David Ezra Stein sits poolside, hunched over his composition notebook and safely tucked in the shade of an umbrella. This is sunny California—ALA 2012 in Anaheim—and Stein, a lifelong New Yorker, is a little out of his element.

“This is so California,” he says, squinting at the hotel pool, which is empty except for a sunburned couple paddling around the far end. I can’t blame the guy for feeling out of place, especially with Disneyland around the corner. But it’s also clear that much of his inspiration and joy comes from his hometown streets of New York City, a fact particularly evident in his new picture book, Because Amelia Smiled.

The story opens on a panoramic spread of rainy NYC. It’s an explosion of smudgy colors and motion, and somewhere in the bustle, little Amelia smiles as she skips through the puddles. The butterfly effect is enormous. People’s lives change in England, Paris, Israel and beyond without even knowing it was all because of Amelia. The smile first brightens Mrs. Higgins’ day and encourages her to send cookies to her grandson in Mexico, who shares the cookies with his class and encourages one of his students to become a teacher, too—and so on and so forth, across oceans and continents. It comes full circle when Pigeon Man Jones releases his pigeons into the now-clear New York sky, causing Amelia to smile . . . and it all begins again.

The inspiration for Because Amelia Smiled came to Stein when he was a student at Parsons School of Design 13 years ago. It started with a conversation with his sister about Buddhism and how the choices you make affect those around you.

“Say somebody does something bad to you,” Stein explains, “like you’re trying to cross the street and they cut in front of you and won’t let you cross—which happens in New York all the time. So you can either carry that with you, carry that little scribbly cloud over your head for the rest of the day, or you could decide to go back to a few seconds before it happened, where you were just grooving along, having a good day, and then carry that energy forward instead of this grouchiness that affects everyone else you meet.”

A little girl's smile spreads happy vibes all around the world—from England to Israel—in the swirling new picture book from the author of 'Interrupting Chicken.'

After this conversation with his sister, Stein was walking home from the subway when Amelia’s story hit him. He wrote the whole tale on a paper bag, stopping every block or so to jot down the next effect of Amelia’s smile. The original version went on for more than 50 pages and visited India, Japan and New Zealand. (Fun fact: He still has the bag.)

Stein was taking a children’s book class at Parsons with author/illustrator Pat Cummings at the time, and he brought her the idea and presented it as “the interconnectedness of all beings.” He laughs at this: “I was in college at the time and I thought it was a really serious idea.” Cummings helped him pitch it to an editor, who was thrilled to publish him. However, Stein’s personal illustration style had yet to develop, and he stoutly refused to let them bring in another illustrator. He wanted to do it himself; he just wasn’t ready yet. So in 2000, Amelia was tucked away.

(In the middle of Amelia’s backstory, I slip off my sunglasses. Stein stops and looks at me as though I just sat down for the first time. “Oh, now I can see you,” he says with a smile, then goes back to his story.)

Stein spent the next few years sitting at his mother’s dining room table and drawing, drawing, drawing. He didn’t just make books; he also illustrated for set designers and interior designers.“I was doing watercolors and making really appealing renderings of spaces so the client would say, ‘Yes, let’s go ahead and make that,’” he says, his voice revealing how every artist feels about the work they have to do to pay the bills. However, those appealing watercolors came in handy and helped influence his first book with Simon & Schuster, Cowboy Ned & Andy (2006).

With several more picture books and a 2011 Caldecott Honor for Interrupting Chicken under his belt, Stein was ready to create the art for Amelia. He developed his own technique for the book, called “Stein-lining.” To imitate a printmaking look, he applied crayon to label paper, flipped it over and pressed on the back to create a line on the artwork. Most interestingly, he started each scene with “shapes of color.” Using crayon, he would draw the general shape of a yellow taxi or an orange building, then Stein-line over it to outline it. It’s almost like drawing from the inside out.

The effect creates illustrations filled with motion and swirling action, emulating the constant fluidity of day-to-day life. “There’s an immediacy,” Stein says. “Everyone’s moving; the cars are moving. Nothing stands still. The line work and the impressionistic quality of it—I’m trying to capture the energy and the momentum of the smile as it travels.”

Stein starts to flip through my copy of Amelia, and he smiles as though he’s looking through a yearbook. “I think of this book as a picture book novel,” he says, “because I really know all the characters. I did a lot of preparatory writing for each character to get into their voice and their world, and then I just threw it away and did a picture book.” I ask him if any of the characters will get their own story someday; he says yes, though the names will probably change.

Stein’s favorite characters are Gregor, the ex-clown in Paris, and his old flame, the Amazing Phyllis, who lives in Italy. Long story short, the effects of Amelia’s smile remind Gregor of Phyllis, and he sends her a bouquet with a note that reads, “Phyllis, after all these years, will you marry me?” The next page is arguably the best in the book: Red-lipped and silver-haired Phyllis tosses roses from a tightrope high above Positano, and people far below smile and point. “There’s something touching to me about that,” Stein says excitedly, thrilled to be sharing how much he loves these two old circus folk. “About people waiting till the last minute to declare their love and get married, but they still do it. They still have the joie de vivre.”

With Amelia tucked away for so many years, I ask if there are any other secret book ideas. Stein pulls out his composition notebook—his “famous author notebook,” he calls it—and flips open to a page covered with illustrations of dinosaurs eating one another’s heads, an unexpected preview of his next picture book with Candlewick. At first, it feels as though I’m trespassing on sacred ground, but Stein doesn’t seem to notice that he’s sharing something usually considered private. Much of the notebook is filled with handwritten scrawl, evidence of his hope to one day write a novel. “It’s like training for the marathon; you have to log a lot of miles of writing,” he says. It’s just one more thing for fans to look forward to.

Young readers will come away from Stein’s newest book with a sense of the powerful harmony of the world—and the knowledge that a smile wins over cloudy scribbles any day. I can’t be sure that our chat on a sunny Saturday in California changed the life of someone in Costa Rica or Croatia—but who’s to say it didn’t?

Author-illustrator Barney Saltzberg has a special talent for capturing the magic of the creative process, as evidenced in his 2011 picture book, Beautiful Oops. He returns to the subject of creativity in his latest picture book, Andrew Drew and Drew, an exuberant and clever portrait of a boy who loves to draw.

Beginning with “nothing . . . but a line,” Andrew uses his pencil and his imagination to bring the line to life, transforming it into a staircase and then the back of a dinosaur. The line travels across pages and flaps and folds, making several surprising twists and turns. As folded pages are opened, a simple curve becomes the comb on a huge rooster, and a starlit nighttime sky becomes a dark, magical creature.

"There is not a 'correct' way to draw a cat!!! Let your kids find their way."

Children of all ages—especially those with an interest in drawing—will love exploring the pages of Andrew Drew and Drew. Along the way, they just might absorb some of the book’s message about the power of art and the joy of creating it.

Saltzberg, who lives in Los Angeles and is currently touring to promote Andrew Drew and Drew and another recent picture book, Arlo Needs Glasses, answered a few of our questions about how the book came to be.

What was your inspiration for the character of Andrew?
Harold and the Purple Crayon has been a favorite and I wanted to make another book about the creative process after Beautiful Oops.

What are your earliest memories of drawing?
Kindergarten. My parents mounted two of my pictures and hung them in my room. Looking back, it was very validating.  My mother bought me lots of sketchbooks that I filled with drawings. 

The book is dedicated to your mother, Ruth Schorr Saltzberg, “who encouraged me to use my imagination and a pencil!” Was your mother also an artist? Why do you think she chose to encourage your interest in art?
My mother was a huge fan of art. She dabbled in painting, drawing and sculpture. She saw a talent in me, way before I did. She even sent me to Saturday art classes in primary school (which I loved).?

How did the concept for the book originate—the clever use of folded pages and continuing lines?
I'm a huge fan of Emily Gravett. She used flaps in The Odd Egg. I loved the way the unfolding story impacts the rhythm of the story. Andrew seemed like the perfect book to have images appear as the story progresses. 

Can you describe the process you used to create the book? Did you start by making a mockup that included all the flaps and folds and overlapping pages?
I had to make a mockup to write this. I came up with the flaps first and drew on each page. None of the drawings were pre-planned. I surprised myself when I saw what was unfolding as I was sketching. It was a lot of fun to see where the pencil would take me. ?

Did you encounter any problems bringing your vision for the book to life?
This was the hardest book to illustrate even though the drawings are simple. Making everything line up was quite a challenge. My art director, Megan Bennett, is brilliant and very patient!!!?

One of the cutest touches in the book is an easel with several different drawings attached. Was this element as difficult to produce as it appears? Did your publisher ever balk at the production cost of elements like that one?
My editor, Cecily Kaiser didn't bat an eye when I showed her the dummy. She wanted the book immediately and kept everything I envisioned. ?

What advice would you give to the parents of a budding artist?
Expose them to all types of art. Give them lots of paper!!! Don't be judgmental. Let them explore. If the sky they paint is pink with yellow polka dots, that's fine!!!! There is not a "correct" way to draw a cat!!! Let your kids find their way. Everything at school has a right and wrong answer. Making art is time for letting the rules go on vacation.

Standing head and shoulders (or should that be hat and fins?) above the competition, Jon Klassen was awarded the 2013 Caldecott Medal for This Is Not My Hat, the darkly funny story of a big fish in pursuit of a tiny thief. A writer and illustrator who has also worked as an animation artist, Klassen first received wide recognition for I Want My Hat Back, a 2011 picture book about a bear in search of his red hat. Just hours after receiving his big news, Klassen answered our questions about the illustrious award.

What was the first thing that went through your head when you found out you had won the Caldecott?
The first thing I thought was that a whole group of people in charge of deciding these things had been looking at my book. Even though it was in the context of having won the award, it was still a nervous thought, wondering what they’d been looking at and talking about.

Who was the one person you couldn’t wait to tell about your award?
My parents, though I called right after I found out and couldn’t get a hold of them, and I was about to catch a plane while the announcements were going to be happening. They were watching them on their computer and called me as I was getting off the plane after I got to turn my phone back on. It was great.

Do you have a favorite past Caldecott winner?
Probably Arnold Lobel. The Frog and Toad books meant so much to me when I was little, and they’re still so impressive now when I go back to them.

What’s the best part of writing books for a younger audience?
It forces you to be simple with your language and also with the plot itself. You want to grab their attention right away and not let go, because when they are that young they will just wander away, literally.

What kind of reaction have you gotten from your readers about this book?
So far the reaction has been great! It’s been a lot of fun because most of the people I meet in the context of the book come out because they liked I Want My Hat Back too, so you’re on safe ground most of the time. With I Want My Hat Back, people sometimes didn’t know the book so there was a moment of nervousness after you’d read it to them to see if they were smiling or upset. With this book there hasn’t been as much of that.

Have you read or listened to past Caldecott acceptance speeches? Are you excited (or worried!) about your own speech?
I got to be there for Chris Raschka’s speech last year, which was really neat. I haven’t read or listened to many, and I’m kind of undecided if I’ll make a point of reading or listening to more before I have to give mine, just because I feel like I’d be prone to copying parts of theirs that I liked. That said, I’ll probably panic when it turns out I have nothing and go and scour every past speech I can get my hands on. I think the needle is pointing more heavily toward “worried” than “excited” when I remember that I have to give one.

What’s next for you?
I’m working on another book with Mac Barnett and another of my own, and I illustrated The Dark by Lemony Snicket that comes out in April.

RELATED CONTENT
Jon Klassen’s illustrated Q&A about This Is Not My Hat.

This has been an especially good year for new picture books about important figures in women’s history (check out our roundup here). One of our favorites of this group is Brave Girl, the story of an "uncrushable" young immigrant who led a 1909 strike by New York garment workers. The walkout became the largest strike by women workers in U.S. history.

Former journalist Michelle Markel tells Clara Lemlich’s story in stirring fashion, capturing the girl’s indomitable spirit and determination as she urges her fellow workers to stand together against oppressive working conditions and low pay. Brave Girl is illustrated by Caldecott Honor-winning artist Melissa Sweet, whose brightly colored mixed-media images include pieces of fabric, stitching, ribbons and old sewing patterns.

We contacted Markel at her home in California to ask what drew her to Clara’s story and what she learned during the research process for the book.

Why did you want young readers to learn about Clara and what she accomplished?
I wanted to honor her incredible courage and devotion. Brave Girl demonstrates how the small and vulnerable can triumph over the big and powerful, that wrongs can be righted if people work together for a common goal, and that women can be as lion-hearted as men. Those are all important lessons for children.

Clara was so young at the time of the 1909 strike—only 23 years old! What do you think made her such a fearless and forceful advocate for the garment workers?
It was a combination of her naturally rebellious spirit, (she said “Back then I had fire in my mouth”) and the pro-labor attitudes of the immigrant community. Trade unionism was in the air, and widely discussed in her neighborhood and in the factories.

Can you tell us a little about how you did your research for the book? Were you able to visit any of the old garment factories or other sites involved in the story?
I had been through the area of NYC where the story takes place. But the only way I could get inside the factories of that era—to vividly see all the indignities and humiliations was by reading the accounts of the garment workers. Clara described her experiences in articles for Good Housekeeping and other publications.

What was the single most surprising thing you learned in your research?
Many things surprised me, but some stand out more than others.  During the strike, a 10-year-old garment worker was accused of attacking a scab, and without the benefit of a trial or testimony she was sentenced to five days in the workhouse.

What happened to Clara after the strike? What was the rest of her life like?
She became active in the suffrage movement, and later was an advocate for working class women, for consumers, and for peace. In her 80s, while in a nursing home, she encouraged the administrators to join in lettuce and grape boycotts, and helped organize the orderlies.

If Clara was a time-traveler who could travel to the present day, what do you think she would have to say about today's labor movement and working conditions?
I think she’d say that minimum wage isn’t fair. It hasn’t kept pace with inflation, and it’s impossible to live on. She might say that membership in unions has declined, because people aren’t aware how much they protect workers from unscrupulous bosses. But she wouldn’t just talk, she’d go out and start organizing.

If you were a time-traveler who could go back to 1909, what would you like to ask Clara?
I’d ask what her secret was. What makes an effective leader? How did she get those girls to make such sacrifices? And I’d ask for a quick tour of her neighborhood, the theaters and restaurants and other places she visited in her downtime—if she had any!

Melissa Sweet's illustrations add so much to the story. What was your reaction when you first saw the artwork? Is there a drawing you like best?  
The first piece of inside art I saw was the title page, showing the strike banner over the dressmaker’s mannequin. I thought it was brilliant. I love Melissa’s exuberant use of color, and the stitching and fabric and vintage documents bring so much visual texture to the story.

Girls today seem to be doing very well, compared to boys, in terms of educational accomplishment and other measures of success. In light of that, why is it still important that we have an event like Women's History Month to recognize female role models?
I think the month gives children a more balanced view of history, and pays tribute to the contribution of remarkable women. Many had to make deep sacrifices to pursue their goals, and prevailed by force of will.
We will always need heroes to inspire us. Though women enjoy more career opportunities than ever, many still face job discrimination and exploitation, and are paid less than men for the same work. They have yet to reach parity in Congress. In the winter of 1909, Clara led the way by giving up her paycheck, spending weeks out in the cold, and facing the company thugs on the picket line. She showed the factory girls what they were capable of in their finest moments—and I hope her story shows young readers, too.

Images from Brave Girl courtesy Balzer + Bray.

Illustrator Sophie Blackall, whose many books include Ruby's Wish (for which she won the Ezra Jack Keats New Illustrator Award), Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! and the Ivy and Bean books, is one of the most accomplished artists working in children’s books today. Her latest book is The Mighty Lalouche, written by Matthew Olshan after the first time he met Blackall, when they discussed her love of vintage boxing photographs. Blackall talked to BookPage about her unusual collections and how she created the artwork for The Mighty Lalouche, from assembling the dioramas to cutting out Lalouche’s “splendid mustache.”

We understand that you collect old pictures of boxers. When and how did you begin collecting? What do you find appealing about these photographs?

I collect all sorts of things (too many things!) that I think hold a story of some kind, a story which intrigues me or moves me or makes me laugh. For instance I have a whole shelf of single Victorian children’s shoes. And scrapbooks made by teenage girls in the 1920s. I can’t remember when I saw the first image of a turn-of-the-century boxer, but I loved his striking pose, and his funny mustache and the incongruous, painted pastoral background.

How did you and Matthew Olshan work together in the creation of this book?

Matthew and I began a long, rambling conversation when we met, which covered all sorts of ground including Paris and vintage pugilists. He conjured up a story about a tiny, faithful postman who inadvertently becomes a boxing champion, and sent it to me soon after. I know he worked long and hard on the manuscript, but it seemed effortless from my perspective! His was a flash of genius, whereas I spent over a year on the drawings, making life complicated for myself by using a Japanese paper technique I’d never worked in before.

Does illustrating historical fiction present any special challenges—or opportunities?

I love burrowing deep into historical research, but since I’m always floating in fiction, I feel at liberty to twist things when I need to. I want the visual world I’m creating to feel trustworthy; I pored over dozens of books of photographs of 1900s Paris and vintage boxing memorabilia, but then I moved the Eiffel Tower a little to suit my composition!

Readers used to your two-tone sketches in the Ivy and Bean books may be surprised by the look of the artwork in The Mighty Lalouche. How did you create the wonderful 3-D illustrations?

I found I wanted to jump right into Lalouche’s world, so I decided to create layered dioramas which would give depth to the scenes. I painted first in Chinese ink, the way I always do, then painted the color washes over that, then cut out all the individual elements and assembled the scenes. It was very time consuming, but really, really fun.

Tell us about your drawings of Lalouche himself. What qualities did you want to emphasize in his character?

In case it’s not obvious, I’m very fond of Lalouche! He is dedicated to his work as a postman, and modest in his desires. He wants to care for his pet finch, Geneviève, and deliver mail to the people, and maybe one day have a room with a view. His fame comes quickly and unexpectedly, but he remains steadfast and true. His one vanity is his splendid mustache (which was the most fun to draw, though very fiddly to cut out!).

One of the most dramatic scenes is Lalouche’s fight against the Anaconda. The Anaconda’s exaggerated muscular physique and the muted spectators in the background suggest some of Toulouse Lautrec’s works. Did you have Lautrec in mind when crafting this scene?

Oh, well spotted! I gleaned all sorts of ideas from old boxing posters of the era and photographs and French advertisements. I’m sure I was borrowing from Lautrec along the way.

Have you ever felt like an underdog—like the Mighty Lalouche?

I’m Australian and it’s a national characteristic to celebrate the underdog. It was no stretch to empathize with the Mighty Lalouche!

Little artists everywhere might get a shock from the picture book The Day the Crayons Quit: Crayons have feelings, too, and they’ve got a bone to pick with Duncan, the little boy who finds a stack of angry letters from the unhappy occupants of his coloring box.

Red, Blue and Gray Crayons are exhausted. Pink Crayon takes umbrage with being a “girls’ color.” Beige is a little bored, and Orange and Yellow both think they should be the color of the sun.

Veteran picture book illustrator Oliver Jeffers (Stuck) brings debut author Drew Daywalt's story to life with—what else—crayon illustrations that are the perfect blend of scribble and subtlety. Originally from Belfast, Northern Ireland, Jeffers lives and works in Brooklyn but found time at the 2013 American Library Association (ALA) Annual Conference in Chicago to talk to BookPage about his newest book. We pulled up two chairs in the Penguin booth to chat about those grumbling crayons.

BookPage: When I was a kid, I had actually written my own crayon story. It was called “The 99 Crayola Crayons Are Coming,” and it was all about how they were coming to my house. So I have to ask: What sort of relationships have you had with your drawing utensils throughout your life?

Jeffers: Obviously, when I was very young, I treated them with as much disrespect as I could possibly muster. They were often projectiles hurled at siblings. But then having been through art college, I started respecting things that I work with, and [with] the realization that if I break them or I lose them, I have to replace them. I changed an awful lot. They get abused whenever I’m working fast, but then I clean them up and put them back where they should be. Yeah, anything goes, really. I use all different types of materials. Crayons, pens, pencils, little bits of paper, whatever’s lying around.

What ends up being the most destroyed?

The most destroyed are grease pencils. They’re pretty soft and they’re really hard to, they have that stupid device—they’re not really artist’s materials. They’re really more for construction, and they have that stupid way of sharpening them where there’s a string down the side, and you have to peel it down and sort of roll it around. Then of course, you inevitably make it too long and it snaps, and you lose your temper, and it becomes a projectile all over again.

Which of these crayons do you most feel for?

Probably the white crayon because he’s invisible. Nobody ever uses the white crayon. Even if you have black paper, it barely shows up because it’s so waxy. I feel for him.

Are any of them bellyaching?

Annoying?

Yeah, overdoing it.

Let’s see. I think Orange and Yellow. That’s frankly an immature little argument they’ve got going on. They should wise up.

What was it like working with Drew Daywalt? He’s a debut author who came up with the story. What was the process of working with him?

It’s an old story that had been floating around publishers’ desks for about six years, I think, until Michael [Green, publisher of Philomel] made the connection to put me onto it. So it was a finished manuscript at that point, and I had a few suggestions which fortunately he wasn’t too offended by my trying to insert myself. As soon as I read the manuscript, I knew exactly what I would do, how I would bring it to life. The process was relatively straightforward, and we didn’t actually talk to each other until the book had come out, which is unusual for me.

This is the first ever picture book I’ve illustrated for someone else. I’m not sure how it’s normally supposed to go. But yeah, this was great. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and I did it.

Did you ever feel like you wanted to influence the story that was already written?

There were a few things that I felt like at the start—it was a bit long and Drew agreed with me. We took two crayons out. The name also changed, the kid’s name. Before, it was a name that wouldn’t necessarily translate. I sell books in the UK and Europe and Central and South America, and the original name was a very, very American name that would have, I think, made it too geographically specific. Duncan is much more generic, which turned out fine.

What would you like kids to remember the next time they pick up their crayons?

There’s no real lesson or moral value here. I think that kids should just have fun with them, really. The rules are that there are no rules. Do what you want with them. If you do want to use them as projectiles, go ahead.

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.