In Support of Elementary School Librarians

Dear Community Members,

It’s half way into our first school year with no full-time librarians in Bedford Central School District’s elementary schools. How is it going? Are your children reading just as much? Are the ESL students thriving in reading and writing without the the intimate guidance of the librarians? Are all of our children excited about the latest trends in literature?

Because librarians do more than stack books -- they create a culture. My grandmother, the late Madeleine L’Engle who wrote A Wrinkle in Time as well as 60 other books was the librarian and artist-in-residence for 35 years at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City. It is not enough to have a library without a librarian. In her 1998 Margaret Edwards Award Acceptance speech she said: “To be a librarian, particularly a librarian for young adults, is to be a nourisher, to share stories, offer books full of new ideas. We live in a world which has changed radically in the last half century, and story helps us to understand and live creatively with change.”

I, like all of us, have witnessed firsthand the power of well-funded public education, as I have three children in Fox Lane Middle and High Schools who all reaped the benefits of having an elementary school librarian. I am an author and an educator; I run the Westchester and Connecticut chapters of a national writing non-profit program called Writopia Lab, where our mission is to spread joy, literacy, and critical thinking to all children and teens through creative writing. Kids learn critical thinking through exposure to all kinds of reading and writing - this is how they become problem solvers, this is how they learn about humanity, and this is how they find their own voice in the world. For example, over 95% of Writopia parents say their children and teens have more joy in their life because of their involvement in writing workshops; over 74% of the parents of reluctant writers report that they feel that their children’s grades and test scores improved because of their positive immersion in reading and writing.

Elementary school librarians can fill that gap: reading and writing skills not only help our children grow as critical thinkers, but they help them achieve academic excellence as well. They pull students from classrooms who need extra support or enrichment, and teach all children the language and love of books.  They are also the stewards into which kids learn how to research, and how to separate fact from fiction. Which, these days, seems like a more and more important skill.

More kids than ever are reaching high school and applying to college with no idea how to write an essay, and with no tools for critical thinking other than regurgitation for the Common Core tests - our children are woefully unprepared. Don’t our kids need and deserve more nourishers in their lives? Isn’t this what opportunity and top education is all about? Our children are only in elementary school once; and we have the power to create something wonderful for them.

Our support of librarians sends a clear message to our children: we, as a community, value the pursuit of intellectual curiosity.

Please consider reinstating elementary school librarians for the 2017-2018 budget, and for years to come.

Sincerely,

Reflections on Women's March on Washington and "Pussy"

“What does pussy mean anyway?” my daughter and goddaughter asked as my best friend and I were making the trip to the Women’s March on Washington DC. We’d just left a rest stop, where the predawn crowd of about a hundred women -- many in pink pussyhats -- clapped as our eleven-year-old girls arrived with their tee shirts proclaiming “This is What a Feminist Looks Like” and “Grrrl Power.”

My friend and I looked at each other and nodded. “Pussy is a slang word for our pudenda,” I started. “And sometimes it’s said in a demeaning and disrespectful way, calling someone weak if it’s said in reference to a man, or objectifying girls or women.”

The girls were incensed. My daughter then started talking about the Trump/ Billy Bush tape. "He was saying that he can grab women by the pussy . . ."

"Because he is a celebrity and can get away with it," my friend added.

"So the message we got from him is that he thinks it’s okay to treat women like objects and to assault them,” I finished. "That's why we're reclaiming the word as something more powerful."

That launched us into a discussion about consent. “After he said that, there was a lot of outrage and memes on the internet saying Pussy Bites Back or Power to the Pussy, and then when Trump was elected and the march started being planned, people were knitting pink hats with little ears and calling them pussyhats.”

They already knew about “the wall”, the threat of deportations and a Muslim registry, the movement to take away reproductive freedom, plans to defund Planned Parenthood, and destroy Obamacare. They know about racism and racial profiling. They don’t think that gay marriage should be a big deal because duh, people should be able to love who they love.

“That’s just bullying!” Smart girls. They know about bullying.

The organized bus for which we’d signed up had mysteriously cancelled in the middle of the night, so we got in a car and forged ahead with no idea how to navigate Washington, DC. Our girls had taken to this spirit, declaring we were “spontaneous warrior moms.” Driving those five hours to the march, it felt like we finally had the opportunity to speak up for not only ourselves,  but for everyone who had taken insults and scapegoating throughout the past year by our new president.

We somehow found parking at 11am at Union Station, and immediately joined the community of pink pussyhats flowing to the National Mall. We were so enthralled with the loveliness of the immense crowds -- every age, every color -- that it didn’t matter we couldn’t get anywhere near enough to the stage to hear the speakers. The mood everywhere was one of friendship and family, of true nationhood. We met a big burly bearded man sporting a pink pussyhat and holding a sign with the same slogan as my daughter's tee shirt. John Kerry himself strolled past us, walking his family dog.

As the crowd swelled, word spread that our community was too large for an organized march. Everyone decided otherwise, and this community the size of a midwestern city began marching towards the White House, spilling in from all different directions. We chanted “This is what democracy looks like” and meant it and felt it. We joined the chorus of "Black Lives Matter" and tears came to our eyes when our daughters chanted "My Body, My Choice" with other young women, while the adults and men responded, "Her body, her choice." There was no violence, no bad behavior. Everybody was united and peaceful, and through that we were powerful.

My friend and I plus our daughters made it as close as two blocks away from the White House when the crowd began filtering back. So we slipped away to a less crowded street, and slowly made our way to Union Station, full of hope. I’d never experienced anything like it. Yet, I believe this is just the beginning. If we continue to be vigilant, if we stick together as a community, that hope we all felt will remain. I see from this experience that we all need to do more than we did in this past election. We have to be active, interested, and fully awake.

And we’ll have to start knitting more pussyhats.

Visiting the set of A Wrinkle in Time

There was something more meaningful than I could ever have imagined about visiting the set of A Wrinkle in Time this past Monday on the heels of this crushing election. It wasn’t just because I have been waiting almost 40 years for this to be adapted. It wasn’t just basking in the warmth of the LA sun. It wasn’t just that we need the story and themes put forth in Wrinkle just as much now as we did in the early 1960’s. It was as simple as recognizing I still have faith in humanity and I refuse to be a misanthrope. It was as simple as the relational warmth of Ava DuVernay and the common purpose and diversity of everyone on set, from the cast, crew, and three hundred “extras”.

Movies are still being made, books are being written, people are still saying “I love you” and the sun rises and sets. People are organizing solidarity marches, and recognizing the political battleground in themselves. People are waking up. People are working harder to find meaning in their lives, and that comes from creative and critical thinking, and being of service. Participating in something larger than oneself.

We all need meaning.

Especially when you feel crushed. Maybe the tower does need to be destroyed in order to be rebuilt. But be part of the rebuilding. Be a part of the retelling. Ava DuVernay and Jennifer Lee will be retelling Wrinkle in their own unique ways.

Don’t be afraid of your voice, don’t be afraid to use it.

"This is my charge to you. You are to be a light-bearer. You are to choose the light."

-- Madeleine L'Engle, A Ring of Endless Light

And this is bipartisan - nobody has the corner on being a lightbearer. Maybe this is where we can come together, where we can empathize with each other.

Many years ago, there was a time in my life when I felt so marginalized that I didn’t think my life was worth anything, that I was just a waste of space. I didn’t think I had any choices, let alone the power to choose the light.

But I did, and I continue to have to make the choice (especially when crushed) and you can too.

Thank you Ava -- and the cast and crew of Wrinkle -- for being lightbearers.

No more walls.

On Seeing Ava DuVernay's 13TH

13TH opened the 54th NewYork Film Festival at Alice Tully Hall on Friday night and I had the good fortune escort my amazing, politically conscious and thoughtful 15 year old niece Magda.

It is the first documentary ever to open the film festival, and was chosen for its compelling narrative. It had been made very quietly under the radar, by film director, Ava DuVernay (who also happens to be directing the upcoming adaptation of my grandmother's book, A Wrinkle in Time) and "13TH" refers to the 13th amendment:

“Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.”

This documentary comes at an important time in our political history, after eight years of our first black president, where some of us have hoped we would be able to live in a color-blind world.

Our myopia is shattered as wishful thinking: Ms. Duvernay explores through interviews and archived footage, how the 13th amendment re-enslaved African-Americans and criminalized a whole segment of the population of the United States. The documentary as nothing less than astonishing, infuriating, and galvanizing and at times I was moved to tears. Drawing a line from slavery to counter-reconstruction, to Jim Crow, to The Southern Strategy to The Crime Bill, "13TH" tells a compelling story that demands a response.

This New York Times Review sums up her argument: "The United States did not just criminalize a select group of black people. It criminalized black people as a whole, a process that, in addition to destroying untold lives, effectively transferred the guilt for slavery from the people who perpetuated it to the very people who suffered through it."

Magda, who can fairly represent the views of every teen I know (and as a teacher, I know a great many!) is as troubled by this as I am, so everyone needs to see this movie (available on Netflix October 7th) with their families before going to the polls on November 8th so that we can begin to have deeper conversations about this. And also make some necessary institutional changes.

Don't forget to vote on Tuesday, November 8th!

Trying to Live in Thanksgiving

A cold crisp November morning curled up in a cozy chair by the fire in Starbucks, piping hot coffee and my laptop open, my writing mojo strong and swift. I had even found an available outlet to plug in - both literally and figuratively. Tap, tap, tap, sip. The opportunities I have for writing these days are few and far between, so I was relishing every second, burrowing deeper into a scene in a French class at a boarding school.

It wasn’t a happy scene, and my lip started to curl in disgust, and that’s when I noticed the strong stench of urine behind me.

Sweet Jesus. I slowly turned around to look at the obstacle to my literary joy. It was a large elderly man wearing an olive green jacket. He was perching on a stool and looking out the window. I turned back around and tried to get back to my writing, but my olfactory senses had been assaulted and I couldn’t concentrate - I had to move.

The only problem with moving, was that he was sitting right by the outlet where my cord was.

The seat opposite from me was empty, so I unplugged my computer and moved my belongings, and then gingerly made my way over to the window to retrieve my cord from the outlet.

“Excuse me, I just need to get that,” I said, with a half-smile of apology.

“Oh I am so sorry!” this man said to me kindly, but he also sounded . . . embarrassed. He looked worried that he was bothering me - and my heart melted.

“No, I’m the one who is sorry!” I said as I got my cord and made my way back to my seat.  I opened my computer but instead of writing, I observed him. What was his story? I didn’t need to know it, only that there was a man who felt invisible, who was marginalized by society in so many ways, and he had just come into Starbucks to warm up. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t invisible, that I could see him. I could see that he was more than his story. I downed the rest of my coffee, still staring at him staring out the window. I didn’t think too much before I jumped up and went back over to him.

“Sir, I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee.”

I looked deep into his eyes while he registered surprise and he cocked his head as if to say “really?” and I kept eye contact with him - really. The corners of his mouth turned up slowly and he had the most stunning smile. “Yes, I will accept your kind offer.”

I asked him about milk and sugar and he nodded, smiling while he gave me his order.

I got back in line for a refill for me and a grande caffeinated beverage for my new friend and I delivered it to him, and when I went back to my seat I have to say that I watched him enjoy it, feeling so grateful for my own heart and its flexibility. In a matter of seconds, my initial disgust had turned to a genuine interaction with another human being. I felt so grateful for this man, for giving me hope and in my own feelings toward humanity.

I went back to finishing my scene with gusto, and a little later, he came over to me, and bent down a little bit to speak softly.

“You know - I am always grateful for whatever anybody chooses to give me. I am a lucky man.” And with that, he left.

I am a lucky man . . .

All I did was buy him coffee and recognize that his personhood. I’m not sure of the impact on him, but I know that for me, the positive impact of our interaction is still reverberating as I write this.

The key to “happiness” they say, is to practice gratitude daily, remain curious and open, and to share both of those things with others.

The fourth Thursday of this month is merely a reminder of all of these things, even in a world full of doubt and uncertainty, homelessness, mental illness, and wars. There is room. Let’s make room!

So here’s to daily Thanksgiving! (And lots of turkey/tofurkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes today!)

PS And thank you to Starbucks for serving a purpose for the larger community as a civic space.

Not Just For YA Book Club

Oh so many books, so little time! But us lovers of language must make time, yes? So when asked to moderate a book club comprised of accomplished Westchester librarians and teachers by the incomparable Z of Yonkers Riverfront Library, I didn't hesitate in the affirmative, even if it meant doing nothing else in my limited free time for the past few weeks other than reading, because I had to read not just one book, but FIVE - the YA books that were honored by the 2015 Printz Committee. .

But now the book discussion is tomorrow night, (tonight?) and I have to collect my thoughts! (Yes I read those five books, but intermingled in my mind is also two other books I have recently devoured: Ishiguro's The Buried Giant and a stunning book that I MUST reread by Ali Smith called How To Be Both.)

On the Printz List were: (the winner) I'll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson, The Carnival at Bray by Jessie Ann Foley, This One Summer by Mariko Tamaki, And We Stay by Jenny Hubbard, and my personal favorite, Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith.

I read Jandy Nelson's gem of a book first, a beautiful story told in intertwining narratives between two twins, Noah and Jude. We begin with Noah when he is thirteen and discovering his attraction to other boys, his uniqueness in his art, his gorgeous relationship with his mother, and the competitive but loving relationship with his sister Jude. They are both artists - Noah paints his world and Jude communicates with the ghost of her grandmother, while making life size female sand sculptures on the beach. When Jude picks up the narrative, it is three years later - they are both sixteen and the family has blown apart - their mother has died. How did it happen? Nelson keeps us on our toes by time shifting back between Noah and Jude, keeping us guessing to the end.

(We will have to discuss this line of Nelson's: “What is bad for the heart is good for art. The terrible irony of our lives as artists.”)

I felt more of a personal connection to Foley's The Carnival at Bray. It takes place in the early 90's in both Chicago and just outside of Dublin, Ireland, on the coast. I have never been to Ireland, but I was coming of age in the early 90's and spent some time in Italy. I loved the Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana, as does the main character, Maggie. (I am sure most of us will have a kinship to this era.) I also loved that every character in this book was some kind of an outsider, from Maggie herself, to her mother Laura (who has never "found" herself or come of age), to Dan Sean, the almost 100 year old man Maggie befriends (I could so see myself doing that!) and of course Uncle Kevin, an addict, foreshadowing the death of Kurt Cobain with his own. I love the way Foley handles mental illness and addiction - so lovingly and non-judgmentally.

I also enjoyed reading Hubbard's And We Stay - an homage to the writing and reading of poetry as therapy (Yay Emily Dickinson!) and This One Summer by Tamaki - which was the second graphic novel I have ever read.

But for some reason, Grasshopper Jungle was my personal favorite. "Good books are always about everything," Austin tells us repeatedly in his narrative. On the surface, GJ is a tour de force where giant genetically engineered bugs cause the end of the world. The bugs brilliantly represent teenage hormones and the drive to fight, fornicate and feed. Austin is obsessed with history, so he has set out to record everything in his journal, and as he does so he reminds us of the interconnectedness of EVERYTHING. I read some reviews where folks said that they found that distracting, but it just helped me to fall in love with Austin. Yes, he is terribly flawed - he is in love with his best friend Robbie and his girlfriend Shann, and he isn't fair to either of them, but he believes in EVERYTHING. (Personally, I am Team Robbie, and I think Smith may be too, because Robbie's character was much more fleshed out than Shann's.) I was distracted at first by the intentional use of repetition - Austin is constantly saying "shit" and talking about his horniness, but a third of the way through the novel I understood the artifice - history repeating itself and perhaps Austin is himself on the high end of the autism spectrum. But maybe this is just the male teenage brain? We're all on some kind of a spectrum!

The characters in all of these books use art or writing in some kind of way to manage their internal chaos. Austin writes his own history, Emily writes and reads poetry, Maggie listens to music and finds truth in song lyrics, and Noah and Jude paint and sculpt respectively. What would we as humans do without a creative, rich, inner life? How would we "come of age?" (I don't think we would.)

Has anyone else read these books? I am looking forward to a rich discussion tomorrow night with some awesome librarian folk!

xoxox

Ode to a Ceremony: The Scholastic Writing Awards!

Yesterday marked the third annual Hudson-to-Housatonic Scholastic Writing Awards at Manhattanville College. My husband Rob and I took this on as part of our work with Writopia Lab and to enact Writopia's mission of spreading joy, literacy and critical thinking through creative writing to all kids and teens. Writopia Lab became an affiliate for the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards to ensure that teens in our area would be celebrated with due aplomb.

And yesterday they were. They came from throughout the lower Hudson Valley NY, up into the Litchfield Hills, and over to New Haven CT. It was all due to the risks they'd taken as poets, essayists, and storytellers, and because their parents and teachers supported them and created safe spaces where these young writers could express themselves.

Here I am with three of my students and Gold Key winners: Elizabeth, Kaley, and Julia.

And here again with Julia, Isabelle, Kaley and Caroline!

I was thrilled by the outpouring of community support - not only did we have other Writopia staff on hand to help run the show, but we also had parents and students lend a hand. We had over 150 students come to the ceremony, and nearly 600 people filled the chapel next to Reid Castle at Manhattanville College, helping us acknowledge these extraordinary teens.

Gail Carson Levine (Ella Enchanted) was our keynote speaker, and she captivated everyone with her no-nonsense writerly advice:  to cultivate patience (writing can be hard and SLOW), to be free to fail, and to ignore global criticism but to create a community where you can be critiqued fairly.

The most moving part of the ceremony was the kids themselves. We had them each take the stage and announce their names and what they have been recognized for, and many also declared aloud to the audience why they write.

They told us they write to connect with others, they write to know what they are thinking, they write to be masters of their own universes, they write to express their emotions, they write because if they didn't - they would go mad.  They told us they write because it's the only thing that's permanent, that they can make up their own rules, that they can express themselves in ways they can't in real life, in ways that would otherwise be impossible. They write because life is finite and the works they create are infinite. They write not to talk and still be heard, to explore their fantasies of who they want to be, for space to think, to learn more about themselves, because its NOT math! They write to create their own truth, to open up new opportunities and because it's the one thing they do for themselves and no one else.

And as Rebecca Wallace-Segall (Executive Director of Writopia Lab) pointed out at the end of the ceremony, not one of them said that they wrote to win an award.

Now that's something, isn't it?