My views about the conference changed as soon as I started getting into the content of the class. Within a matter of weeks I realized that children's literature is my passion. I devoured everything about the topic that I could. My eagerness for the conference grew. I could hardly sleep in the nights leading up to the conference. I was actually going to hear Chris Raschka and Kirby Larson speak! As we had just finished reading Hattie Big Sky, I felt a kinship with Kirby Larson. I had become a devoted admirer of her work. I was just as excited to hear Chris Raschka after we read Hip-Hop Dog in class.
The night before the conference, my attendance of the author's reception started the wheels turning for me. Being in that large library room with dozens of other lovers of children's literature was, as Sylvia Tag said, a somewhat spiritual experience. I felt an electricity in the air as a community of readers and writers gathered to honor two celebrated masters of the trade. I will forever remember that New Yorker Chris Raschka considers Bellingham to be the best place on earth. Despite there being a lack of substantial content that evening, my mind was already full with possibilities. The simple presence of other students of children's literature fueled my passion not only for the next morning, but for the entire field.
I was already inspired, but the bulk of the conference had yet to begin. When Sylvia Tag began her opening comments, I felt my heart bursting out of my chest. I was there, like the night before, in the presence of students and scholars and writers of children's literature. I felt a noticeable passion buzzing through the room. That feeling is irreplaceable; those who were unable to attend the conference will have missed out on that. I knew in those few moments that I was in for something incredible, even magical. This conference was much bigger than an author and an illustrator sharing their work. It was more important than a group of students from Whatcom Community College being required to attend a morning conference. The conference was about scholarship in action. It was people from all walks of life, careers, and levels of education coming together to celebrate children's literature.
Kirby Larson's talk was the most inspirational part of the conference for me. She shared a myriad of quotes with us, and I was thankful for the small blue notebook to write them down. C.S. Lewis said that “We read to know we are not alone.” I found this to ring true as I listened to Kirby speak. All through the quarter our class read books together and discussed them with each other. When Kirby shared that quote I realized why I had been enjoying the class as much as I did. We had developed a community in our class, and in the community I found friendship and camaraderie. Because of the other readers in our class, I was no longer alone, no longer a lone reader among millions. As we spoke about throughout the quarter, I also developed relationships with all the authors that we read, not just the two that spoke at the conference. I felt a connection with them, despite having never met them. Reading their books, and especially reading them with my classmates, gave me a sense of belonging.
Despite how hard writers must work to ever get their books to see the light of day, I was oddly inspired to begin writing for children. I felt a sense of importance in writing children's literature. Kirby told us that she set aside time to write for two hours each Tuesday and Thursday. That became concrete for me, something I could hold on to. I began to think that even with my busy college student schedule I could write for a few hours every week. I was mostly encouraged by her huge pile of rejection letters, though. Kirby Larson, now a Newberry medal winner, has been rejected far more times than she has been published. She shared with us that “The moment of inspiration is not a gift; it must be worked for.” I had falsely assumed that truly great writers are unable to keep their inspiration from flowing, that they sit down to write without pause. Her thoughts resolved in my mind that my writing will always be a stutter, a process of writing and rewriting. There is nothing shameful or unworthy about that; it is simply a part of the writing cycle. Kirby Larson's fifteen drafts of Hattie Big Sky prove that even the most talented writers must edit again and again. Stephen King said, “Only God gets it
While I also enjoyed Chris Raschka's talk, I did not prefer him as much as I did Kirby Larson. I believe this to be because I am not an artist by any means, and I cannot relate to his stories as much as I could to Hattie Big Sky. I did, however, take away a few valuable thoughts from him. His writing of Yo! Yes? in his head on the way to the post office rang true with me. I often write stories in my mind as I walk around campus or go throughout my day, but I have never tried to write any of them down or consider what I may do with them.
Chris inspired me to begin looking for the beauty in the world around me and write about that beauty. Arlene Sardine is a ridiculous book that sprung from a ridiculous idea, yet there is, somehow, a sense of closure and the grace of the mysterious circle of life one receives when reading it (or in our case, hearing it). Arlene Sardine made me wonder what I am missing. I am not likely to write a book about a can of sardines, but maybe there is some ordinary part of my every day for which I need to take pause.
The highlight of my day was meeting Kirby Larson and having her sign my copy of Hattie Big Sky. In those brief moments I told her how much she inspires me to be a better reader and writer. I then told her of my eleven year old sister, who is quite a writer herself. She signed the book, “For Melissa and Mandy. Reach for those writing dreams.” Because of those kind words, Mandy has been unable to stop writing since the conference. She faithfully blogs at least once a day and is currently working on three stories at once.
When I got home from the conference, I wrote on my Facebook status, “I am so thoroughly inspired by the conference that I am quite overwhelmed with it all. Last night and this morning only reaffirmed my passion and love for children's literature as well as my desire to continue pursuing this field for the rest of my life.” Those fresh emotions continued through until today. I am already excited for next year's conference, already looking forward to the speakers and the environment.
The afternoon of the conference, I wrote a reflective piece on my personal blog about my thoughts, experience, and my take away. This excerpt serves as a reminder to myself of the landmark event the conference was in my life.
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Pen to paper, fingers to the keyboard.
I write.
I get stuck, I backspace, I cross out, I send up my frustration to the writing gods.
Why oh why-when will I find my niche? When will I be able write without a stutter? When will the thoughts in my head come out smoothly instead of jaggedly and painful?
Breathe.
Keep writing.
I am thoroughly convinced that this is the key to anything great. Pushing through the difficult parts, gluing oneself to a chair, striving even while floundering.
Success-inspiration even-is a moment that is worked for, fought for.
No craft is mastered or even tamed without the sheer will of doing so. Today, tomorrow, and each day that follows, I will be practicing the discipline of writing.
These stories in my soul, these words coursing through my veins are gifts waiting to be told.
One day, someday, they will make their escape. They will have their voice. They will be told.
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