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Blog postThe vacation season has arrived and I haven’t booked a thing. Not even considered lounging on sun-kissed beaches or hiking wondrous trails. To be honest, those were rarely the vacations that a family of six embarked upon. Our vacations were more car than Caribbean affairs, where we’d pack a cooler, fill up the gas tank of our Suburban,
Miami, Florida vacation, 2009
North Carolina, 2007
(costing nearly the price a first cl -
Blog postMath has never been my subject. When divvying up a restaurant tab makes you hyperventilate, calculating any type of equation can generally cause fits of anxiety. Mathematicians tell you that what they most love about numbers is that they make sense. Plug in this number here, and this number here and voila, the same answer, every single time. There is a certain satisfaction that comes in knowing that subjectivity will not alter an outcome. But I’v
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Blog postI hate cheerleaders. Or at least I thought I did. I am a feminist after all and feminists hate cheerleaders. They are the epitome of what we fight against. The female faces of objectification. They stand on the sidelines, all aglitter in tiny shorts and crop tops, ponytails bobbing, fake smiles pasted to their faces, cheering on men, while men play and strategize and score points. The cheerleaders are the entertainment while the men are the main attraction.
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Blog postI knew that writing about Harriet Tubman for my newest book, Before she Was Harriet (which releases today) would be a difficult task and that is exactly why I waited years to do it. Since childhood, Harriet was my hero. Courageous, rebellious, fierce, she was everything the anxiety-ridden, fearful me wanted to be. Her story stood in stark contrast to others I’d read in my grade school textbooks that in my child’s mind, portrayed enslaved peoples as willing pa
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Blog postI live in the past. I am a keeper of mementos, a one woman storage facility of memories. I often tease my siblings that should I die, they would have no recollection at all of our childhood. Like a parlor trick, upon request I can recall the most mundane snatches of memory. I’ve had friends call to ask the name of an old boyfriend or the name of a song we loved in college.
Me, age 12 (photo courtesy of Kim Facey Witherspoon)
But as much as I Iike to boa -
Blog postWhen my family were asked to appear on the cover of a recent local publication, my kids were stumped.
“Why would anyone want to feature us on a cover?” they each asked.
“Probably because we are a writer and illustrator couple,” I offered.
But they were not convinced. And with our many foibles and averageness, I can certainly understand their confusion. Children’s book writers and illustrators aren’t typically those who receive the spotlight -
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Blog postNo, this is not the prelude to a political rant about how the current administration is sending us on a collision course with disaster. But this is a blog about my beginnings with The End. As in The End of Times. As in the Apocalypse.
My fascination with the apocalypse could have begun as early as six years old when I read and reread the Chicken Little story.
“The sky is falling,” Chicken Little warned his friends Goosey Loosey and Ducky Lucky. I -
Blog postI’ve always been afraid of the dark. For as long as I can remember, I slept with a night-light. As a teenager, after seeing the movie The Exorcist, I crawled into bed with my parents for one week. Many of my fears are of the garden variety sort–bugs, owls, getting lost, the dentist. But others have no basis in logic, like my fear of losing my finger to a circular saw, being abducted, falling off of a cliff at the Grand Canyon and choking on a butterscotch candy (an a
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Blog postIn 1922, Edward Marshall Howard, a young man from Charlottesville, Virginia, left his home and travelled 150 miles to attend Hampton Institute, a college in Hampton, Virginia. Born in 1900, Edward was the son of Marshall, a chauffeur, and Lula, a schoolteacher, who wanted to study mechanical engineering.
Edward Howard seated on left holding banner
He left behind his family and his girlfriend Anne Kelley, whom he’d known since childhood. At Hampton, he dived into his studies an -
Blog postI’ve never been a fan of New Year’s resolutions. They’ve always felt to me like daily reminders of my lack of discipline and perseverance. So when my daughter asked on January 1st what my New Year’s resolution was, I gave a speech from atop my soap box. She nodded, listened patiently, and then responded,
“My resolution this year is to be selfish.”
Not only was I appalled that she obviously hadn’t listened intently to my speech about the failure of resolutions, she
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