What fiction most influenced your childhood and your writing today? by Donna Galanti

My love for writing and reading went hand in hand ever since I was a little girl. I began writing plays and acting them out with the neighborhood kids when I was seven years old. My first play was a murder mystery (no surprise!). At the time, I lived in England, where I attended a Harry Potter-like castle school.

Progressing from plays to stories, my first short story was about a flying ship, wizards, and Dodo birds. I even put in writing (in the “author’s bio” at the end of my story) that I wanted to be an author when I grew up.

At that same time, I vividly recall the first book I fell in love with: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. I read the entire Narnia Chronicles in my very-British school, curled up in a nook in my itchy gray and pink woolen school uniform as you can see (bowler hat and tie included!). 

For a time, I would sneak into people’s coat closets when visiting with my parents, hoping to find a Narnia world on the other side. I would huddle in the dark beneath winter coats in hall closets, imagining myself sent to an older world long gone as I hid among musty wool. If I sat long enough would I be transported there?

After that I gobbled up all of Roald Dahl’s books and especially loved Fantastic Mr. Fox and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The tooth fairy brought his books. I still have them all.

I went on real life adventures with Enid Blyton's the Adventurous Four gang. As an only child, it was like having brothers and sisters to join in with. They made me feel less lonely as we explored our world from the sea to the farm. Then it was on to The Phantom Tollbooth and I was a little boy named Milo traveling into The Lands Beyond.

After England, we moved to rural New Hampshire where my parents owned and operated a campground and along came Laura Ingalls Wilder’s the Little House Books. We had barns and hogs and chickens, and how I loved gathering the rotten apples in the orchards to feed the hogs. My mom even made me a prairie dress outfit. I so wanted to be Laura! 

One fall day we rounded up the hogs for slaughter and I dreamt of blowing up the pig’s bladder like a balloon and tossing it about and roasting the pig’s tail – just like Laura did! Although, my mother was not so thrilled with scooping out the eyes to make head cheese as Mrs. Ingalls did!

When I became a teenager, J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings came into my life and I was swept away to Middle Earth. One Halloween at school I even dressed up as Aragorn (what I envisioned he looked like at the time long before the movies) and of course no one knew who I was in my cloak, boots, and dirt-grimed face.

As a child, fantasy was my reality. I read fantasy then and created fantasy worlds in my imagination to live out my favorite books, so it’s no surprise that I write fantasy! From that first story about a flying ship to my most recent book, Joshua and the Arrow Realm, fantasy has always claimed me. 

My son has a love for fantasy too, sucking up the Charlie Bone books by Jenny Nimmo (“The best author EVER Mom!” So, he was thrilled when she blurbed my first book, Joshua and the Lightning Road). When my son was younger, he loved to create his own fantasy worlds by extending his dreams. He would wake up and play with his cars and character figures to bring his dream to life again. He kept the story going because he was sad he woke up and it had ended. He found a way to keep it going.

When I was a little girl the woods were my playground. Growing up on a mountain as an only child after we moved to New York, I spent much of my time roaming the forest with my notebook in hand, putting stories on the page in hidden glens and the nooks of trees (and acting them out when no one was around).

The tree house world from Joshua and the Arrow Realm. Illustration by Al Sirois.

My love of the woods and fantasy both fueled the wooded world of Joshua and the Arrow Realm, where Joshua must survive the hunt and discovers a hidden tree world of other kids. 

I wish there was a closet I could huddle in now to travel to my favorite made-up worlds, but my imagination must do. I have all my childhood books on my shelves and know I can visit them anytime. And I don't even need a closet to get there.

What fiction fueled your fantasy world as a child and if you write, does it enrich your stories today? Do you still re-read your favorite books from childhood like me? 

Mourning the Middle Grade Years by Donna Galanti

Just recently, it struck me that I couldn’t remember the last time I read a goodnight book to my 13-year-old son. I asked him if he knew. He couldn’t remember either.

“There was probably a night where you couldn’t read to me, Mom, because you were busy. And then the next night we forgot about it. And the next.”

“So it just faded away?”

“Yup.”

*Mom choke-up*

Since then I’ve been bothered by the fact that:
1. I desperately want to remember when and what that last goodnight book was.
2. If I’d known it was the last time, I would have cherished it.
3. Bedtime reading to my son is forever gone – and why am I just realizing the significance of this now?

I mourn something long disappeared that I had not known was even gone.

Along with the bedtime reading, has gone the picture books and middle grade books. Some I received as a little girl 40+ years ago. My mother lovingly wrote my name in mine, the year I received it, and who gave me the book. The Tooth Fairy brought me books from the entire Beatrix Potter series to all of Roald Dahl’s books.

The picture books have since been packed away in my office and the middle grade books collect dust on my son’s shelves.

“Mom, can we pack these books up now too?”

“Never!” I protest and gently dust them off and take them to my room where middle grade will never die. 

Books like Wonder, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Big Nate, Warriors, Flat Stanley, Goosebumps, Genius Files, Joshua Dread, Captain Underpants (the lunch signs are the BEST!), Charlie Bone (Mom, this is THE best series EVER! You have to read it). Oh, and how amazingly cool for my son that the Charlie Bone series author, Jenny Nimmo, blurbed my first middle grade book.

My son, pushing 14, has now moved on to sucking up darker novels like Marie Lu’s YA fantasy series Legend, Prodigy, and Champion.

And I realized, sadly, he’s also moved on from all of our middle grade shows: iCarly, Good Luck Charlie, Pair of Kings, Drake and Josh, Sponge Bob Square Pants. My middle grade shows growing up included Little House on the Prairie, The Love Boat, Magnum P.I., Benson, Greatest American Hero, and re-runs of The Carol Burnett Show and Leave it to Beaver.

At nearly-14, my son's tv shows now consist of Arrow, About a Boy, Limitless, Dr. Who (okay that’s forever cool), and How I Met Your Mother (soooo not middle grade!). 

I nostalgically bring up our shared favorite episodes to him of middle grade shows buried in tv-land dust.

“Can’t we just watch a Sponge Bob episode tonight? How about the "Frankendoodle" one or "Pizza Delivery" or "Best Day Ever"?” I ask.

“No, Mom. That’s kid stuff.” *Josh sigh*

“What about iCarly where Spencer pranks everyone and does the prank song?” I start bopping around.

“No, Mom.” *eye roll*

“Okay.” *Mom sigh*

I’ve grown with my son as he’s grown, true, but in doing so I’ve also relived many of my own childhood paths – and I don’t want them to end. I’ve returned home to a place where I will always be young, laughing myself silly, whizzing through an adventure, and experiencing so many wondrous ‘firsts’.

As a kid growing up in the 1970s and 1980s there weren’t books categorized “middle grade” and so I downed Sidney Sheldon, Stephen King, Jack London, Paul Zindel, and V.C. Andrews (all soooo not middle grade). I still re-read many today. They were my middle grade. Now I have my son’s too. And someday I hope he’ll come back around to them, like I did. Maybe with his own child. He doesn’t need to relive his childhood now. He’s living it.

He also doesn’t need me to be home anymore after school. He has a job folding pizza boxes and can ride his bike to a friend’s house. He doesn’t need me to read him bedtime stories or cut up his meat. He doesn’t need me to do his laundry. He can do that just fine (good!).

Don’t misunderstand me; I am enjoying the new phase of things. Watching him work, open a bank account, clean his room because he wants to (faint!), be reasonable when things don’t go his way, and calm his frazzled mom down when deadlines loom. “It’ll be okay Mom. You’ll get it done. You always do.” *Josh hug*

He helped me years ago in writing my first middle grade book when I got stuck on plot and character. And soon, I’ll give him to read the YA fantasy I’m writing before I share it with my agent. Although, I still get thrills when he tells his friends that his mom’s new (middle grade) book out is the best book ever. *mom beam*

He may have said goodbye to middle grade for now, but I do love sharing in the new wonders with him. I just won’t ever stop loving middle grade, not since I fell in love with it through my son. I’ll wait for the day he comes back to it. *fingers crossed*

There is one thing that still remains: Mad Libs. Where middle grade toilet humor abounds because exploding butt nuggets, scrubby cow plops, booger blub, and crusty toe nail clippings make everything funny. Thank goodness for that!

Have you ever mourned moving on from a phase in your child's middle grade life? 

Book World by Caroline Starr Rose

My reading life began with a picture book called The Littlest Rabbit. I would solemnly quote the first page, “Everybody is bigger than I am,” entertaining my family by (unknowingly) speaking the truth about my place in the big, wide world. That world placed limitations on what I could do and where I could go, but the book world — my world — was simultaneously about discovery and adventure, safety and familiarity, a place I could set the rules and make the boundaries, carry the flashlight and lead the way. My book world was a place I could revisit as often as I wanted, relaxing in the steadiness of treasured words and friends.

In that place I encountered Little Bear and his birthday soup, Timmy Tiptoes and his terrifying entrapment in a tree, and Pooh and Piglet singing through a snowstorm (tiddley pom). I devoured books about Aslan, that lion who wasn’t safe but good, and Laura, a girl who lived so very long ago bears and panthers lived outside her door, and a penny in her Christmas stocking was worth celebrating. There was Ramona (a girl who said exactly what she thought, bravely doing the things I didn’t dare try on my own), Nancy Drew, and the boy wonder, Leroy Brown, who figured out the most puzzling mysteries and put the world to rights. There was Anne Shirley, who imagined and dreamed and long for puffed sleeves. And Arriety, with her Borrowed name and cigar box bed.

I loved Charlie, with his hard-won golden ticket in hand; Taran, the pig boy turned hero; and Edmund Dantes, the innocent imprisoned in the Chateau D’If. Doctor Doolittle and Scarlett O’Hara. Guy Montag and Mary Poppins.

I learned about the Holocaust while reading When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, about the middle ages while reading Katherine, and the French Revolution while reading Desiree. I learned about heartache alongside Jody when he lost his beloved Flag. (Rereading The Yearling as an adult, I ached in a new way — as a parent watching a child face hardship for the first time). I learned compassion reading Follow My Leader and Mine For Keeps.

“I am a part of everything that I have read,” John Kieran said, and my life echoes this truth, for who I am is richer, broader, and kinder because of my book world and the characters who’ve met me there.

What books have shaped your Book World?

THE WILDER LIFE: Laura Ingalls Revisited

For those of you who've followed here for a while, you might have caught that I'm a Laura Ingalls Wilder fan. My book, MAY B., was partially inspired by my desire to create my own strong pioneer girl who would feel, in the spirit of Laura Ingalls, both familiar and brave. 

If you, too, are a Laura fan, you have to get a hold of Wendy McClure's THE WILDER LIFE: MY ADVENTURES IN THE LOST WORLD OF LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE. As an adult, Wendy rekindles her Laura love and determines she'll learn as much as she can about the Ingalls and their world. Wendy embarks on a butter-churning, midwestern-prairie trekking adventure, where she visits all of Laura's homesites (excluding the Wilders brief stay in Florida), experiments with homesteading techniques (sourdough starter, anyone?), and digs deep into what is real, what is fiction, and what is memory. Those of us who grew up loving Laura Ingalls have memories of our own. 

For me, I remember Laura being the first author I "knew." Sure, I'd been exposed to plenty of books before the Little House series, but it was while listening to my father read that I came to understand Laura the girl and Laura the writer were the same person. I was convinced that Laura had actually typed each page in my book, stuck everything together, and sent it to the bookstore.

Wendy's book covers a lot -- the television series fans vs. the book fans (some of us are both, but lean more one way or the other), the way Laura's books are more fictitious than many realize (For example, LITTLE HOUSE IN THE BIG WOODS actually covers the time before and after LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE; the Ingalls, like many pioneers, had to backtrack before being able to move west again), and the expectation -- and disappointment -- a fan might experience while visiting, as Wendy calls it, Laura World. 

How much of the books comes from true events? How much of our memories of the Ingalls were partially formed by our own childhood impressions? Where is a fan left in the midst of it all? And why did TV Pa solve so many problems by throwing punches?

For this Laura fan, this book was incredibly satisfying. Wendy, like it or not, you've made a new friend.

Has anyone else read THE WILDER LIFE? What were your impressions?