificant Events In the Life of a Cactus by Dusti Bowling
A Kind of Paradise by Amy Rebecca Tan
The Library of Ever by Zeno Alexander
Like Magic by Elaine Vickers
Mr. Lemoncello series by Chris Grabenstein
Nightbooks by J. A. White
The Ninja Librarians series by Janny Swann Downey
Okay for Now by Gary D. Schmidt
Property of the Rebel Librarian by Allison Varnes
Rhyme Schemer by K. A. Holt
The Story Collector by Kristin Tubb
And yes, my latest, Things You Can’t Say by Jenn Bishop
Did I miss your favorite middle grade novel that celebrates libraries? Let me know! 🙂
At the end of the summer in 2012, I worked my last afternoon in the public library’s teen room. It had been a busy summer — as any public librarian who works with children and teens will tell you, they all are — and I was on the cusp of burnout. I’d recently enrolled in Vermont College of Fine Art’s MFA program in writing for children and young adults and I was discovering that a full-time public service job didn’t leave me with much emotional energy to put into my writing. My then-fiance and I looked at our finances and, though things would be tight, we realized we could swing it: me, trying my hand at writing full-time.
Fast-forward nearly eight years. Today my third middle grade novel, Things You Can’t Say, hits bookstores and libraries. I’ve got another in the pipeline for next spring, Where We Used to Roam, recently sent book #5 off to my agent, and I’ve got a new notebook where I’m starting to imagine book #6. While I haven’t returned to work in a library in the interim, the enduring impact those library jobs I worked from 2006 to 2012 had on me is unmistakeable.
Things You Can’t Say opens with twelve-year-old Drew assisting the children’s librarian, Mrs. Eisenberg, with her story hour. Seeing how good he is with the little kids, she’s let him run a puppet show segment in her story hour, which has become Drew’s pride and joy. In my time as a librarian, I learned there are two kinds of kids who frequent the library. The kind who come in with their parents for fifteen minutes or so to browse and pick up some books or attend programs. And the kids who spend all afternoon there, sometimes all day. The kind for whom the library is a second home.
People who don’t spend much time in public libraries often don’t understand what purpose they serve today. “Can’t you just get books on Amazon?” they’ll say. Or, “I have an e-reader, I’m all set.” But the public library is ever so much more than a repository for books. For so many, from all walks of life, the library is a sanctuary. A place where they are treated with kindness, dignity, and respect. Librarians are part-social worker, part-teacher, part-parent, part-cat herder. Admittedly, as a teen librarian, I leaned real hard into the “cool aunt” vibe.
In the hours after school, or all day in the summer, it was hard not to notice the complex social dynamics of middle school and high school unfold right before my eyes. Even the breakup of the teen room couple! The library was a hiding place for some, and for others, a place to see and be seen.
Though the children’s librarian Mrs. Eisenberg is not a central figure in Things You Can’t Say, in small moments with Drew, I hope what comes through is that she sees him. That she recognizes his talents and helps nurture them, and that she’s cheering him along. What I loved about being a teen librarian (as opposed to a teacher) was that chance to be an adult in their life who wasn’t grading or evaluating them. But simple accepting them as they were, wanting the best for them, and helping however I could.
In crafting Drew and in writing his story, my years in the public library seeped into the text. How could they not? Even if subconsciously. In many ways, Drew is an amalgam of the kids I knew back then. “My library teens,” if you will. They left an indelible mark on me. When it came time to decide to whom I would dedicate this book, it was no question. This one was for them.
My relationship with libraries is different now. I’m not there five days out of the week anymore, but you can usually find me there at least two. I’m on a first-name basis with all the librarians at my local branch of the Cincinnati Library and it’s not uncommon to find my holds stacked on a shelf all by themselves.
Once a librarian, always a librarian, right?
. . . is a book festival with writer pals! Which, honestly, is pretty much all book festivals these days. The Books by the Banks Book Festival was this Saturday in Cincinnati and with 150+ authors in attendance, well, yes, we do tend to know each other. I was so fortunate to share a table for the day with my writer bestie, Abby Cooper, author of the wonderfully imaginative new middle grade novel Friend or Fiction, which published earlier this month. By the end of the day, I *might* have had a slight headache from talking non-stop for 7 hours.
Basically, book festivals are the author equivalent of 7th grade sleepovers.
Did we have enough fun? (Also: let’s just pretend my eyes were open in that last picture, shall we?)
I’m thrilled to share that I have another project in the pipeline. Where We Used to Roam, my fourth middle grade novel, will be published in spring 2021 by Aladdin/Simon & Schuster.
On the outside, it probably looks like, wow, she has two books coming out in two years (2020 and 2021), she’s so speedy!
Oh, how things look in hindsight. 😉
Prior to these two projects, my most recently published book, 14 Hollow Road, came out in 2017. Since then, on my metaphorical writing stove, I’d been juggling pots on and off the front burner, with these two middle grade projects (Things You Can’t Say and Where We Used to Roam) fighting for the prime spot, and a YA novel I wrote and revised only to entirely abandon. One project would seem like it was fully cooked, but then I’d taste it and realize, ick, nope, needs more time still. At one point I felt like I would never finish or figure out Things You Can’t Say. Perhaps it was like that time I tried making vegan macaroni and cheese and had to throw the whole thing out–it just was not coming together as I had imagined it.
But it turns out an important part of the writing (cooking?) process is patience. And it takes time to cultivate patience. It’s never easy to wait. Especially when you see your fellow writers zoom ahead, announcing deals for their zillionth books while you’re juggling multiple pots on the stove, wondering if maybe you should just call in a takeout order.
But sometimes, with enough patience and persistence, you end up with a multiple course meal, a few splatter on the backsplash, just in the nick of time as your friends ring the doorbell.
That’s sort of how I feel now, on the other side of it all: grateful that things came together. And ready for a dinner party.
I’m so excited to be revealing the cover for my next middle grade novel, Things You Can’t Say, today. Check out the full cover and an interview about the book over at Mr. Schu Reads.
The old adage in writing is “write what you know,” and while I think there’s plenty of truth in that, I’ve found that lately, my writing projects have steered me away from areas of deep knowledge and experience. Now, don’t get me wrong, I think within every story there are emotional truths that surpass the particulars and speak to universal experiences. But when students ask me how I decide what to write about, more often than not lately it’s guided by my interests.
What do I want to know better? What do I want to explore more deeply?
If you’re intensely curious about something, chances are that intense curiosity will carry you through the ups and downs of the writing, the research, the revision, etc. You want to know more, and you’re willing to put in the time and effort to get there.
As I write this, it’s past my bedtime and the NBA Finals are on TV. A few years ago, I was just starting to become immersed in the world of college basketball after moving to Cincinnati. I loved everything about it, and at the same time, realized how much I didn’t know. It was all still so new, and yet a lot of the excitement came precisely from the newness. When you’re as old as me (okay, mid-thirties), there’s a lot that isn’t new. So much is familiar that when something new comes into your life, it can be exciting. Thrilling, really. At least, that was the case with my hard fall for basketball.
By the end of my second year following my local college basketball team, I was hooked. Deeply, deeply hooked. And then devastated. It all ended so fast! I was bereft. I didn’t know where I could put all that energy I’d put into following my team . . . unless. . . .
That’s how my work-in-progress was born. A project that would involve a deep dive into the world of basketball. Something I did not know enough about to write a book . . . yet. All of the basketball movies and books, staying up late for the NBA Draft, etc. I wanted to soak in every bit of it. I’m still soaking in every bit of it. Honestly, I think I pulled an abdominal muscle the other day leaping off the couch in excitement when I learned some breaking news about a new recruit. (Downside of getting old, I know.)
The truth is, it’s a long process, writing a book. You need something to carry you past the excitement of the early stages of a first draft and through the muddled middle, the ending that you’re not quite sure of, and all the revisions that follow. So you might as well write about something you know . . . enough, but that you want to know better.
Having just realized that I haven’t posted in many months, I decided to post a little update today. Unfortunately, I can’t get into too many details at the moment, but . . . that’s okay, right?
As usual, as December draws to a close, I’ve spent much of the past few days reflecting on the year we’re saying goodbye to. I can’t imagine I’m alone when admitting I am very ready for 2018 to be over. And yet–for all that was hard and trying and just plain bad about this year, there is plenty I am fortunate for. Even some of the bad.
In 2018, I . . .
I can only imagine what 2019 has in store for me, but I know one thing for sure: I have a lot of home basketball games to attend between now and March Madness. In our nosebleed bleacher seats. Wouldn’t change it for anything.
Wishing you all the best as we turn the calendar to 2019!
In my case, it’s this space cats calendar, courtesy of my little brother.
