summer reading week 1, post 1

I've about forgotten how to blog. :> But it's summer, and summer always meant reading, to me, along with bike rides in the woods and friends over to play, swimming pools, baseball, family camping and fishing, and trips to my grandmother's house in Mississippi, where we'd have nothing to do but breathe, try not expire in the heat, and listen to the kinfolks swap stories and gossip. Nothing and everything. I grew up on stories.

I had a stack of library books that rotated in and out of my bed, my brother's tree house, my bath (until they were dunked under accidentally), the dinner table (until they were confiscated), and the car. I read everything I could get my hands on, even encyclopedias, even Popular Mechanics. Even stuff I didn't understand at 12, like Dracula. It scared the pants off me.

And now I write about those summers, in books of my own. I have a newly-designed website ready to share this summer, and as I do, I want to revisit my books, as much to reacquaint myself with their characters and stories, as to share them with you. A book and a story each week for the summer weeks, from June into August.

So let me begin at the beginning:


Freedom Summer was the first book I published, with editor Anne Schwartz, at Simon & Schuster, in January 2001. Anne's imprint was Atheneum Books for Young Readers. Jerome Lagarrigue illustrated my 760 words, and we were off into a whirlwind year of unexpected excitement. More to come about that!

Jerome had illustrated his first book, My Man Blue, by Nikki Grimes. This would be his second. He was 28 years old, from France (his father) and Brooklyn (his mother), and wasn't even born in 1964, when the book takes place. 

I was convinced he wouldn't be able to understand the Southern time and place I was writing about, but I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Smart Jerome interviewed his grandmother, who lived in Richmond, Virginia in the Sixties, who had seen her share of racism and civil rights unrest, as an African-American woman living in the American South; she had stories to tell. And Jerome did his homework. As did I. As did Anne. 

We lovingly put together, together, the story of the friendship of two boys, one black and one white, and what happens when the segregated pool is supposed to open to "everybody under the sun, no matter what color" in July 1964 after the passage of the Civil Rights Act.

Freedom Summer was published almost 20 years ago. It still sells and sells, out there in the world, a story about friendship and fairness and the decisions two young boys face together in the segregated South of the Sixties.

In 2014, at the 50th anniversary of the passage of the Civil Rights Act, S&S issued an anniversary edition of the book, which is the cover you see here.

Next up: the story of how Freedom Summer came to be, how it grew from a piece of my own childhood personal narrative, to a book for young (and older) readers. 

But for now, I'm going to pull the book off the shelf and read it again, out loud, this time doing something I haven't done for years: turning each page as I read aloud, and taking my time, listening to the cadences of the language just for myself alone, and admiring Jerome's art.

For years I couldn't read this book without tearing up. Now I have it memorized, and rarely have the book in my hands when I read it. I've put the pages on slides (PowerPoint, today), and I have "read it" many, many hundreds of times, over the past 18 years, to children in pre-K through college, in schools and libraries and bookstores across this country, and even around the world.

Today I watch young people and their teachers have the same reaction I did as I read it years ago, when "John Henry's eyes fill with angry tears. 'I did! I wanted to swim in this pool! I want to do everything you can do!'"


A LONG LINE OF CAKES is here






"It doesn't matter if it takes a long time getting there. The point is to have a destination."
-- Eudora Welty

I never know what a book is about until I finish it. Fourteen years ago I moved to Atlanta from my long-years home in Frederick, Maryland near Washington, D.C. I thought never to leave that house. But life happens and I did leave, and at the same time I got on the road and had a work life filled with schools, libraries, conferences, and new friends along the way.

What I missed most was the time to make a home in a new place, and that feeling of putting down roots, creating community, and staying somewhere where everyone knows you.

Emma Lane Cake feels that way, too. She finds herself in Halleluia, Mississippi with her loving but chaotic family of itinerant bakers, her eleventh move in as many years as she's been alive -- or has it been more than 11 moves? She has lost track. When she meets Ruby Lavender, they hatch a plan that will allow Emma to stay. Or will it?

I've come back to Aurora County to write about coming home and finding a place to belong in the world... something I had to do as a military child grown up, and something I had to do again when I moved to Atlanta. 

On the road for 17 years it became clear to me that some children search for home and belonging, and friendship, every day. And that other children offer it, every day. I wanted to write a book for all those children, too.

A Long Line of Cakes is published this fall. It becomes the fourth Aurora County book after Love, Ruby Lavender, Each Little Bird That Sings, and The Aurora County All-Stars. I hope you take Emma to your heart in just the way Ruby does (in her Ruby way) and in the way that I did, too.

If you're a reader of the previous Aurora County novels, you'll say a new hello to Ruby, Melba Jane, Miss Eula, Miss Mattie, Declaration, House, Cleebo, Honey, Eudora Welty, Finesse, and more, along with the magic -- and mystery -- of what it means to belong, to create a home, and to find a family.

I'm welcoming myself back home to blogging, too, after a century away. Let's see if it feels like home.

xoxxo Debbie

take up your happiness

Some thoughts about life, love and happiness, after a few photos from the past two weeks of research, writing, organizing my work (on a chalk wall, no less), a couple of close-by field trips, a book festival (that's my editor, David Levithan, talking with shiny new (amazing) author Will Walton), a bit of teaching, a lot of home-making, a birthday cobbler, some celebrating, lots of gathering with peeps, and the inevitable bringing-in the last of the garden.

 


 
 



















 
 
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a mom more than anything else. I wanted to sit at a desk and play office. I wanted to scribble on a chalkboard and teach my dolls things I didn't understand yet myself. I wanted to lie on a blanket in the clovered grass, stare at the night sky, and wonder. I wanted true friends. I wanted to keep house. And I wanted a Prince Charming to come into my life, sweep me off my feet, and love me all the days of my life, and make me happy.

I got all my wishes, in an odd and amazing order that still takes my breath away when I think about it. How perfect it has been, the grime and the glory alike. How lucky that my people are in my life, and that this life is full of good work that I love, and that there is space for wondering and dreaming, still, and that people love me and I love them, and that there really IS someone to sweep me along with devotion, into the later chapters of my life.

Slowly, slowly, I have come to understand, in a deep and steady way, that home is where you make it; that people are complex, nuanced, textured, wonderful puzzles; that work is like that, too; that Uncle Edisto's messy glory is indeed the way we live; and that I am responsible for my own happiness.

Rise up, I say to myself this morning. Rise. Take up your happiness and walk into the days ahead.