beautiful Brooklyn

When I tell people, “Brooklyn’s my heart,” it’s because of the way the borough made me feel today. I pulled a muscle in my back midweek and was feeling better until last night when I pulled it again. I didn’t sleep well and wasn’t sure I could sit for 4 hours in the atrium of the Brooklyn Museum. We’re enjoying the effects of the polar vortex once more, so I bundled up and left the house early so I could pick up a heating pad for my back. It was brisk but sunny and I had enough time to run a few errands before heading over to the museum. Today was their annual Children’s Book Fair and—as always—it was a fantastic event. For the first time I had only my self-published titles to offer, and I admit I was a little worried that I’d be packing up a lot of books at the end of the day. Instead I sold out of 4 titles and left just 6 books behind—more than I’ve ever sold at one event. The first title to sell out was The Boy in the Bubble, which wasn’t surprising. The Last Bunny in Brooklyn went next, followed by the other two full-color books: The Magic Mirror and The Girl Who Swallowed the Sun. I actually sold just as many copies of The Phoenix on Barkley Street and Max Loves Muñecas!, but I’d brought ten copies of those titles instead of five. I didn’t get to see every table, but many authors were signing hardcover picture books, which can cost up to $20 each. I think having affordable paperbacks was important, and when I thanked the organizers for including my self-published books, they affirmed their commitment to books that reflect the diversity of the borough. Still, the first thing I did when I arrived (after sticking a heating pad on my back) was count the number of authors of color. The attendees were quite diverse but I didn’t see many Latino families, and an art student I’d met in Katie Yamasaki’s picture book class at SVA stopped by my table to make the same point. A white woman and former teacher from MA came up to shake my hand; she thanked me for having so many diverse books and said her hometown library regularly threw out African American titles that weren’t being checked out often enough (groan). Still, the museum’s brightly lit atrium was full of positive energy as kids went from table to table asking to have their “passport” stamped—an excellent way of having kids engage with all the authors and illustrators. I got to do a little improvisational storytelling and drew a small crowd sometimes as passing kids overheard my tale about the phoenix or the boy trapped in his bubble. Parents who opted to wait and look at all the books on offer were disappointed when they returned to my table and found the picture books were gone. One little girl kept telling her grandfather she wanted “Zoe,” but I was out of the 9/11 book. I honestly can’t describe how wonderful it felt to see so many families of color at my table. A few white parents bought my books, too, and that was also heartening. But it was so gratifying to see parents examining all the titles, asking their child which one s/he preferred. Some parents even asked about An Angel for Mariqua; I’d brought a galley with me so I could start the editing process and it was good to see so much interest in it. I never wonder why I do what I do, but today I did feel vindicated. And grateful. And like I was right where I was supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed to do…