January 2009

I find myself tempted to begin writing this piece as one might begin correspondence with a neglected friend, by apologizing for the length of my silence. The last time I made a contribution to this journal was last summer. I am certain, however, that no one out there has been waiting breathlessly for the next installment of my thoughts, so I’ll refrain from apologizing and simply say “I’m back.”

It’s a curious business, this matter of playing out personal thoughts in so public a venue. I’ve been sorting back over the last couple of years, remembering why I decided to do this.

I had resisted the very idea of having my own web site for a long time. But as the world changed around me I began to understand that a web presence is essential for those of us who put books out into the world hoping that others will read them, perhaps even buy them.

In the early years of my career, I left the wilderness of marketing to the professionals in New York. All the children’s writers I knew did the same. Not that there was a great deal of marketing going on, but what there was wasn’t our—the writers’—responsibility. We were “artists.” The function of artists was to create art, then sit back and hope our art might be noticed . . . and wish someone else were doing more to make that happen.

But with the World Wide Web, everything changed. Writers had the capacity—and soon the responsibility—to speak for their own books. And for themselves.

Which brought me to a crucial question . . . how did I want to represent myself and my work to the world?

I started by looking at sites set up by other children’s writers and soon found myself feeling . . . well, tired. The sites were interesting. They were visually attractive, sometimes even exciting. And they looked like a lot of work, work that would take me far from the day-to-day writing that has formed the backbone of my career. I had some very good people to set up a site, but the content would be up to me. And it took a long time for me to find the energy needed to begin gathering that content.

What do I want my web site to do? I asked myself. And the answer came back, simple and emphatic.

I wanted to make a connection with my readers. I also and particularly wanted to make a connection with the adults in the children’s book world who bring my books to readers. A human connection. A personal one.

Stories make connections, of course, but most of those connections are completely invisible to their authors. Books have a way of going out into the world and, after a few satisfying—or unsatisfying—reviews, leaving a lot of silence behind. They are a bit like children who grow up, leave home and forget to write. (I once wrote and produced a play, and I was astonished at how different it felt to sit in an audience and witness the response to my words. However, the other side of that coin is the fact that when a play is no longer being staged, it ceases to exist. Books, at least, are physical objects that might again be opened one day.)

It was in response to the silence in which my books float that I found myself beginning this journal. It was, no doubt, significant that I began writing shortly after spending a couple of weeks in the hospital watching my son be diagnosed with a brutal and fatal disease. I had come home from that journey feeling lost and isolated, and so I reached into the abyss for whatever connection might happen.

It is no surprise that my private thoughts, flung into the world so publicly, would be answered with an even more profound silence than the one generated by a newly published book. I wrote the journal, the writing tips, contributed an already-written piece to the memoir, talked about what I was working on, added other elements needed for my web site, and sat back and waited.

Nothing. Of course.

In truth I expected nothing. I’m a rational human being. I know that words tossed onto the Internet are little different than pebbles tossed into the sea.

Against all odds, though, gradually, slowly, my web site began to garner a harvest, an intriguing one. Because of my journal, I have heard from old friends with whom I’d long been out of touch.

I wrote of my son’s illness and eventually his death, and his one-time girlfriend, someone I had very much wanted to contact but didn’t know how, followed the events as they unfolded and reached out to me. She even brought a grandson to me whom I hadn’t seen since he was a very little boy.

More than a year after my partner of twenty years moved out, to my great amazement my web site brought me a new love!

Barb and I met at a potluck dinner, and she went home afterwards, looked me up on the Web and read my journal. Then she called . . . just before I had gathered my courage to call her.

She is a retired nurse, a one-time peace corps volunteer in Iran, a one-time trucker and railroad worker (all five feet tall of her), a passionate Socialist, and a fantastic human being.

I have recently celebrated my 70th birthday, and I can say with great authority that it is fine to be 70 and in love!

And this journal? Where is it taking me in the vast silence in which my books already float?

To a small step, I think, away from the silence. I’m going to try turning this journal into a blog. What I can’t do is to allow the Internet to encroach deeply on my work time, so my presence in the blog will be light, but I want to give those who are catching these pebbles a chance to toss something back.

And I want to give myself a chance to hear.

I’ll be listening.

P.S.  This journal has been in the process of making the transition into BLOG format so those who want to can respond.  Now, at last, it’s ready, and you can add your thoughts by clicking on “No  Comments” or “Comments” below.