Why Children's Books Are Like My College Reunion

I went back to college this weekend for my fifteen year reunion. I danced, ate pizza too late at night, and got to see some lovely folks I'd been missing. And had a revelation about why I write for kids.

It has to do with being known. Not famous, but known as a person, and accepted anyway. The best part about old friends is they've seen me dance, they know I'm a little too loud, they understand my inside jokes, because they know me. And yet, they stick around. Is there any better feeling than having someone be well aware of your most grating, most embarrassing habits, and like you anyway?

That feeling of having my innermost thoughts and anxieties and ideas being understood and accepted is the gift I hope to give children in my books. I want to write about the hard parts of being a child, the embarrassing parts, the confusion and the frustration, and to let children know that they are not alone; we all have been there, and it's going to be okay. At the winter SCBWI conference this year, Richard Peck spoke about books having the power to show us that "even our most secret sorrows are shared." I love when children think my writing is funny. I love when they say they worked hard to sound out the words out themselves. But I mostly love when something like this happens:

I was signing The New Girl...And Me in Bar Harbor, Maine. Two girls approached the desk. One started asking about the book. The other hung back. I explained that in the story, a shy student named Mia wants to make friends with the new girl in her class. The talkative one glanced through the book and said, "cool." When I looked over, the quieter one was just finishing reading. She clutched the book to her chest and came around the table to my side.

"She is shy," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I am shy, too," she said. "I like your book."

For my part, as a child, it was Judy Blume, as cliché as that sounds. She reached into me and wrote my life on the page and made it sound normal. Who was it for you?