Since the 1960s, artist William Wegman has captured his beloved Weimaraners in iconic poses that have appeared in books for adults and children, postcards, calendars and posters, to name a few. But it has been a decade since Wegman released a new children’s book, and he does so now with a twist on his familiar approach.

In his new picture book, Flo & Wendell, Wegman goes back to his roots as an artist, adding colorful splashes of paint to his photos of the expressive dogs.

Speaking by phone from his home in Maine, Wegman explains that the concept for the book developed not just from the idea of adding illustrations, but also from the spot-on, very human-like rivalry of two of his own Weimaraner puppies, who are also siblings.  

“It really came about because of Flo’s character with her actual half-brother, who is a year younger,” he says. “Their relationship was both nurturing and competitive—or combative—as dogs. I also have my own children, so I had a chance to witness that, but really, it’s what everybody knows about big sisters or little brothers or visa versa. It’s something you see whether it’s your own children or someone else’s.”

As the story unfolds in Flo & Wendell, Flo is revealed as something of a dramatic ham, a quality shared by the real Flo. “She loves the camera! She absolutely does, the same way that my dog Fay did. Topper [who appears in the book as Wendell] likes it, too, but Flo’s much more competitive. She wants it, and she’ll knock the other dogs off to get up on the modeling stand.”

As with all the Wegman dogs, modeling becomes a fun, positive experience and that was no exception for Flo, the camera queen. “When I started working with her, I had a dog named Penny who I was working on for a National Geographic cover every day practically. And so, when Flo was very young, I would set her next to Penny, so she’d think she was having her picture taken. And I think that made her really like it. She got to see her hero Penny pose, and then when it was her turn she thought it was something.”

That kind of excitement in Wegman’s studio seems to be rewarding for his dogs, who don’t receive doggie treats or canine cookies for posing. “Big strobe lights go off, and it’s a pleasant experience for them. It’s like God talking—a big ‘stay’ and a big flash of light. If you pet them, it becomes a positive. I don’t give them treats because I don’t want them drooling all over, and that is exactly what they would do.” A bit unsightly for the camera, of course.

Wegman, who took a lot of pictures of both Flo and Topper (aka Wendell) when they were seven or eight weeks old, points out that the photos of each dog in the book are kept in character. In choosing the head shots of Flo in the story, Wegman explains, “There’s just a finite number of pictures of Flo when she was eight weeks old which I used in this book. We had to recycle through those heads of expression if I wanted to keep that character legitimate, which I do. That’s one thing that I do that’s different probably from the Lassie situation is that I don’t have many dogs playing other characters. So Flo is Flo. I don’t have some other random Weimaraner becoming Flo.”

Selecting just the right photos with the exact expressions, then mixing those with Wegman’s painted additions, is an exciting combination that helps the story unfold naturally. For the artist/photographer, the emphasis was on getting all the layers perfectly balanced on each page. “The first images I did of this type of character were kind of electrifying. I did one that is actually one of the pages introducing Wendell. That was the first time I made a painted figure that was flushed out like that. And it was so exciting and funny that I then developed a personality around that—then all the words started to fall in place.”

Appealing to the youngest readers (and listeners) with simple, loose form and bright colors, Wegman purposely downplays the details of clothing and body features, amplifying the dog’s vivid expressions. “It just comes alive before my eyes as I’m sitting there. It usually starts with a certain color—for instance with Flo, who always wears that pinkish kind of shirt—and I just start throwing the brush into a direction the arm might be.” Then along with that informal painting style, Wegman says, “The  photographic aspect snaps it into a nice kind of clarity. Like I guess if you’re a cook and that’s your feature dish, you want to set the table with some side dishes that make your main dish work.” (A video demonstration of this technique is a don’t-miss at Wegmanworld.com.)

This new approach to depicting his Weimaraners may surprise some of Wegman’s fans, but to him, painting has always been a part of his life. “That’s what I did. That’s why I went to art school, and then somehow I got involved in early usage of video back in the late 1960s and early ’70s and used photo as a way of breaking through into new media. At the time it was considered new for artists to be using photography and video. And I found just a really electrifying way of using that. Painting seemed just absolutely part of the 19^th century or at least it seemed to peter out by 1960-something. But because I have an innate love of it, I started to do it again. Way before I even thought of doing children’s books, I started to do paintings.”

An artist with such a rich history has seen tremendous changes in technology over the years, and those changes have influenced his art, Wegman says. “I use to use the Polaroid camera, which at one time was the very new and startling thing that took gigantic 24” X 20” pictures instantly, and that seemed really fast and very brazenly exciting. And I used that very effectively for many years. Then I got more into the digital. But I noticed that when I took a digital picture of a dog for instance, dressed up, you might have imagined that was all photoshopped and that the dog wasn’t really there collaborating, in a way, so that issue became less interesting. . . . So I think that’s another reason why the painted books and so forth have become more interesting for me. I still use the digital cameras for photographs with the adult dogs, and they do all kinds of crazy stuff, but less and less are they made into especially human characters. I’m still photographing them as adult dogs in situations and occasionally they are in outfits but, I don’t know, it’s just different.”

Wegman and his talented family are similar to the mom, dad and kids in Flo & Wendell, each one involved with the arts. Wegman’s wife, Christine Burgin (who designed the layout for the book), his 18-year-old son, Atlas, and 15-year-old daughter, Lola, and four Weimaraners, Candy, Bobbin, Flo and Topper, all divide their time between homes in Maine and New York City.

Wegman says the dogs adapt to just about any environment, whether loping along Maine’s winding nature trails or enjoying the city smells of a busy bike path in New York. “All the art projects go into suitcases and the dogs sit in a large SUV and enjoy the eight-hour drive between Maine and New York,” he says. And although according to Wegman, the big dogs love the big city, if you took their picture when they’re in New York, their expressions would say, “When are we going back to Maine?”

Images from Flo & Wendell © copyright 2013 by William Wegman. Reprinted with permission of Dial Books for Young Readers.

Steven Kellogg has made a career of dreaming up stories that entertain, intrigue and delight. The author and illustrator has his name on more than 100 books and counting, from reimaginings of fairy tales to quirky animal stories such as The Day Jimmy's Boa Ate the Wash.

His new book, Snowflakes Fall, stands apart from the rest. Kellogg, who lived with his family in Sandy Hook, Connecticut, for 35 years, collaborated with his longtime friend, Newbery Medalist Patricia MacLachlan (Sarah, Plain and Tall), to create a story that pays tribute and offers hope in the wake of the December 14, 2012, mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School, in which 20 students and six staff members died.

Kellogg took time out of his busy schedule to answer questions about the genesis of Snowflakes Fall, his personal connection to Sandy Hook and a new partnership with a dear friend.

What was it like to work on a book that held such emotional heft for you—and the people who will be reading it and remembering that day??

It was very important to me to be able to deal with the depression brought on by the tragedy, and I chose the voice of the picture book to deal with the sadness while gratefully celebrating my memories of the vibrant community where, for 35 years, I lived and worked and raised my family. The events of 12/14 will always be the darkest chapter in the town's history, and, while acknowledging that deep sorrow, I also wanted the illustrations to join the spirit of the uplifting, life-affirming verses Patricia wrote by depicting the joy and wonder that children who grow up in that idyllic village and its magical woodlands have experienced ever since the town was founded in the early 18th century.

"Her lyrical verses evoked my memories of children playing in the woods, fields and streams that surrounded our old farmhouse in Sandy Hook."

Have any of your other books been as personally meaningful for you??

All of the books I have written and/or illustrated are personally meaningful to me, but Snowflakes Fall is unique in that it allowed me to utilize the picture book art form to address the dark shadows cast by a tragedy in a manner that acknowledges profound sadness, but also revels in the rich diversity of life and the beautiful changes we see all around us, in growing children and the evolving seasons.

Did you and Ms. MacLachlan readily "click" regarding your respective visions for Snowflakes Fall?

Authors and illustrators rarely collaborate during the creation of a book, and that accepted custom can allow the creative process to flow more freely for both because they concentrate on their individual contributions rather than their personal relationship. Occasionally, a book benefits from a long-established friendship between the artist and author, and that was very much the case with Snowflakes Fall. The coming together of the text and images was enhanced by the freedom we felt to discuss and integrate each other's pictorial and verbal ideas, and to make suggestions we felt would help the book put across the feelings and insights we both hoped to convey.

Was the snowflake metaphor the first thing that came to mind? And the snow angels . . . I see that, at book's end, there are 20 of them spiraling up to the sky. Beautiful.

On first reading, I loved the eloquent phrases and the images in the verses Patricia wrote, and her utilization of the diversity and beauty of the simple snowflake to establish the theme of the book. I couldn't wait to combine her poetry with the paintings I was imagining. Her lyrical verses evoked my memories of children playing in the woods, fields and streams that surrounded our old farmhouse in Sandy Hook. We had very constructive discussions about ways in which the verbal and visual movement of the book could be shaped so it would achieve the effect we both envisioned. Her mention of snow angels in one of the sequences, for example, opened me to the possibility of broadening their presence to the jacket, the title page, the last spread, and to the final, wordless scene on the last endpaper where they rise from the silent moonlit playground and fly into the healing peace of the falling snow.

Do you hope your book will help children understand that artistic expression can help us when we're grieving?

My intent was to illustrate the book as a celebration of the uniqueness of children and the joy of childhood, with a concentration on the excitement of the changing seasons, and the fascinating, celebratory and occasionally very difficult stages of life as it continually evolves. My hope is that we have created a picture book that will speak about a range of emotions and reach out to people of all ages.

Most of the 100 books you've published were created when you lived in Sandy Hook. What made it such a fertile place for your imagination and your art? ?

In addition to the beautiful landscape and congenial townships, the joy of my life in Sandy Hook evolved from the discovery of a generous old farmhouse that accommodated all of our needs. . . . It had an intriguing maze of intimate nooks and crannies that were perfect for a large family with a Great Dane and a troupe of personable cats . . . and I realized the attic rooms could be combined into the perfect space for a studio that overlooked the treetops and woodland waterfall below. We loved living in that house, and it appears in the distance in one of the illustrations in the book.

Were you ever concerned about readers thinking it was "too soon" to do this book?

I felt an urgent need to express and re-channel the concerns the tragedy aroused in me, and I hoped the book's carefully composed life-affirming and consoling qualities would be felt by people who read Patricia's verses and wandered through the pages of the accompanying paintings.

Will you be touring with Ms. MacLachlan to promote Snowflakes Fall?

I'll be doing an event for the village of Sandy Hook and the Newtown community, and select appearances in addition to ones I’ve already done for booksellers in New Orleans and Providence, RI.

Random House made a donation to support Sandy Hook, and will donate new books to national literacy organization First Book, correct?

Yes, a book donation will be made to First Book and, in honor of Newtown, Connecticut, and the village of Sandy Hook, Random House Children’s Books has made a donation to the Where Angels Play Foundation in support of The Sandy Ground: Where Angels Play project. The project's goal is to build 26 playgrounds along the Hurricane Sandy-ravaged coast of New Jersey, New York and Connecticut to honor the lives of those lost at Sandy Hook Elementary.

View the book trailer for Snowflakes Fall:

Katherine Paterson is a living legend of children’s literature. She has won the Hans Christian Andersen and Laura Ingalls Wilder Awards—as well as multiple National Book Awards and Newbery Medals—and is the author of such classics as Bridge to Terabithia and Jacob Have I Loved.

Following 2011’s picture book Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Paterson and illustrator Pamela Dalton once again join forces for Giving Thanks, a collection of prose, poems and songs of gratitude. In between these inspirational snippets and Dalton’s paper-cutting designs, Paterson shares meditations and personal stories that illustrate thankfulness in her own life.

Giving Thanks includes prayers, proverbs, poetry and wisdom from many different religious and cultural traditions. Tell us why this is important to you.
I believe that the one I call God is infinite and therefore far beyond my finite comprehension. I need the vision of the Infinite from other religions and cultures to broaden my parochial vision.

What does being gracious mean to you?
It means opening my mind and heart to the gifts and the needs of others.

It’s so easy to feel overwhelmed by daily obligations and distractions. How do you remind yourself to stop and give thanks?
This may sound self-serving, but actually I have been greatly helped by the book Giving Thanks that Pam, our editor Christopher Franceschelli and I did together. I have been going through a particularly difficult period of my life with the serious illness and then death of my husband. Doing the text and then rereading it with Pam’s wonderful illustrations has reminded me over and over again to give thanks for people and things that come to me every day in the midst of hard times.

You share many personal stories throughout Giving Thanks, which encourages readers (and listeners) of all ages to share their own stories while delighting in the poems and prayers here. What advice would you give a family that hopes to make the sharing of personal stories a regular part of their lives?
In order to share stories, we have to take time to do so. In our full and harried lives we forget that a vital part of growing together as a family means we need to listen to each other and tell each other things of importance. This happened best for our family around the dining room table or in the car on the way somewhere. But you have to think to do so and consider this sharing of as much importance as shopping or texting or posting on Facebook.

Do you have a favorite poem or proverb from this collection?
I think the alphabet prayer on the frontispiece is perhaps my favorite in the collection. It reminds me of St. Paul’s words, that we do not know how to pray as we ought but that God’s spirit intercedes for us “with sighs too deep for words.”

What are three things you’re thankful for this year?
I have so many things to be thankful for that it is hard to limit myself to three, but I am particularly grateful for the years my husband and I had together and for the last week of his life that was a time of many blessings. I’m grateful for my children and grandchildren’s loving care and the support of so many friends. And incidentally, for my dog who is a great comforter in a small body.

Do you have any special Thanksgiving traditions in your family?
Growing up the child of a minister and then as wife of one, the actual going to church for a service of Thanksgiving took precedence over the turkey or the football game, but, of course, they had their important roles in the celebration.

All aboard Brian Floca's Locomotive, winner of the 2014 Caldecott Medal! From vivid mechanical descriptions to vast spreads of passing landscapes, young readers will love exploring the early days of America's transcontinental railroad with this detail-packed and gorgeously illustrated book. Texas-born Floca shared with us a little about the Caldecott whirlwind:

What was the first thing that went through your head when you found out you had won the Caldecott?

There was an overwhelming impulse to make sure I had heard correctly.

Who was the one person you couldn’t wait to tell about the award?

I can’t pick just one. My brain just sort of started cycling through everyone in my life. Parents, editor, girlfriend, sister, nieces, studio mates, friends and on.

Do you have a favorite past Caldecott winner?

Again, it’s hard to pick just one, but a book I was admiring recently and that makes as good an answer as any is The Glorious Flight: Across the Channel with Louis Bleriot by Alice and Martin Provensen, which won the medal in 1984.

What’s the best part of writing books for a younger audience?

Many things. I think the chance to be curious, to be enthusiastic, and also the chance to tell a story using both words and pictures.

What kind of reaction have you gotten from your readers about this book?

My favorite reaction was recounted by a parent and involved the word “obsessed.” If the young reader starts explaining to the parent what the different parts of the locomotive do, I feel very happy about that.

Have you read or listened to past Caldecott acceptance speeches? Are you excited (or worried!) about your own speech?

I’ve been lucky and happy to attend some past speeches, and I’m both excited and worried, yes, about giving one myself!

What’s next for you?

I’ve illustrated Kate Messner’s Marty McGuire Has Too Many Pets! and Lynne Cox’s Elizabeth, Queen of the Seas, two books that are coming out this spring, and then an older book of mine, Five Trucks, is being reissued by Atheneum this summer. And now I’m about to start drawings for a new novel by Avi (to whom Locomotive is dedicated, incidentally). I’m excited about each of those books.

It’s a frigid day in Milwaukee when I call author-illustrator Lois Ehlert to talk about her newest book, The Scraps Book: Notes from a Colorful Life. Not surprisingly, she is inspired.

“It is these gray winter days that stir my creativity,” Ehlert says. “I am so happy to stay in and work. I am sitting here right now with a bag of scraps on my drawing board. I have green paint underneath my fingernails. I am as happy as a clam.”

It is this abundant creativity we have to thank for Ehlert’s long list of distinctive picture books for children in a career that has spanned decades and which once began with the study of graphic design.

Ehlert’s signature collage illustrations, which celebrate color, shape and form, immediately attract the curious eyes of the youngest of readers. In 1989, she received the Caldecott Honor for Color Zoo, and in 2006 the inventive Leaf Man, a story told with real autumn leaves, was awarded a Boston-Globe Horn Book Award. Early in her career, Ehlert illustrated the perennially best-selling Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, written by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault.

The Scraps Book: Notes from a Colorful Life is an autobiographical picture book, filled with old family photos, bits of art, Ehlert’s inspirations, early sketches and book dummies. It is a splendid book, telling the story of Ehlert’s childhood and subsequent career as an illustrator, while also dispensing earnest yet never cloying bits of wisdom for young, aspiring artists. There is a real energy and spontaneity in Ehlert’s work, and the book captures that with style.

“It isn’t the kind of book you do when you are 21 years old,” Ehlert says. “I am not a formal person that likes to do a biography. That is not my world.”

The book was entirely her idea, not an editor’s or agent’s. “You have thoughts like this as you get older,” Ehlert explains. “I wanted to share. I do a lot of workshops with children at the art museum here. I delight in it. I need to set it down while I still have my marbles.”

Ehlert also shares photos of her personal collections in the book, everything from multicolored fabrics to folk art to ice fishing decoys. “There are a lot of things that call out to me, ‘Lois, buy me,’ ” she jokes, adding that it’s been frequent travels over her lifetime that have generated so many rich and diverse collections. “The world is full of such interesting things. I have Indian moccasins, textiles from all over the world. I have African masks, and I have pre-Columbian pots and a lot of books. I like fabric, so I have a lot of textiles with embroidery and stitching. I have pieces of clothing, children’s dresses from India, lovely things that probably will not exist in this world any longer. [They are from] a different time when people spent more time doing handwork.”

The Scraps Book is not only an affirmation of art, color and creativity, but it also serves as a touching tribute to Ehlert’s family. Raised by parents who encouraged her art—“I was lucky; I grew up with parents who made things with their hands”—she always had art supplies and tools at the ready.

One spread features photos of her dad’s brush and her mother’s pinking shears. “It is another example of recycling,” Ehlert says. “It is [about] growing up with not much money—but a lot of spirit. I think that is also what I am trying to say. If you look at some of my books, [you see that] you do not have to go to the art supply store for everything. Look into nature.

“I asked my mother one time if she really knew what she was doing for me,” Ehlert adds. “She said no, that they just knew I was interested in [art]. Isn’t it wonderful that a parent is that perceptive?”

Nor did her parents discourage her from art school. “You would think they might, because I was the oldest of three children. How was I going to make a living, and how was it going to work out? You just have to follow your instincts. I have had other jobs, but if you love to do something, do it as well as you can.”

Find a spot for creating art, get comfortable and begin, Ehlert advises aspiring artists in the book. Oh, and don’t forget to get messy. Given that her tools are often as simple as scissors, construction paper and glue, it’s far from an intimidating notion for children, rich or poor. It’s empowering as well, one of many qualities that make this book special.

“My wish,” Ehlert says, “is that there will be little kids like I was, who read that and say, ‘Well, if she can do it, I can do it.’ It may take them 20 years. I was a relatively late bloomer.”

And it all began, as noted on the first page of The Scraps Book, with a young girl who read all the books on the library shelves and thought maybe someday she could make a book.

When I point out to Ehlert how much I love that opening, she says, “I had no clue how to do [it]. It is kind of funny, but look what happened.”

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

Images from The Scraps Book, reprinted with permission.

Two-time Caldecott winner Chris Raschka certainly knows how to make very little readers giggle, and the giggles continue with Abrams Appleseed’s revitalization of Raschka’s Thingy Things picture book series, originally published in 2000 by Hyperion.

Toddlers meet four Thingies on April 8—original cast members Lamby Lamb and Whaley Whale, and newcomers Cowy Cow and Crabby Crab—and four more this fall. A whale hides in plain sight; a lamb gets dressed despite the narrator’s protestations; an unabashedly clever cow shares a few great ideas; and a crab has one heck of a bad attitude. It’s comedy gold for anyone who thinks peek-a-boo is a riot.

How fun to reunite with Lamby Lamb and Whaley Whale! Plus, refreshed editions of Moosey Moose and Doggy Dog are coming this September. Which of these four original Thingy Things is your favorite?
Well, I admit a soft spot for Moosey Moose. This one came first and seemed to me then, and still seems to me now, to have captured my son in his contrariness, whimsy, moodiness and delightfulness all at once. It set the tone for all the following books.

Not all of them came directly from him, of course. For instance, Goosey Goose (“If you mess with Goosey Goose, uh-huh, uh-huh”) was taken down by me almost verbatim, surreptitiously, from a girl hanging on the monkey bars at the Dinosaur Playground at 97th Street on the Upper West Side of Manhattan circa 1999. When I heard her, it felt like gold falling out of the sky. What a musical genius that girl was.

The Thingy Things books are so great due to their utter simplicity. How are you able to tap into what toddlers will want to read again and again?
Yes, the text must remain simple, although not all the words themselves are terribly simple—“Gluten-free oatmeal raisin cookie,” for example. Then, the words should almost have a chant-like quality to them, that you can easily call out and have repeated back to you. Each page must have a little zinger, a little sting of the unexpected, even if it is as simple as changing “will not” to “won’t” within a basically repetitive line. And finally, the payoff has to be just big enough to warrant our attention for the course of the 24 pages.

It interests me that in Whaley Whale, which in some ways is the most simple and obvious of the texts—it is a telling of hide-and-seek where Whaley Whale is pretty much in plain sight throughout—works as well as it does. I’ve never read this to a toddler who said, “This is stupid, Whaley Whale is right there.” No, toddler readers seem to love it precisely because they are given the chance to be in on the joke from the beginning and get to have the big payoff of saying, “Boo!” to a grown-up reader by the end. Boo!

These silly stories’ word repetition and simple sounds are perfect for children just learning to read. What was the first book you learned to read on your own?
You know, I may actually have learned to read with Dick and Jane. I certainly read those books in first grade. And liked them, what’s more. But there were a couple of books that came before, as I think back. My first school experience was in Germany, in kindergarten and first grade—my family lived in Marburg, Germany, for a year, my father taking a year-long sabbatical there. The very first books I loved were Die Steinzeit-Kinder—The Stone-Age Children—books I still have. I certainly learned to read them, so presumably they were the first.

At that time, the German school year began in spring, so I had half a year of first grade there, and then started again with Mrs. Erickson in first grade in a school in suburban Chicago. I remember old—and she was old—Mrs. Erickson saying to me on the first day, “Do you understand what I’m saying, Christopher?” And I thought, why is she saying that to me? An early instance of what came to be my usual wondering what in the world my teachers were talking about, what is it that I’m not getting?

Cowy Cow and Crabby Crab are the newest members of the Thingy Things bunch, and they’re even funnier than the original cast. How have you changed as an illustrator since you wrote the first Thingy Things books?
My quick answer is I’ve gotten worse. I could really paint back then. No, that’s not true. The difficulty always has been for me to find the right voice for each book. Since I do a pretty broad spectrum of books, this problem can puzzle me for a long, frustrating time. Sometimes I’ve done books over and over, completed them over years, only to do the finished, totally different, final art in about three weeks.

That being said, for some reason, the style for the Thingies presented itself to me right away. As in most of my books, I like to be fairly gestural, which can be hit or miss. I remember once being in the middle of a big brushstroke when the phone rang, and I thought, I should not answer this. And then almost to dare myself, I took the phone and kept painting. I think it helped the tone. I think Saul Steinberg often painted on the phone. Maybe I should start doing this again, to keep me from getting too precious, too worried. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good phone for under the ear anymore, and I’m certainly not going to put one of those robot things on my head. I’ll have to think about this.

Crabby Crab has a bad attitude about nearly everything—but we still love him. What makes you crabby?
See the answers to question four. I make myself crabby. I hate everything I do in the instant just after doing it, so I become too quick to let go of things. Or I try to get a hold on something that came freely and just right at one time, and then I just can’t get it again six months later. This makes me the crabbiest.

September 2014 also brings two new Thingy Thing titles, Buggy Bug and Clammy Clam. What can we expect from our two new friends?
Buggy Bug tells the quintessential toddler joke. It’s very, very, very, very, very funny if you’re 4. Clammy Clam gets shy in the face of adult cajoling and clams up.

Like Cowy Cow, you probably have 100 fun ideas for young readers. What are a few ideas readers can look forward to?
You know, the best idea I have right now, and it may sound rather corny, but as young readers get older you may, if you are like me, just keep finding more and more books you want to read. You really will. I know, I know, it sounds like an obvious and hopeful thing for a writer to say. But I wasn’t always a writer, and I wasn’t always such a reader. There will be movies. There will be TV and video games. But there will also just be more and more books you want to read, books you’ve never heard of and then someone will say, “Hey! Read this.” My brother gave me a book I’d never heard of before. He’d bought it for himself and didn’t really like it but thought I might. It’s called Titus Groan, written by an English illustrator, Mervyn Peake, in 1946. Somehow I never knew Mervyn Peake. How wonderful to find someone new to read. How could I not have heard of him? At the same time, my wife and I are reading George Eliot’s book Middlemarch aloud. Now that’s a fun idea. Reading a big, enormous, 900-page book aloud is fun. Obviously, reading Harry Potter aloud is about as good as it gets.

As to any fun ideas I might have about my own books, I have a few: a book about two rats, one who lives along the Hudson River and is a great surfer, and the other who lives at the base of the statue of Giuseppe Verdi at 72nd Street, and is actually afraid of water. And there’s a hurricane. Or a book about all the residents of a big old elm tree, from the basement to the penthouse. And I had an idea on Monday about a man who owns a cactus store.

I’d better get to work.

For more Thingy Things fun, check out the animated trailer from Abrams Books:

Thingy Things illustrations reprinted by permission of Abrams Books for Young Readers.
Author photo credit Sonya Sones.

Nature photographer Nancy Rose began making waves on photo sharing sites with her unique and playful photos featuring curious wild squirrels. Her adorable images went viral, and fans began asking for more, prompting Rose to release her first children's book, The Secret Life of Squirrels. We asked Rose a few questions about her passion for photography, her creative process and, of course, Mr. Peanuts. 

How did you first become interested in photography?
I bought my first film camera when I was in high school and loved taking pictures, but film was very expensive so I did not take as many photos as I wanted to. In 2007 my son signed me up for a photography class using a digital camera, and my interest was rekindled. I could finally afford to take lots and lots of photos, and this helped me learn to improve.

Where did the idea for this photo series come from?
I was putting birdseed and nuts out in my backyard and taking lots of photos of the birds and squirrels. One day a squirrel sat on top of a pumpkin, holding onto the pumpkin stem, and he reminded me of a captain steering his ship, so I thought how cool it would be to find a little boat for him to pose on. I never did find a boat, but, at the suggestion of a friend, I made a little mailbox out of cardstock and decorated it for Valentine's Day, and then added some tiny envelopes. To get the squirrel to "pose" for me, I hid peanuts inside the mailbox. He came along searching for the nuts, and I got some shots of him "mailing the letters." The photo was a big hit on Flickr, where I share my photos, so I was inspired to try more photos with some other props. I decided to make a calendar for my family and friends and created photos for each month of the year using props like Easter eggs, a Christmas tree,  a Halloween pumpkin, etc.

Why squirrels?
Squirrels are so curious and cute, and they can stand in poses almost human-like. Blue Jays also come to take the peanuts from my sets, but they don't pose the same way.

What is your process for making the miniatures?
I have always made crafts so I have lots of supplies in my craft room. Sometimes an idea just pops in my head and I am lucky I can find the things I need. The washer and dryer were made of empty milk cartons cut and folded into shape and covered with paper. The barbecue was made of tiny foil loaf pans and popsicle sticks. Most times I don't really have a full idea of what I am making—it just develops as I go along. Lots of trial and error. I might take some photos and then decide to add more details and change the props a bit. Every setting has to function as a "still life" on its own before the squirrel enters the scene, and I need to think about how the squirrel will likely behave, like standing to look into the washer or peeking into the dryer.

What do you love most about photography?
Photography is like meditation to me. I can get so immersed in what I am doing that I lose track of time. I always wanted to paint and draw but was not great at it, so photography allows me to express myself creatively. It is also a terrific exercise for the mind since there is always so much more to learn. My husband and I love to travel, and photography allows us to have memories of all our trips.

What’s the funniest thing you’ve seen Mr. Peanuts do with your props?
I found a small ceramic bathtub which was the perfect size for him. I made a tiny yellow rubber ducky out of cornstarch play dough and sat it on the side of the bathtub. To keep it in place, I inserted a toothpick into the ducky and down into a tiny "towel" which was draped over the edge of the tub. The squirrel came along and bit into the duck and carried it off, with the towel trailing along behind. He carried it up a huge pine tree and just when I thought it was gone forever, along came a Blue Jay and knocked it down to the ground where I was able to find it, and set it all up again.

Is there a particular scene you can’t wait to build and photograph next?
A fan of my squirrels mailed me a small grocery cart, just the perfect size, and I want to build a set and have him shopping for groceries.

What’s one piece of advice you’d like to give to young readers?
I think everyone should find a hobby or activity which gives you pleasure and helps you relax. It can be reading books, doing arts and crafts, playing a musical instrument, learning to cook or playing sports. We all need to find something that makes us happy, teaches us something new and keeps us from getting bored. Sometimes it takes a long time to learn how to be good at something so we should not give up too easily. Try lots of different things until you find the things you love and that you want to learn more about.

Will any other animals get their close-up?
As soon as I set up my little props and put peanuts out, I get a few Blue Jays and sometimes chickadees and crows who like to grab the nuts before the squirrel can get there. They often chase each other away, so it can be pretty funny watching them, but then I have to keep adding more peanuts.  At first I was upset because peanuts were so expensive and then I realized it was a small price to pay for all the laughter and joy they bring. A chipmunk who lives across the street also comes over now and then, but he is much more timid than the squirrels.

Photos used with permission of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers.

Do animals have a Santa Claus? This is just the sort of question Jan Brett would ask. In her new book, The Animals’ Santa, a young snowshoe hare in a cozy striped vest doesn’t believe all the other animals when they talk about Santa. As the squirrels and porcupines decorate the forest and share stories about the mysterious giver of gifts, the incredulous little rabbit crosses his paws. In the same way children wait up all night, hoping to hear to the sound of jingle bells and hooves on the roof, the little rabbit’s older brother—a true believer—decides to try to catch Santa. Brett’s classic illustrations capture the precious details and gentle beauty of the snowy wood, and children will treasure this tale of believing in Christmas.

What was the inspiration for this funny little story?
This funny little story just appeared to me all of sudden, the way you see in cartoons when someone has a light bulb idea over their head. . . . I was thinking, wait a minute, why don’t animals have a Santa Claus? I was thinking how I could make it into a poem about how the earth changes on its axis, and we go from fall into winter and about winter solstice. I was thinking, maybe in those couple of days, the animals don’t kill and eat each other. It was kind of poetic!

And I thought [the animals’ Santa] would be a snowy owl because they’re kind of like avian nomads, traveling all over from the arctic where they breed and where they live. They travel on silent wings, if you know about owls. What a perfect Santa Claus an owl would make!

The little skeptical rabbit’s brother decides to try to catch Santa in the act by hanging up pieces of ice. What was your inspiration for this?
I love this time of year when it’s cold enough for this ice to form. It has this kind of skin over the top of a puddle. It’s really fun to run through it and go crinch crinch crinch. It has very pretty designs, and often I’ll stop my run and see a little stream that’s coming through the woods, and it will be like lace. All this ice, this beautiful lacey ice. . . . There’s a tinkling noise that happens when it breaks. It could be a lovely trap, not a mean, awful trap.

What do you love most about these animals?
I love these animals from the arctic. I’ve always had an affinity—well, not an affinity so much as a curiosity about these animals that are white in the winter and brown in the summer. I mean, how did that ever happen? There’s something so sophisticated about how the pigment in the fur can change from winter to the summer. It sounds almost unbelievable.

One of my favorite elements of your illustrations has always been the border scenes. In The Animals’ Santa, little lemmings that look like elves make gifts for the woodland creatures. These scenes seem to be decorated with porcupine quills.
I had gone up to Canada, to Newfoundland . . . for a school visit. . . . We had stopped at this store that just specialized in native crafts. It’s a level of craft that’s really an art. I love these boxes made of porcupine quills, and I had collected them for years, not really knowing what they were. I just really love the tactile feeling of them and the colors that are used. Sometimes the Native Americans would use vegetation from native plants, so the colors aren’t knock-your-eye-out orange or red. They’re just these beautiful colors. So I met these people that have this beautiful art and found that some of these quills can be flattened out and form almost like a raincoat. . . .

One day in the summer I was driving along, and I saw a porcupine that had been hit. But it wasn’t squished, it just looked like it had went to sleep. So I went to the hardware store and got a big rubber mat that would go in a bathtub and gloves and a big, huge aluminum shovel to pick it up. The reason they’re called porky-pines is because they’re really heavy and fat! It took all my strength to get it into the car. . . . The quills, even if you just get near them and touch them, those barbs will stick you. They’re kind of dangerous. So I had these gloves and everything, and took picture of it, and this porcupine was kind of a major part of this book. . . . I started to photograph it . . . but then decided to do the next best thing, which is to draw it!

Do you have a favorite scene from The Animals’ Santa?
It would definitely be the owl. I really didn’t do it justice. This is a beautiful, beautiful animal. I’ve never really seen one—I might’ve only seen one on the wing one time but I didn’t have time to take a picture of it. They are so beautiful.

At the time I did the book, I had read somewhere that the white ones are mostly all male, so I made him all white. The females have these black markings on them—so beautiful. Last year there was an eruption of snowy owls. Apparently, from my reading, and also from this website by this guy Norman Smith, who’s from the Audubon and from my area in Boston, they had an eruption. What happens is, the lemmings and the snowshoe hares have a really good year, and there’s lots of vegetation for them to eat, and they can have multiple litters in a season. It quickly turns to fall, and then the owls feed on them, and all of a sudden you have more owls than the land can support. And who gets kicked out? The young males, so the big males can defend their territory and tend to stay up [in the arctic], and all these young males fly south. They came as far as Boston and even further, and they’d gravitate toward Logan Airport and to some of these barrier island beaches that look like the tundra. . . .

So that’s my favorite page, but I couldn’t really capture the luminescence of those feathers. It’s almost like a magical thing. It’s almost like the real animal is as unbelievable as the Santa Claus owl because of their lifestyle and the way they look. They almost kind of look like Santa Claus with their fluffy heads and mustache.

Your illustrations to me, and for so many readers, epitomize Christmas. As someone who’s constantly telling Christmas stories, how do you always find more inspiration in this season?
I would go back to what I would call my craft. I love to do details in my drawings. When I was 6 or 7, I knew I was going to be an illustrator. I used to promise myself that I’m not going to do simple drawings of cartoons, although I loved Charles Addams cartoons when I was that age. But I wanted to have things that really were pithy, that had a full range of emotions.

When you’re little, you have your own sense of aesthetics. You ask a 6-year-old what they’re going to wear to school, they’re going to tell you that they want this but not that. I think the smart parents respect that because it’s kind of a flag of a child’s individuality. It’s what they like and their idea of what beauty is. . . . I used to love books that felt like I could walk in the page and be in a different place, that transporting, that time-machine feeling of a really good story. Sometimes the illustration was the thing that propelled you in that world.

I always wanted to do that, but my style is so detailed that sometimes you don’t see the forest for the trees because it’s so busy. But the snow is the perfect foil for being able to show a little red squirrel with a brilliant coat and little whiskers that are kind of shining in the moonlight. The beauty of nature against the white. I think anybody who goes down a walk after a snow—it’s almost as if your whole color reference is booted, jump-started, because you’re seeing stuff for the first time. All of a sudden a birch tree, which is white, all of a sudden you can see the greens and the pinks and the yellows, and there’s always a few trees with a few leaves attached, even in a snowstorm. You wouldn’t see that if it was a late fall without any snow. I love that! It works for my pictures. The snow makes everything more defined.

When I go to my book signings, I talk about how everybody has their own style. Figuring out what makes your style work is part of the process. . . .  One thing you need for that is time. That’s a big talking point when I talk to the children: Give yourself some time to draw and let your imagination take you away. It can be a human and exciting experience to, all of a sudden, create something.

Sally M. Walker likes to connect young readers with history. In her new picture book, Winnie, she does just that, telling the little-known story of the real bear who inspired A.A. Milne’s legendary children’s book character, Winnie-the-Pooh. 

When World War I soldier and veterinarian Harry Colebourn first saw the bear for sale at a train station in Canada, he knew he was the one to take care of her. He named her Winnipeg (later shortened to “Winnie”) after the capital city of Manitoba. When he was transferred to a training camp in England, he brought Winnie with him. She became a beloved member of Colebourn’s regiment, though in 1919 he donated her with a heavy heart to the London Zoo. It was there that a young boy named Christopher Robin first visited her. And the rest is literary history.

Winnie and Harry Coleburn at Salisbury Plain in 1914. Source: Provincial Archives of Manitoba, Colebourn, D. Harry Collection, No. N10467.

Walker has a passion for research and “finding the story” in her subject matter. “There are so many stories out there,” she tells BookPage from her home in Illinois, “especially if you’re a history geek.” Turning this slice of history into a book for children was particularly exciting for her, given that it’s a story most people haven’t heard.

Her own moment of revelation was one she won’t soon forget. “I was flabbergasted when I found out about it,” Walker says. Mystery writer Jacqueline Winspear was discussing her new book at a local bookstore and explained that the Veterinary Corps was very active during World War I due to the number of horses in use. Winspear briefly noted that Winnie-the-Pooh was a real bear, bought by Canadian veterinarian Harry Colebourn. “And I totally blacked out the rest of what she was talking about,” Walker says, “because I was busy writing down: Colebourn. Harry. Canada. She just casually mentioned it, but that was all I heard. A real bear!”

It was then that the author eagerly embarked upon her research, which she describes as a grand adventure. “I realized that the story was legitimate. But still, as a nonfiction writer, I always want to track down the roots and confirm things.”

Walker contacted the archivist for the Ft. Garry Horse Regiment in Manitoba. She discovered that the story was well documented and that all the materials were in their archives. Colebourn, she learned, not only kept diaries during World War I but also mentioned the bear in them. Walker was thrilled. “Sifting through old documents is what excites me,” she says with a laugh. “I contacted the provincial archives of Manitoba, and sure enough, Harry Colebourn’s son, Fred, had copied the diary onto microfilm. I spent several days doing nothing but reading through all of Harry’s diaries that he had during the war.”

Though mentions of Winnie in Colebourn’s diaries aren’t especially detailed, there are also photos in the archives—many of Winnie with other soldiers. “It’s clear that she was very much a mascot of the unit,” Walker says. “You also get a sense from Harry’s diary that he was a social and caring man. He mentions at one point in his diary having to take a bullet out of his horse and caring for horses that had various kinds of illnesses. You have the sense that Harry was a man who loved animals. I think he enjoyed people. He liked to help out. He liked to be good. And I think this sense is what came out in Winnie—his genuine caring.”

Walker also traveled to the London Zoo and speaks with enthusiasm about her research there. “The archivist there let me look through the ‘daily occurrences book,’ ” she says, “which lists what’s going on at the zoo. It’s intriguing, the kinds of information they liked to record for the zoo materials. The day Winnie arrived at the zoo, it was foggy. There were 243 visitors in the zoo. When she was accessioned into the zoo, they also brought in two African civets and a kestrel. You really have a sense that you’re touching history and touching the story. You can even read about the day that Winnie died, May 12, 1934. It was a fine, warm day at the zoo, and they note that one American black bear, a female, was put down on that day.”

Colebourn died in 1947, but not before witnessing the success of Milne’s Pooh stories, the first of which was published in 1926. And while the fictional Pooh became a beloved character around the world, the real Winnie was remembered in stories passed down through Colebourn’s family. Fred ensured that his father’s story was not forgotten, and Walker speaks with great respect for his efforts.

She also describes what the zoo calls their “Winnie Files.” These include zookeepers’ testimonies and letters from soldiers who wrote about what Winnie meant to them. “And what you see in there repeatedly,” she says, “is that the zookeeper would say, ‘Yes, we had some other bears, but no one could trust those bears. The only bear we could trust was Winnie. Winnie was special.’ ”

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

This article was originally published in the February 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

The sweet, crowned star of Dan Santat’s picture book, The Adventures of Beekle: The Unimaginary Friend, is a hero like no other—because he almost doesn’t exist! Beekle’s an imaginary friend with no child to imagine him, and so he leaves his fantastic island, full of other strange creatures like him, in search of a friend.

What was the first thing that went through your head when you found out you had won the Caldecott?
I never won the top prize for any artistic award in my life. When the phone rang, I had a good idea who was calling, considering the fact that no one else would be calling at 4:30am, and I thought, at best, I would have earned an Honor. When they had told me I had won the actual medal I just broke down into tears. It was a dream come true. A dream I never thought I would ever achieve.

“Creating content for a younger audience feels like I’m playing. I don’t ever have to take myself too seriously or worry about maintaining a cool, hip image. It’s just raw honesty.”

Who was the one person you couldn’t wait to tell about the award?
The first person I called was my agent, Jodi Reamer, who really has become one of my closest friends, which I treasure, because I don’t know if many people can say that about their relationship with their agents. It’s very Jerry Maguire, I know. She has been my guide, transitioning me from illustrator to author/illustrator, and I’ve trusted her with my career advice. It’s sort of creepy because everything seems to be going exactly according to her plan. Anyway, I called her twice right after the committee called, and she didn’t pick up. Then I texted her, and I still heard nothing. Her loss. I then shared my news with my editor, Connie Hsu, who was a major piece of the puzzle to the success of this book. Months ago she had joked that if Beekle ever won a major award, she would get a tattoo of Beekle. The first thing I texted her was, “Time for you to get a tattoo.”

Do you have a favorite past Caldecott winner?
Respectfully, I couldn’t name any one past winner, because almost all of them have been inspirations to me. I will say that Brian Floca was a personal favorite because he’s a friend of mine and I knew how long it took for him to get the book done. When your friends win you feel like you won in a way, too, you know?

What’s the best part of writing books for a younger audience?
Creating content for a younger audience feels like I’m playing. I don’t ever have to take myself too seriously or worry about maintaining a cool, hip image. It’s just raw honesty. The whole community is also overall just really friendly, from the children to librarians and teachers, as well as the other authors and illustrators in the business.

What kind of reaction have you gotten from your readers about this book?
I’ve heard some parents and librarians tell me that they cried when they read the book. There are other adults who just think it’s just an ordinary story and don’t see anything special about it. I’ll sometimes read a review where someone comments that Beekle just goes to a playground and meets a kid and that’s that. I can tell when someone completely misses the symbolism of the story.

I’ve heard nothing but positive things from children. Many parents have sent me numerous images of handcrafted Beekle dolls that they made for their kids, which I think is adorable. Around Halloween there were a few Beekle Halloween outfits, as well as Beekle Jack-O-Lanterns, and now I see images of Beekle snowmen being made out on the East coast. It feels great to know that a character you created has touched so many.

Have you read or listened to past Caldecott acceptance speeches? Are you excited (or worried!) about your own speech?
Erin Stead did a wonderfully honest speech. I had the pleasure of meeting her and her husband for a quick bite to eat the day before the actual banquet, and I remember her telling me that she was extremely nervous about the whole thing. I listened to Jon Klassen’s speech online but was unable to attend. He and I have known each other for years and so it was great to hear a friend accept the award. Brian Floca was the first time I saw a good friend accept the award in person, and I had a permanent smile on my face that evening.

I’ve done plenty of speeches to large audiences in the past so I’m not too worried about this one. I think I have a pretty good sense of humor, and the book was deeply personal to me, so I think people should expect some laughs and some tears. It’s pretty easy for me to be open and honest with folks, and I think people can relate to you from their own experiences in life and feel a connection.

What’s next for you?
Well, first I’m going to try to relax more that I have in previous years. I say “try” because I know I’m just a workaholic by nature. In terms of book projects I’m finishing up my next picture book with Little, Brown called Are We There Yet?  I’m working on my next graphic novel, The Aquanaut, with Arthur Levine Books (Scholastic). Dav Pilkey and I are finishing up two brand spanking new books for our Ricky Ricotta’s Mighty Robot series (also with Scholastic), and I’m working on a YA graphic novel memoir of how I went from studying biology to pursuing a career in art.

Lastly, I’m illustrating some great picture book manuscripts that have been written by Gennifer Choldenko, Tom Angleberger and a few others that I can’t name just yet. We’ll see how much I actually get done. Previous Caldecott-winning friends have told me that my life will be too busy to get any real serious book work done. That remains to be seen.

Nashville author Lynne Berry offers twice as many laughs with two new picture books. Pig and Pug is perfect for early readers, as a pair of reluctant friends confront their differences. The hero of Squid Kid the Magnificent presents a spectacular magic show, but his sister, Stella, isn’t impressed.

Two books pubbing on one day! If you had to, could you pick a favorite between the two?
Yes! My book twins! Fraternal twins, of course, not identical—but twins nevertheless—and what proper mother could pick a favorite between twins? Turns out, I am not a proper book mother at all, and I am rather partial to Pig and Pug! It’s not that I don’t love Squid Kid, I certainly do—but the inspiration for Pig and Pug came from my very own grumpy pig (Sir Francis Bacon) and my best pug pal (the Empress Evelyn Pookena), who belongs to a dear friend. In my mind, Pig and Pug are Francey and Pookie, so I can’t help but have an extra-special place in my heart for this book.

What was the process of working with these two illustrators?
I must be the luckiest writer alive, because every one of my books has had a spectacular illustrator (not to mention outstanding editors and art directors). Other authors and illustrators sometimes work more closely together—quite a few well-known collaborative teams—but I think it’s fair to say I have had little to no input on the art for my books. My participation has been limited to receiving from my editor sketches or early spreads or first full layouts, and saying, “Wow. Wow. Wow. Carry on. Please.”

But I will say this: I wrote these two stories for the illustrators into whose hands they fell—Squid Kid for Luke quite intentionally, and Pig and Pug for Gemma without an intention in the world. I met Luke once, many years ago, shortly after our first book together was published. At that meeting, Luke asked me if I had ever written any stories about squids, because he loves squids—cephalopods of all sorts, really, when it comes right down to it—and he would love to do the pictures for a story about a squid. So, I set about writing a squid story for Luke. When I wrote Pig and Pug, I’d not heard of Gemma (please forgive me, I do sometimes live under a rock), but now that I have heard of her—wow. Could ever a story have been better suited for an illustrator, than Pig and Pug for Gemma?  So, the evidence is in: I am the luckiest writer in the world. To collaborate on a pug book—a PUG book—with Gemma Correll—GEMMA CORRELL! And squids by Luke LaMarca—at risk of repeating myself: wow.

Animals always have such distinct and hilarious personalities in your picture books. How did you know that squid siblings would squabble so? Or that a pig and a pug, if they took a moment, could get over their differences?
Thank you! Most of the time, I am not at all sure what the characters in my books are likely to do until I discover they are doing it. In writing a squid story for Luke, I had several false starts—the characters were not cooperating with me AT ALL—until it dawned on me the squid I was writing about was SQUID KID the MAGNIFICENT. Well! Of course he was a ham (no cross-book pun intended). Of course he was a magician. Of course his sister would give him grief about his not-so-magic tricks. How could it be any other way? Pig and Pug, I think, are at the mercy of the destiny of their names: pigheaded and pugnacious. They just can’t escape it. But I knew they could see their way clear (as mud, anyhow) to friendship because they scrap the way brothers scrap—and no matter how brothers may scrap, no friends are friends like brothers are friends.

What would the animals on your farm think of your books?
I would love to show you, if I may! So that’s the reaction from a representative sampling of the critters—I think it’s safe to say they speak for the rest. Or, at least, for the goats and the ducks. The chickens are not all that bright, and tend to have a poor appreciation of literature in general, I find.

Have you always had such a knack for young reader rhyme and rhythm? Do you ever find yourself narrating your life in your head in this same way?
I am very much drawn to rhythm and rhyme. I can forego rhyme, at times, but rhythms draw me back again and again. I am not at all sure where this comes from; I am not a musical person, but the rhythm of language just gets right in amongst me. I should, indeed, spend more time narrating my life in rhyme! I am a worrier, so the narration of my life tends to take a gloomy turn more often that it should; narrating in the form of limericks would clear that up in a hurry, I expect.

What do you love most about writing children’s books?
I love the most getting to work with such talented and creative people. When I send a manuscript off to my editor, the story is just a smattering of words on a sheet of paper. That’s all. And yet, an editor can see a book. An art director can see a book. An artist can see a book— a book with setting and characters—sometimes characters not even mentioned in the text, sometimes entire visual subplots not even hinted at in the text. I love to see the words leap off that humble sheet of paper, get chummy with some amazing art, maybe say hey to the new fellas with whom they will never cross paths in the text—and make a BOOK.

What’s next?
I am hopeful that Pig and Pug will have the opportunity to embark on new adventures. I cannot stop thinking about these wee little imps, and would like to see what might happen at a picnic with a table full of pies, or during an afternoon at the local pool. My best guess: Hijinks might very well ensue.

Many children’s books about divorce have a gentle, easy-does-it style, protecting kids from the toughest aspects of a parental split. In her new picture book, Divorce Is the Worst, Anastasia Higginbotham takes a different approach, avoiding the usual platitudes and offering a fresh, child-centered view that acknowledges a range of feelings.

With wonderfully inventive illustrations created through a combination of collage and photography, the book shows a child getting the news about an impending divorce and experiencing everything from anger and guilt to heartbreak. Higginbotham avoids a list of dos and don’ts for children of divorce but urges them to “Know your troubles as well as you can. Then let them be.”

Divorce Is the Worst also includes appealing doses of humor, as when the child’s parents try to buy an “outrageous gift” like a horse to compensate for the pain they’ve caused, or when the child endures the awkwardness of meeting a parent’s new “friend.” Higginbotham writes: “Contrary to the title of this book, meeting a parent’s *friend* is WORSE than the worst making it the absolute worst, even if the friend turns out to be nice, sort of, later on.”

An excellent resource for children and parents, as well as therapists and educators, Divorce Is the Worst ends on an uplifting note with tips on how kids can use collage to make books and tell their own stories.

We contacted the first-time author at her home in New York City to find out more about her debut picture book and her plans to expand it into a series on coping with Ordinary Terrible Things.

Why did you want to tackle a serious topic like divorce in a picture book?
I think childhood is difficult, even when you are loved and people are watching out for you. There’s so much that kids can’t control and I’m always interested in how they’re coping with that. There’s a scene in an old episode of “Mister Rogers Neighborhood” where Chef Brockett thanks Mr. Rogers for listening to him express sadness about losing a contest, and Mr. Rogers says, “I like important talk.” Same goes for me, especially when it comes to childhood. I like giving kids credit for what they’re managing at home, at school and in the privacy of their own minds.

What reactions have you gotten to the book so far, from children and adults?
Kids get it. They love the angry eyes, the bike crash, the horse and all the screaming about meeting a parent’s “friend.” They want to know how I made the art and if the kid in the book is me. Adults whose parents got divorced when they were kids tend to be surprised by the force of their feelings in response to the book, which is really the point. They’ve got this volcano of raw emotion they didn’t even know was there. Then there are the adults who may be seeing for the first time what their divorce may have felt like from their child’s point of view. How they react depends on how open they are to receiving that information.

Your approach to this issue is very straightforward; there’s no sugarcoating the pain divorce can cause children and adults alike. Why did you decide to go in this direction?
My book does a few things differently from other kids’ divorce books. One, it doesn’t try to make kids feel better about the divorce. Two, it doesn’t subtly insist that the child believe and accept that the divorce is in their best interest. I wanted to make a divorce book that demanded very little of children and instead holds up a mirror of understanding and compassion—period, the end. It’s meant to help kids notice their life just the way it is and reinforce that the kid’s experience is real and it matters. This makes it relatable to a lot of situations besides divorce.

Do you have any personal experience with divorce that influenced the book?
I was shocked and heartbroken about my parents’ divorce. My parents portrayed it in a positive way. They told us not to let it affect us. They said it was the solution to the problem, not the problem. But I was attached to our original family. I didn’t want my parents to have new partners and I missed seeing my dad every day. That seemed selfish though, so I tried to just be supportive. My siblings and I made jokes about it constantly as if it was ironic instead of sad. But it was just sad.

Some of the coping strategies you suggest for children of divorce are unusual: “Start by creating a place where you can be all in one piece,” for example. Why is nature an important part of the coping process?
Nature is always out there. It doesn’t leave you. And if you’re someone who believes that nature is alive and has spirit, nature can also bear witness for you and offer solace. If your family is falling apart or being mean, you can turn and look out a window and see what the sky is doing. Maybe you can even go outside and watch the sky change and see if your feelings may change along with it. You can get absorbed in the path of an ant or treetops swaying. Nature can pull you up out of yourself.

The illustrations for this book are really unique. Can you describe the techniques you use to create it?
I make collage illustrations on torn grocery bags, using grocery bag paper for people’s faces and hands, and scraps of old clothing, ribbons and magazine images to create all the environments. I write the narration and dialogue by hand. I make the child’s home comfortable and personal and enjoy building houses and furniture. I draw the child’s face, hands and hair in pen and dress them in tiny clothes: jeans and a shirt, jacket, socks, bike helmet, etc. The illustrations are 3D, so the pages are photographed to preserve those dimensions and shadows.

Why did you choose to use brown paper bags extensively in the illustrations?
Brown paper bags are the toughest and prettiest of all paper and they’re free! Brown bags can elicit strong positive associations with food, nurturing, surprising packages in the mail. You have to peek in to see what’s in it for you. It also makes the people beautifully brown and we need more diverse books.

The blue jeans on the kid are the cutest! Did you sacrifice a favorite pair of your own jeans to make the kid’s pants?
No need to sacrifice! The jeans are made from the bottoms that I cut off my own kid’s jeans to make shorts. The black shirt that the kid wears at the very end is made from a pair of batman size 2 underpants. The plaid flannel shirt I’m wearing on the author page was my grandfather’s and the pink flannel underneath was my grandmother’s. Every page has something like this.

An endnote tells us that you’ve been “making books by hand” your whole life. How did you get started and how has bookmaking helped you “change and grow”?
I had an elementary school teacher who gave us lots of independence with our storytelling and I wrote and illustrated books in her class. I’ve made paper dolls for friends and cartoon books for my oldest sister Amy to try and make her laugh about bad things happening in her life. The Ordinary Terrible Things series comes out of my own desire to heal from experiences I had that are common to a lot of children. Making the books does heal me. I take care of the kid in the story and the kids who I imagine will read the book someday, and I can feel myself healing. It happens while I work.

What other topics do you plan to cover in future installments of the Ordinary Terrible Things series?
Next up is the death of a loved one, followed by confusion about sex, bullying/school violence, sexual abuse and chronic illness. I also want to do a book about white privilege and racism, another on money and another about birth stories (adoption, surrogacy, sperm/egg donors). I could go on and on. If I get the funding, I will.

All illustrations from Divorce Is the Worst copyright © 2015 Anastasia Higginbotham. Reprinted with permission from the Feminist Press at the City University of New York.

Ben Hatke, author of the popular Zita the Spacegirl series, brings readers a junkyard tale of friendship with his new book, Little Robot. A little girl, armed with a tool belt, gumption and lots of independence, discovers a lost blue robot. After she fixes him up, the two explore cats, flowers and frogs—until the factory where the robot belongs sends a bigger, scarier robot to retrieve him.

Considering the popularity of your Zita the Spacegirl series, it’s no surprise that this new story has some major E.T. and Lilo & Stitch vibes, and yet the lost creature here is a robot. How is a robot like an alien?
I think robots are, in some stories, almost an anti-alien. Robots, in stories, work really well as being “us.” The robot in this story is activated for the first time and is very much like a child.

Where did this little robot character come from?
About four years ago I drew a short, silent, five panel comic about a little robot. It was a very simple gag, that first comic but before long, and almost without thinking, I found myself drawing another Little Robot comic. And then another . . .

I made 30 Little Robot comics in all, and through those comics the robot’s personality developed. Gradually the little trashcan shaped robot started suggesting that there was a larger story to tell.

Were there any Little Robot moments that you really, really wish had made it into this story?
Not really. There are things that happened in the comic strips that I thought were fun, like marching, dancing vegetables, but those things didn’t fit the new world that the robot was inhabiting. As far as the main story goes all the best bits from my sketchbooks made it into the final piece.

You’ve described this book as your “little love letter to summer and friendship and robots and makers.” What about this story sums up summer for you?
I think the setting and the sense of idleness. And being near a river. I’ve spent a lot of summers near a river. If there was a soundtrack to this comic it would just be the sound of cicadas.

What are some of the most important lessons about first friendship that the little girl and the robot learn in this story?
They have to learn to navigate their disagreements. They have to learn to figure out what friendship even means and how to balance the difference between responsibility and possessiveness.

Why do you believe it was necessary for this story to be wordless?
It’s not really wordless, it just has very sparse dialogue. I tried to do a story that had words but that could be read without words. In this way I had very beginning readers in mind.

How do your own kids influence your stories? What do you think they would do if they found a lost robot?
I have started to refer to my kids as the Quality Control Department. They really do check up on my work, probably daily, and they have gotten good at giving me honest opinions about the stories I’ working on. When they are confused about part of a story I know I have to reexamine it.

And if the girls found a robot? Wow. I hardly know how to answer that one . . .

What is your favorite part of the writing process?
My favorite part is the good days, when the typing part and the sketching part are working perfectly in tandem and I’m listening to just the right music and the ideas are flowing. I have come to really love seeing the structure of a story take shape.

What’s next for you? Will we see these characters again?
The next book is a picture book called Nobody Likes a Goblin and it was probably the most fun I’ve had drawing a book. It’s my little attempt to examine and flip over some of the tropes of classic fantasy. After that is a graphic novel called Mighty Jack which is about a very dangerous garden. I don’t know when we’ll next see the characters from Little Robot, but the girl from that story has a very small blink-and-you-miss-it cameo in Mighty Jack.