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I want to start with the thank you’s before getting to the more interesting stuff. Boring, I know. I half expect to hear the orchestra play me off stage. I’ll be quick, promise.
I was invited to participate at Saturday’s Poughkeepsie Children’s Book Festival and it was a really nice day that couldn’t have happened for me without the help of many people.
The person I owe the greatest thanks is John Torres, who somehow orchestrates the massive event without (seemingly) fuss or stress. Part of that is because he has a lot of help. I want to thank the staff at the Poughkeepsie Public Library. Somehow there’s a free book voucher for every child who shows up (17 and younger) and I know that requires a lot of behind-the-scenes fundraising and publicity efforts. All I do is benefit from their hard work.
In my experience, festivals are also determined by the quality and quantity of volunteers. We couldn’t do it without the many blue-shirted volunteers who help us out throughout the day, especially my favorite, John’s daughter Isabella, who hangs around every single year. I feel like we’ve grown up together! Isabella is quiet and unassuming. Running errands, looking to be helpful with water or sandwiches or whatever. Yet she pretends not to hear me when I request a simple cocktail. You might not even notice her. And every year I think the same thing: Still waters run deep.
As a formerly shy kid myself, I’ve always liked and trusted the quiet ones.
Thanks, too, to Kira Wizner at Merritt Bookstore. When it all runs smoothly, we don’t notice they are there. But heaven forfend, when there’s a mistake, they stand up and take the heat. Thanks for everything, Kira; you do good work.
Anyway, it’s a funny thing about these festivals. Sometimes authors will ask me, “How’d it go? How did you do?” And maybe for some the idea is whether you’ve moved product. And, yes, that’s a beautiful thing. Young readers coming up, grabbing your books and racing off with smiles on their faces. It’s great to be popular. And, yeah, to actually have a viable career. To write or illustrate books that people want. It’s not nothing.
But maybe because I’ve never been that writer with the big bestseller, I’m just a guy who has somehow lasted 40 years in this business, I’ve kind of steered away from measuring “a good day” by that standard. I don’t keep track of how many books I sell. Instead I tend to look at conversations I have, people I meet, the beautiful families that sometimes come along — the parents, the kids, all enjoying themselves, gathered around for a chat. The way those parents stand back and give their children the time and space to explore the books, meet the authors, ask questions, and finally (sometimes agonizingly!) choose one (or three!) for themselves. It warms the heart to see these families, and these young people who are supported and so obviously loved.
And then there’s the story of Jacob . . .
I love when this kind of thing happens. One this day, a reader, Jacob, returned to Poughkeepsie after meeting me at least 2-3 years ago. Back then, he was a cool, confident, upbeat kid. Now he’s even cooler. Yesterday there was that expectant look in his eyes, like, “You remember me, right?” And of course I can’t even find my car in the parking lot. I stammer something. Finally bells go off and the lights turn on: “Jacob! You’re older!” I think he was tearing through my Scary Tales books last we met. Now he’s moved on to Blood Mountain. It’s a good feeling for me, exactly like seeing an old friend. Thanks, Jacob. And thanks, Mom, for the support and the photo and for, you know, Jacob.
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I sat down last night, a book on my lap, a cup of tea on the table, along with an orange sliced into quarters.
