All Good Things Must Come To An End

 

Fourteen years.

I have begun this post a dozen times and then torn up each version. This feels like composing a eulogy for a deceased friend. Romancing The Genres has become my friend, I'm going to miss them.

Fourteen years.

My very first book, PULL, a Young Adult novel, had just been released by a small publisher called Westside Books. I was a brand new published author invited to join a new group blog, Romancing The Genres. I was thrilled to represent the YA genre in the group. 

And now it comes to an end. Romancing The Genres comes to a stop after this month.  The blog outlasted my publisher. Westside Books closed its doors almost a decade ago. In the years since, I wrote three additional  books, Being God. Courage and Unlawful Orders, for different publishers.  I also retrieved my rights for Pull  and re-released it independently, and sold over a dozen short stories to magazines.  I am still getting orders for Pull, a novel about a Young man who coses to enter an apprenticeship program for construction rather that take on the burden of college debt.  I love being ahead of my time.

Those fourteen years passed quickly, and the world changed before we noticed. I did realize that blogs were decreasing in importance. Romancing The Genres is the only blog I regularly read these days. I haven't even posted in my personnel blog in over a year. These days I, like so many others, am drawn to TikTok and other video forms of social media. 

Times change. We have to evolve. It's time for Romancing The Genres to retire.  I will miss writing these posts. Miss having something force me to put pen to paper and be creative every month. (Yes, I do write longhand and in cursive. I find it almost impossible to be creative with a keyboard and an empty screen. It has always helped me to think that there was at least one person out there who read what I wrote and gave a chuckle and maybe a moment's thought.

 Finally, me use this last post as an opportunity to share a little news.  I have decided to retire from writing.

I've written and taught writing workshops for adults and kids, mentored and critiqued, edited and reviewed stories for other writers. Now I get to relax.  I still belong to a critique group, I won't give that up until everyone else in the group stops. And I have a creative nonfiction manuscript I am currently editing. I intend to finish that. After I'm done with it, I will begin a search for a different creative outlet. For now, goodbye readers. Keep having fun.

 

Comfort Comes In Many Forms

 

When I saw this month’s topic was “favorite comfort reads” all I felt was distress. My world is nothing but stress right now. I grew up in a country that, while not perfect, seemed to want to do better. So I was encouraged and hopeful and optimistic. I loved reading lighthearted romances and when I wrote, a happily ever after, or at least for now, came naturally to my books.

 
Then disasters descended around me. When I looked around a few years ago and that desire to do better became scarce. Maybe it was Covid, maybe MAGA, certainly social media and the search for “likes” amid the direction of the algorithm provided coals to the fire. Certainly the growth in book banning slapped me in the face, along with learning that one of the books I wrote, Courage, is one of many used to train AI bots.  BTW, Thank you, Author’s Guild for fighting this.

 
Add in a few personal health issues, and now money issues from this insane trade war the president ignited, and comfort began to feel impossible. Darn it, I had been planning to attend the 2025 Romance Writers of Amereica conference in Niagra Falls, Ontario as an excuse to visit Canada again. Now I don't think the country will be very welcoming.

 
There I was, feeling there was no comfort for me to write about this month. Then, while I was listening to the radio (yeah, some of us dinosaurs still care about radio)  an old song came on.

It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine by R.E.M. - Composers: Bill Berry, Mike Mills, Michael Stipe, Peter Buck

It was written in the 1980s. You have to be old as dirt to remember it, but then again, I am. You can click the image below to hear the song on YouTube.

I instantly felt better after hearing it. The song fit me, came pretty much as close to real comfort as possible. The words are an incredibly prophetic downer, but the music and tone are upbeat and energetic. That song, those lyrics, that beat almost made me welcome the end of the world I knew. I had to ask myself, why would such a total downer lift my spirits? Maybe its just the kind of person I am.  I remember my sister died of a lingering illness in 1997, the same year the movie Titanic came out.  I went to the theaters more times than I could count, just to watch that boat sink. I knew exactly the right time to walk in to watch the frantic passengers racing back and forth while musicians played to keep their own spirits up. The mother who realizec there was no escape, and read a story to her children to keep them as calm as possible. The elderly couple lying in bed, clinging to each other as the water rose. And the hundreds of people who went down with the ship, to freeze or drown or both. I'm sorry to be morbid, but at that time, watching hundreds of people die somehow helped me deal with the loss of my sister. And once the boat went down, I got up and left the theater.

Anyway, fast forward from 1997 to 2025.  The R.E.M. song led me to think of dystopian and disaster stories. It was just in time for me to get my hands on the newest Hunger Games book, Sunrise on the Reaping. There isn't too much I can say, the book is still very new. On the other hand, there aren't a lot of spoilers, not if you've read the other books. Two things went through my mind as I started chapter one. First, I already know what was going to happen. There is no happy ending in this book. If you know about the world of Panem and the Hunger Games, you know on page one that a lot of people, mostly kids, are going to die in some horrible ways in a so-called game. That Haymitch Abernathy, the sixteen-year-old sole survivor of the game will be so traumatized he will become an unloved, alcoholic hermit in District 12 for the next twenty-five years.  

What I didn't know were the details. Haymitch's bravery. The kids whose deaths he witnessed, the ones he caused, and the ones he tried, and failed, to save. And his secret mission against the Capital, his efforts to stay alive long enough to accomplish that mission in hopes of making his country a better place, even if it earns the undying hatred of the villaneous President Snow.

I don’t know why this book became my happy place in spite of the misery and pain, cruelty and loss.  It sent me back to re-reading the entire series. I have to admire how neatly Suzanne Collins made this book fit  into the middle of the existing Hunger Games universe. Not one of the five books has a legitimate happy ending. Terrible things happen, and people we feel deserve a happily ever after wind up gutted like Haymitch, or dead, while the villains triumph time after time. But sometimes comfort isn’t just about hearts and flowers and marriage vows. Sometimes its something: a song, a movie or a book, that grants me permission to feel what I feel, good or bad. 

Still SAD after all these years

 

It's the middle of December, 2025, and I feel overwhelmed.

I have dealt with SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, for nearly 40 years. I am repeating a post from 2020 because right now I feel a  little foggy.  Please forgive me for resurrecting this blog post. 

Seasonal affective Disorder (SAD) has probably been around since the beginning of humanity but it was not described until 1984 by Dr. Norman Rosenthal. SAD is a form of depression also known as seasonal adjustment disorder.


Thanks to artificial lights, the world is now active 24/7/365.  Humanity has lost a connection with the seasons and the rhythm of the days. For some of us, this is extremely bad news that can't be helped by holiday lights, no matter how bright or cheery. As an author, this was a period of disaster. I couldn't think. For someone who calls herself a good plotter, during my SAD times, I couldn't write a thing. Depression is a mind-eater. The only thing usable I accomplished during wintertime was an end-of-days short story back in 2012.

The problem

People with SAD often suffer from the associated depression for many years before they are diagnosed. Many are like me. I self-diagnosed long before 1984. One winter, when I was in my twenties, I went through a period of depression. I knew with absolute certainty that some nameless disaster was coming and All I could do was wait for the end. Coming out of that depression was a miracle that occurred around mid-March. I prayed I would never be that down again.


I went through this cycle three years running. By the fourth year, when the feeling of nameless terror arose again during the short, dark days of October, I remembered the pattern. I was finally able to tell my self that I just needed to wait for the equinox, mid-March. By the time days and nights were of equal length, the feeling would be gone and I could finally say, "Here comes the sun," in the words of the Beatles song. 

Estimates are that approximately 500,000 people in the US suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, and around 10-20% of the US population suffer from milder forms of the disorder.


SAD can begin at any age. However it most commonly develops before the age of twenty-one. This form of depression is almost five times more likely to be found in women than in men. 


Many symptoms of SAD are similar to those associated with "ordinary" depression, such as anxiety, changes in mood and panic attacks.  Other symptoms include:

• Lack of energy for everyday tasks 
• Weakened immune system 
• Irritability 
• Inability to concentration 
• Overeating and weight gain 
• Alcohol and/or drug abuse
• Feelings of guilt and worry 
• Sleep problems 
• Reduced libido 
• Social and relationship problems

When light hits the retina in the back of the eye, messages are sent to the parts of the brain responsible for sleep, appetite, sex drive, mood and activity. If there's not enough light, these functions may slow down, or even stop. That may be one reason why those with blue-eyes seem more resistant to SAD. Blue eyes allow more light to get into their brains. 

Treatment for SAD involves exposure to artificial light from a light therapy box for an average of 2 hours each day. The light given off by the box mimics natural outdoor light and is at least 10 times the intensity of standard domestic lighting.

Needless to say, I have had one of these boxes for years. Unfortunately, it only helped a little. At least I no longer feared the world could end at any moment. I still had no will to write.

My doctor has also prescribed antidepressants. The light therapy alone barely held the unseen monster at bay. The combination does the trick. 2018 was the first time I tried the pills, and the result was amazing. This year, as soon as the first snow hit in October, I began taking my meds. No monsters at all. (Although getting out of bed in the mornings remains a problem.)

The biggest news for me is that with my lights and medicines, I can write in the winter. Yay!! Winter writing is still slower than during the summer months, I can't deny that. But I can now plot, Craft engaging dialog, even perform edits. And the story does not have to be about the end of days! Before, winter was a holding time. I might be able to think about a story, but not to write.

PS, for many sufferers, the worst is yet to come.

According to The Canadian Mental Health Association, January 19, is the most depressing day of the year. Not only because of dreary weather and lack of sunshine, but also because this is the time people start getting their bills from all that holiday shopping. It’s also the time where many give up on their new years resolutions.

Many people suffer from clynical depression. This is not the same as being depressed because of an external reason like a death in the family, or the loss of a job. Some sufferes are like me. We manage to function, barely, all the while desperatly wishing we were bears so we had an excuse for hybernation. It doesn't have to be from SAD, in fact the good thing about my form of depression was that there was an end in sight.

If any of you suffer from depression, I would like to hear your strategies for coping and remaining motivated to do things.  Don't be afraid to see a professional, it is not a disgrace or a weakness.  Don't let the holiday spirits of others war you down they way they sometimes did me.

And I wish you luck in your journey toward recovery.

His Sacrifice Has Given My Future Dreams A Chance

 

As I grow older, I want to be able to look forward to the future of this country, my home that I love. To be able to spend my elder years watching as the United States moves forward toward the goal of becoming a more perfect union. That goal has been in dire danger from things like Project 2025 and some people’s desire to fall backward into a new dark age. If not for the recent sacrifice of President Joseph Robinette Biden, a man who has dedicated his entire adult life to making America better, the future would loom very bleak.

 

It's one thing for a politician to say they will sacrifice for the good of the nation. Biden actually demonstrated this by sacrifice his career for the sake of truth and our country. When he realized that continuing his race could result in re-electing Trump, he made a decision that went against his own self-interest and personal ambitions. That sacrifice gave me hope for the future. That makes him a real American hero in my eyes.

 
The issue was never Biden’s competency. He accomplished a great deal during his presidency. He increased infrastructure funding, green jobs, and protected Obama Care. Right now, President Biden continues working on the situation in Gaza on keeping the government working so he can hand over functioning institutions in January. He was asked to step aside simply because of Ageism.

 
Thank you President Joseph Robinette Biden. You did the most unselfish act in American history in order to protect American Democracy. I now have a reason to hope my country will continue advancing forward. Your unselfish sacrifice has given me a chance to get my wish and live to see a better future. In my opinion, Biden qualifies as a true American hero. I know history will look kindly on him and what he has done for us all.

Journey to totality during the Great American Eclipse 2024

  Let me begin with an apology. This post should ha been up las night at midnight. I happen to have been incommunicado with the real world since last Thursday. I had no idea how cut off and off the grid I would be until today. Blame it on Monday’s eclipse.

I experienced my first total eclipse of the sun on a freezing February in Canada, and it was such an awe inspiring few minutes that I became an eclipse chaser. As I told one of the other people in the woods with me, almost all of my vacations in the last fifty years have been to experience another eclipse … with a little sight-seeing on the side. Inspiring. I’ve done Russia (back when it was still the Soviet Union), the Black Sea, Iran, South America, and I’m still kicking myself that I decided to skip the eclipse trip to Antarctica because I was afraid of a little cold. I will never find another excuse to go there.

 
I saw totality at the first Great American Eclipse a few years ago. Naturally, I felt I had to see this one too. I reside in the Chicago area, and would have seen a partial eclipse had I stayed home. Two problems with that. Eclipse chasers know that the best, most important and truly awe inspiring portion of an eclipse occurs between second and third contact. 

First contact is the moment the moon seems to touch the edge of the sun, like a butterfly kiss between parent and child. Second contact is the moment the moon completely covers the sun. That’s when the eclipse glasses can come off, and you can stare directly into the glow of the sun’s corona surrounding absolutely nothing - a giant hole where your brain knows something should be,but it’s missing. The darker the area is the better, the more likely that stars will come out, and planets become visible in the day. It only lasts a few minutes, then comes third contact, when the moon, which has been constantly moving, moves far enough so that light from the sun’s disk again lights the sky, and glasses need to go back on again. Finally, fourth contact, when the sun and moon have finished their heavenly dance, at least until next time.

 
I live in the Chicago area, where there would not be a second of third contact, no moment of totality. I’ve been spoiled, I need the full monty, totality and as close to darkness as our world's attempts at perpetual lighting make possible. Staying close to Chicago meant only seeing a 92% eclipse in the "bright lights, bid city" world. Nice, but not the big show. Its a little like attending a football game and seeing the players introduced, but having to depart just before kickoff. You never even get to take your glasses off, not if you are smart, anyway. Plus, the city lights are always on, dimming out that sky show. 

In 1917, I took a chartered bus tour to the southern states to enjoy that Great American Eclipse while sipping beer at an isolated eatery reserved by the tour company for the occasion. Even that was too bright, they kept trying to sell us things. This year I headed for a group going into the woods at the south end of Illinois. It was isolated, dark, and without internet connectivity.

I didn’t realize how little interaction I would have with the outside world when I reached the woods on Friday. My biggest concern was the weather. Saturday and Sunday were both overcast and raining. Actually,so was Tuesday. But Monday in the woods turned out to be a day made for eclipse viewing. I preserved the perfect record I never dared mention out loud for fear of jinxing things - I have never, ever had bad weather keep me from viewing an eclipse, not even once.

Second contact arrived, and I whipped off my glasses in time to ses a totally gorgeous diamond ring to kick off totality. I watched two bright red prominences extending out of the sun’s corona. I saw a planet close to the sun, Venus, I think. And I almost got run down by a boy who insisted on riding his bicycle around instead of staring up. At least, that’s what I thought.

Several families had brought children camping with them. Some stayed with their parents during the sky show. Two were on swings in a playground area. Then there was speed racer on his bike, his only concern seemed to be the adults standing in his path, too mesmerize to move when he rang his bell. During totality, the playground kids stopped swinging. I heard young voices from the swings saying “That’s amazing.” Meanwhile, speed racer kept going. There was a second diamond ring at third contact, the first time I’ve seen two rings on the same eclipse. As we adults sadly put our eye protection back, two kids started swinging again.

I thought that was the end, until the bicycle rider rode over to the swinging kids and stopped. I stood close enough to the group to hear him say, “That was great.”

 
I could have sworn he was too busy pedaling in the dark to have looked up even once. Now he calmly revealed to the other kids that has favorite activity did not prevent him from experiencing the same sense of awe everyone else sitting on the grass, or in lawn chairs, or simply standing motionless in the path like me, blocking his way. I will never again think someone didn’t care about something just because they didn’t react the way I assumed they would.

I took an extra day in the woods because it was isolated and warm and I wasn’t ready to hit the traffic for the long drive back north. As I said, Tuesday the weather was awful again. Sorry I got this out late, but it was really nice to have no idea what was happening in the world, to just care about nature. Now I’m back, and there is wifi and power. But I think I’ll take my time before catching up with the world.

I think I’ll do another one of these escapes from being connected to everything, even if there is no eclipse to provide justification.

There Goes The Sun

  I’ve written to you about my issues with SAD (seasonal affective disorder) in earlier posts. For decades my mood has been controlled by the amount of sunlight during the day. By October, there is so little sunlight that my brain goes dark too as depression descends. Fortunately, by this time of year, my depression has fled. Good, because April 8, 2024 is coming.

The sun has such a powerful effect on me, its no wonder I see why ancient humans worshiped that

glowing yellow ball dominating the daytime sky. The Egyptians, Incas in Peru, people in Babylon, China, Africa, even Rome did the same. Some Native American tribes considered the sun part of the Great Spirit. Solar eclipses were frequently considered signs of the god’s displeasure. People were often terrified during the few minutes of totality, worried that the sun might have abandoned the Earth forever. In fact, the word eclipse comes from a Greek word meaning abandonment.

 
These days we know the cause of solar eclipses. We know its just the full moon’s shadow passing over the Earth’s surface and temporarily obscuring the sun. And we understand the math and physics enough to accurately calculate the dates, location, and duration when this shadow will touch down and hide the sun from view.

 
And yet …

Some of the old superstitions still nestle deep inside some human hearts. My heart, at least. I realized that in a frozen Canadian plain on February 26, 1979, when I experienced my first total solar eclipse. The sub-zero grew noticeably colder as the sun faded away. But I forgot that I was cold once this gigantic hole opened in the sky. The place where the sun had been was now a void empty of stars. A magical nothingness surrounded by a ring of fire. I stood, open-mouthed, just staring into the void. Animals were headed for their homes, leaving only a gaggle of foolish humans standing motionless on the ice, staring up at that emptiness.

 

I had paid big money (for those days) to travel from a warm apartment in Chicago, Ill to Manitoba, Canada just so I could stand on an icy field so I could witness the phenomenon that had terrified so many of our ancestors. I spent just over two minutes in the darkness known as totality that day. It was my first eclipse, but not my last. Over the years I became a veteran eclipse chaser. Instead of fearing the darkness, I raced to meet it across the globe wherever I had the opportunity.

• June 11, 1983  for almost 5 minutes
• July 23, 1990  for 2 minutes
• July 11, 1991  for almost 7 minutes
• August 11, 1999  for over 2 minutes
• March 29, 2006 for over 4 minutes
• August 21, 2017 (nicknamed “The Great American Eclipse”) for 2 ½ minutes

And now, April 8, 2024. This one is expected to last almost 4 minutes in southern Illinois where I will be observing with others at a special presentation at Southern Illinois University, only a five hour drive away from my home. I have traveled as far away as Russia, Lybia and Argentina in pursuit of an eclipse. 2017 found me close, in Missouri. This time I get to stay even closer to home, in Illinois. Fitting, because this will likely be my last eclipse. I will have spent almost a half hour in totality. April 8 will be a bookend to my expriences, and I am looking forward to relaxing, looking up, and staring into the void.

Relaxing for the New Year

  I stopped doing New Years Resolutions decades ago. Keeps me from having to begin the year filled with regrets for the promises I failed to keep. But I do keep a set of tips for myself about writing. Writers, the road to publication is hard. So give yourself an extra special gift right now. At the end of each year, I like to sit around the Christmas tree, stare out at the landscape and ruminate about those tips. Today, I want to share one of them with you.

 

I’m fortunate to have learned a big lesson with my very first manuscript. Once you heaven agent, you tend to get better responses from acquiring editors who look at - and then reject - your manuscript. And one of my best lessons came with my first book. It was a YA romance, PULL, with a heroine I loved creating, Yolanda Dare, called “The Dare” by the boys in her high school. I wrote her to be smart, empathetic, and a fashionista - a whiz at making her own clothes and accessories. I also gave her an abusive ex boyfriend, PULL's antagonist. She is prepared to return to him to protect the hero’s younger sister. (Relax, the hero, aptly named David, saves the day.)

 
I remember the rejections I received from two agents in particular. The first told me that Yolanda’s actions around her ex proved she was too dumb to have accomplished so much. I was just about to look at her and see about making changes, when I received a second rejection the very next day. That editor told me Yolanda was obviously brilliant, accomplished and self-assured, not someone who would ever be foolish enough to be involved with the antagonist, the ex-boyfriend.

 
That left me scratching my head. Was she too dumb to live or brilliant and accomplished? Fortunately I didn’t change her. About a month later, another editor bought my manuscript with the Yolanda I originally created.

 
Those words and other rejections, along with a few acceptances) now make me laugh when I hear aspiring authors say hat agents and editors do or do not want. When questioned, it almost always ends up that one person told them something, and they have extrapolated that to the entire industry. If I were to do that based on some of my more recent MG rejections, I could tell you that agents and editors don’t want dead parents, mean girls, or heroines that are too smart or mature. (Shades of poor Yolanda).

 
Four books later, I still struggle with the same questions I had with poor Yolanda. At least now I know there is no industry-mandate that young heroines can't be smart and mature.  The order against dead father's is only one publisher. Mean girls are still a reality in both real life and in books. So now, come the new year, I will grab a cup of hot chocolate and relax while my manuscripts keep searching for a publisher tha will love it the way it is.

 
Actually, I think I'll get eggnog instead of hot chocolate, while I follow my own advice to relax and be good to myself over the holiday.

P.S. You can find more information about PULL, and the unstoppable Yolanda Dare, at https://www.babinns.com/pull/

Happy Holidays to You

 This time of year, with the lowered temperature, short days, threatening snowfall, the world is filled with holidays. Reasons for people to find cheer and keep going (and spending money) even in the most depressing times. The first of November starts things out with the Day of the Dead, All Saints Day, Prime Meridian Day, National Cinnamon Day and World Vegan Day all crowding in together on November 1. 

Holidays like National Spicy Hermit Cookie Day (November 15) and National Homemade Bread Day (November 21) combine to make November and December quite cozy. As a person who suffers from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), I need every excuse to help me look up after Daylight Savings Time ends. 

All these happy holiday and dark days make November the perfect time of year for picking up a cozy mystery, especially one involving food. Let me suggest the newest of member of Cleo Coyles Coffeehouse Mystery series, Bulletproof Barista. 

In the new Coffeehouse Mysery, titled Bulletproof Barista, a film crew has chosen to spotlight a century-old Greenwich Village coffeshop, the manager Clasre Cosi, and its quirky crew of baristas as they film an episode of a popular reality show. Suspicious accidents plague the shoot until a stage gun fires a real bullet, and amateur sleuth Clare is a single mother with a quirky lovelife who who helps the NYPD solve crimes. 

She becomes convinced the "accidents" signal that something sinister is afoot. The murderer lurking in the wings forces her to root out the killer before the lights go out on her.

Author Cleo Coyle is actually a writing team, made up of Alice Alfonsi, and her husband, Marc Cerasini. This is their 20th Coffehouse Mystery book, releasing on November 14, 2023.

We all know about the Mother of All Eating Days, Thanksgiving, the fourth Thursday in November. And never forget to celebrate November 11, whether we call it Armistice Day, Remembrance Day or Veteran's Day.

Following November, its time to hit the big host of holidays, including:

Dec. 5:      St. Nicholas Eve

Dec. 7-15: Hanukkah - a Jewish holiday

Dec. 8:      Bodhi (enlightenment) Day - a Buddhist holiday

Dec. 21:    Winter Solstice, also known as Yule

Dec. 25:    Christmas, a Christian holiday

Dec. 26:    Kwanzaa

Whether you celebrate only one of these days, or all of them, you should have time to sneak in a great holiday read. My December holiday reading suggestion is A Christmas To Remember by NAACP nominee and USA Today bestselling author Beverly Jenkins, published in October, 2023.

The relationship between Bernadine Brown and diner owner Malachi "Mal" July has had its share of ups and downs. But now they're finally ready to say "I do."

Or are they? 

As wedding preparations go into full swing, and families begin to gather for the festivities, that long awaited walk down the aisle hits a speed bump.

 
Mal and Bernadine's relationship isn't the only one being tested.
Preston Mays aka Brain, loves his girlfriend as much like he loves physics. His heart breaks when she decides being a couple is no longer a good thing. He's ready to try almost anything, including connecting with his bio dad's family, to help ease his pain. 

Meanwhile, Reverend Paula Grant has been patiently waiting for God to send her someone to share her life. When a charming new chef arrives in town, she wonders if he could be the one. 

And then there's former mayor Riley Curry who throws a parade with his hog Cletus!  Really, is there even a hope that all ill end well in the small town of Henry Adams, Kansas?

I hope you find at least one of these stories stories enjoyable for the Holiday season. And if you have anything you enjoy and want to share, please add it in the comments. 

Romance Slam Jam 2023 - a pleasant reunion of writers and readers

 

The family reunion we didn’t know we needed.

That's what some attendees called the 2023 virtual Romance Slam Jam conference held last month.

I agree.

As I wrote in my post last month, just before the 2023 convention began, I had not been to a conference of any kind since before the days of covid. And while I am an introvert, there are a few group activities I enjoyed. Hanging around with other writers was one of them. Thus, I decided to give this virtual conference a try. 

Romance Slam Jam gave me three days focused on page-turning romance and women's fiction books showcasing multicultural characters. Things started off early with a bonus session that brought us RomCom Screenwriting Comedy Expert, Steve Kaplan to discuss writing romantic comedy. Although I do not write in that genre, I found the information in that hour-long session extremely helpful in the work I do write. 

That also highlighted one of the issues with the main congerence. Three eight hour plus days of back to back sessions is not easy on my brain. The conference began at noon Eastern Time for three days in a row, with back to back sessions lasting until after eight PM. With no lunch, snack or dinner breaks.  The virtual format meant attendees from multiple time zones. I understand that having attendees in multiple time zones required some compromises. But for me, having to chose between skipping a session (and giving my brain a break) or gobbling food in front of the zoom screen while my butt ached from long hours in the chair, made this a negative. 

I couldn't help contrasting the back-to-back sessions with the way the conference was run in prior, in-person years. Sessions that started early in the morning, nine or even eight am, but which allowed time for lunch and networking breaks, and often included a dinner as part of the conference. And since they added in things like a games night after the last sessions, there was no official time for a dinner break either.  

 Organizers attempted to provide networking opportunities.  There were the games session, a scavenger hunt, and the Pajama Cafe Cliffhanger Night that included readings of steamy passages from some books,  during the evenings, to help simulate the networking available at in-person events. On several occassions, attendees were randomly assigned to small groups for discussion and more networking. Unfortuatly, at least in the groups I was placed in, there was always someone who hogged the limited time available.  

As I said, I am an introvert. At person events I might have managed even less networking. So I give them a B+ for effort. While there was no way to replace the dinner and dance sessions from in-person conferences, and something was lost by not being able to whisper a comment to the person seated next of you, we still laughed and enjoyed being with each other.

Past conferences included tours of the city where the conference was being held, historic information and visits to museums and other landmarks. Yes, that was balanced by not having to travel or stay in a hotel, but I missed those tours. I also missed the meet and greet opportunities with individual authors and their fans. No online bookselling event will ever be the same as walking up to an author’s table to chat and give that author the opportunity to persuade you to buy their book. 

I have spent the time since the conference weighing the good and the less good (I really can't say anything about the conference was totally bad). So ask me if I would do this again, knowing what I know about the cponference now.

Absolutely.  I have already signed up for the 2024 conference.  The craft and business information we got was good. The opportunities to meet with agents and editors at no additional cost, were excellent. At the end, I closed my Zoom window feeling energized, and knowing more than I did when I walked in. 

Librarians of Color In 2023

This month's topic involves days we look forward to. For me, July 2023 had been a date I anticipated.  The NCAAL conference was supposed to be held then. NCAAL, National Conference of African American Librarians, and JCLC, the Joint Conference of Librarians of Color, usually alternate years. This rotation was interupted by Covid that cancelled the 2020 JCLC and 2021 NCAAL conferences.  Then, climate issues left the hotel headquarters for the 2022 JCLC flooded. So I have practically been licking my lips anticipating the 2023 NCAAL conference, scheduled for July 2023 in Indianapolis, a location close enough to my Midwest home to be within driving distance. 

Yippee! I will have another summer at a conference among librarians of color, people I consider my best buds.

Or so I thought.

It's true, I am not a librarian by profession, but I joined the American Library Association years ago. My happiest childhood memories include my school librarians, and the librarians at the Chicago Public libraries.  At a time when there was no seperate Middle Grade or Yound Adult categories, they let me roam the adult shelves even while in elementay school. If I wanted a book, they let me take it out. As an adult, I volunteered at a branch at my local library for years.  I have spoken at a number of librarian conferences, including the ALA, the American Library Association. 

During the 2018 JCLC conference, I served as one of the official conference recorder. That involved spending nearly a week in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Four of my articles were published on the conference blog.  While the high altitude made breathing a little difficult for thie midwesterner, the conference itself functioned as a breath of fresh air. Only about 6% of US librarians are black. That makes these conferences filled with librarians of color a sort of homecoming. It is as easy for POC to feel somewhat isolated while attending one of the major ALA conferences as it does at some of the major writers conferences I often attend.

I began my JCLC that experience at a preconference event, Beyond the Racial Stalemate where participants practiced listening and empathy skills. The sessions were so popular space had to be reserved in advance, and all sessions were filled. My report on that session is available  at https://www.jclcinc.org/conference/2018/beyond-the-racial-stalemate/

Most appropriately, my final session on Saturday was a workshop titled Community Building as Self Care, presented by We Here, an online community for library workers of color at https://www.wehere.space/. The very crowded session gave participants the chance to talk, create, and plan ways to improve the situation for librarians and archivists of color. 

As people entered the very crowded room, they were met with a sign that said explained:

The organizers began the session by treating the packed room to a meditation session. For five minutes, we worked on loving ourselves and looking at those who troubled us with love in our hearts for them. That beginning reminded participants to avoid a moan and groan sessions and ready do the real work tfor change.  

People broke into small groups to discuss a topic they cared about. Those choices included things like: 

I joined a group selected the topic of white fragility. Thanks to a preliminary meditation session, we knew better than to let ourselves descend into a moan and complain session. Mostly we struggled and searched for positive things to relate to our topic. We shaped strategies to handle relaed issues and keep them from dominating the workplace. These included  dialoging kindly, but firmly and boldly, informing they could take “all the time they wanted in the bathroom” to get over any fragile tears.

 
Another group described how some organizations went about recruiting people of color. Sometimes the effort involved hiring a recruiter (often a white recruiter). The result is often only 1 or 2 (or 0) POC expressing interest. Meanwhile, existing staff and para-professionals of color were ignored. They suggest efforts and funds move from recruiting people in school or providing internships that help one person at a time. Instead, take a look at existing staff members of color, individuals who are already interested in librarianship, and putting money and effort into helping them get degrees in library sciences.

Perhaps the best and simplest suggestions at the 2018 JCLC came from a group that focused on what it was like being the only librarian of color on staff. “Learn to say no.” And, “If something is not OK, say so." The  week of camaraderie and relaxing among peers from across the country and whose backgrounds span almost every country on the globe was one of the best conferences in my memory. I say that after also attending and presenting at conferences like ALA and various state library associations, as well as RWA and SCBWI.  .

I have been anticipatint this summer's conference for ages. Covid cancelled both the 2020 JCLC, and the 2021 NCAAL. Mother Nature stepped in and sent floods to close the hotel where the 2022 JCLC was scheduled to be held. By 2023, I felt overdue and eager.

Then controversy inside the Indianapolis Public Library board changed everything.  The full story is too long to be documented here. It involves years of both the staff and community members protesting the boards actions and inactions.  As a result, in January 2023, the NCAAL issued a statement saying: 

“The National Conference of African Americans Librarians (NCAAL) is a time for us to engage, communicate, reflect, and enjoy fellowship in a welcoming city. Due to actions of the Indianapolis Public Library Board of Trustees, BCALA members have determined that Indianapolis is an inhospitable location, and the conference will not be held there."

Now I have another year without the comeraderie these events bring. This time the cause is not an impartial disease or equally impartial climate change. I will miss the feeling of camaraderie and connection caused by these events that serve as both a homecoming and a reunion, even for a retiree like me.

Advice From The Apocalypse

 

I don't often take relationship advice from a tale about a world-ending apocalypse, but does the source really matter if the suggestions are good?  I recently gleened several lessons from a television show. The January 29th episode of The Last Of Us showed that the quality of a relationship between two people can make the difference between surviving and thriving.  When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. We all need something to lose.

I spent my childhood and early adulthood with nothing. That meant working so hard at merely surviving that I never learned how to really live until well into my later years. I was one of five black kids living in poverty in a time when no one had anything, so one big survival skill was never asking for anything. Asking my mother for something as simple as spare change to buy something from the ice cream truck (remember them) only made her cry. As a result, one of my earliest lessons in relationships was – if you don’t ask for things, you don’t hurt people you love. That is just one of many reasons why I need all the relationship advice I can get.

I am a writer. I have used those and other survival lessons from my real life to develop some of my character’s inner world views. I also tend to look at ways other writers express their character’s inner worlds. My reference material, mentor texts, now includes books, poetry, and even screenplays. Last week, I watched a screenplay unfold a beautiful character arc, taking a man from pure survival to thriving in a real life. That episode of The Last Of Us was entitled “Long, Long Time” in honor of the 1970s song by Linda Rondstadt. The song was such an integral part of the story, so much so that after the episode aired on January 29th, 2023, the streaming demand for that song increased by over 4900% in the U.S.

This  post will not be giving away any spoilers about the game, which I have never played, or the tv episode, which I can't stay away from.  As a writer, I know that the quality of a relationship can make the difference between surviving and thriving. As a human being, it occurs to me that if you can find happiness in the middle of an apocalypse, surely some of those lessons can apply to today’s world. Those are two reasons why I chose to add this episode, and this song,  to my list of mentor texts both for writing, and for my life. 

Lesson 1 – Every story is improved by incorporating a loving relationship. 

I once had a writing instructor tell me that no matter what the genre, every story should include a touch of romance. The screenplay for “Long, long time” demonstrated that even a horror story about the entire globe falling apart, audiences can be enthralled by a love story that fits in the environment. If it is true for every story, maybe it is also true for real life.

Lesson 2 - Maturity is your friend.  

The English poet Robert Browning wrote:

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made.”

As we get older, we have the time to learn what we really want, and need, from others. There aren’t enough romances written about people finding each other in their mature years. Even fewer that follow a sixteen year relationship between two men who triumph over a world of problems.

Lesson 3 – Don’t let the outside world interfere with your relationship. 

It’s true, you and I do not live in the aftermath of an apocalypse. We can’t count on a world that consists only of us and our significant other with no interference from people who think they know better. The two men who form a loving couple in “Long, Long Time” might have never had a chance at a loving relationship in the ordinary world, the one filled with censure. The episode itself has been review-bombed, a determined few posting negative reviews about a story so many found loving and thought provoking. Had this story been a book it would already be on dozens of banned book lists. Instead the characters are free to develop a long-term, sixteen year loving relationship. One that does not end by a “suicide at the end of the play.”

Lesson 4 - “Paying attention is how we show love.” 

That’s a quote from one of the characters explaining how his love language is different from his partner. His partner’s corresponding quote is

“There was one person worth saving. I found him, and I saved him.”

People will have different love languages. Different doesn't mean one loves less than the other, or more. Watch what they pay attention to, whether its protecting you, or doing what they can to make your life more relaxing. 

Lesson 5 - Death is not necessarily an enemy. 

“I’m old. I’m satisfied. And you were my purpose.” 

Fighting for every last second is not always a worthwhile effort. Sometimes death is simply the next stage of life and therefore nothing to be feared by people who love each other. Yes, the two lovers are gay, but, as one reviewer said, I'm a sucker for healthy, happy relationships. One where the characters are together for years and years, through the good times and the bad. The two men beat the apocalypse, while many people around them were worn down by death and destruction.  

Wrap-up

The adult me still has difficulty making friends and entering into relationships. But when I do, I often discover the resulting reward is awesome. And, lets face it, if people can find happiness in the middle of an apocalypse, I can do the same in today’s world.

To Critique or Not to Critique

 

Critique groups specially dedicated to those writers whose 2023 resolutions include joining a group

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They can be tough for authors to deal with, even painful sometimes. But I have learned to listen, shrug off any pain, and use the feedback to improve my writing.  I would never have been published without a critique group or critique partner. That's why I am a member of four different groups right now. Thanks to these groups I have learned to understand voice better, and worked to make my own voice more distinct. 

Each group is different. I have learned that sometimes I have to say up front that I want them to tell me what is wrong, because sometimes they just want to tell the good stuff. They don't want to hurt my feelings. But I tell then, I am looking for ways to improve my story, I can't do that unless there is someone to point me to problem areas I am too close to my own writing to see. 

Critique groups and partners have always been instrumental in my writing. My very first group, which was part of an RWA chapter, showed me that romance was really not my genre, but that the young adult genre was. The result led to me signing with an agent and the eventual publication of my first novel, a young adult romance titled Pull, in 2009. 

 

Since then I have settled into writing for middle grade and young adult readers. My most recent books were Courage (2020), about a damaged family family learning how to find courage together, and Unlawful Orders (2022) a nonfiction historical that covers the twentieth century while chronicling one black man’s journey from life in a small town to tuskegee airman in WWII, renowned surgeon, and lifelong struggle for civil rights.

None of this would have been possible without my Critique partners and critique groups. One of my critique partners is looking over my current WIP right now, a story about a girl and her “evil” stepmother seeking friendship and sympathy in a small town. The tentative title is Family Reunion. I count on her to tell me if my tween character is realistic, and if her character arc works before I take the story to the next stage of development.

I also belong to a four person critique group. Although we went quiet during the height of Covid, we are all happy to be back to meeting in person. We have a poet, an essayist, a writer of adult novels, and me, proving that a good critique group does not have to be writers of the same genre. They are looking at Family Reunion on a more granular level. We go over several chapters in depth at each meeting.

By he way, this evening (Wednesday Jan 11)  I will have my first meeting with a new to me, on-line critique group. This will be my opportunity to size them up, see who is serious and who is not, and decide if this group is for me. Because that is numer one for any critique group or partner, finding out if their goals and procedures are compatible.  As important as critiques are to my success, an incompatile group is not only a waste of time, it can acually make your writing worse.  
 

In my early times in critique groups, I made some horrible decisions. I want to apologize to anyone I critiqued before 2015. I used to make suggestions and edits to help the author "improve" their work. Eventually, I realized I was really trying to talk then into changing to match a voice I liked, often my own. I became a better critiquer when I internalized that my purpose was to point out areas in a manuscript that might have issues and then leave it to the author. They get to  discover the fix themselves, or to disagree and ignore my well-intentioned but unhelpful comments. I now counsel newbies to critiquing that every piece of advice they get is just another suggestion. Nothing anyone says to them means they are required to run out and change anything in their manuscript right away.

Personally, I divide the critique commens I receive into three groups. 

1 - Things I totally agree with. 

2 - Things I totally disagree with. 

3 - Things that leave me uncertain, so I have to think about it in detail before I decide how to deal with the advice. 

I suggest others consider doing something similar when they join a criique group.

Hanukkah Gelt - A Holiday Story

 

In the spirit of the holiday season, I present Romancing The Genres visitors with this holiday about a teen boy and his family celebration I simply call: 

GELT

When I was little, the Chanukah-Christmas thing confused me. I mean Catholic mother, Jewish father— neither all that heavy into religion— what did they expect after lighting both a tree and Chanukiyah candles? Then I wised up, realizing the season gave me more of everything, including a mountain of Chanukah gelt, chocolate coins wrapped in gold paper.

I also get more relatives.

Today, our house is the spot marked “X” on the last day of Chanukah. I’m surrounded by Jewish and Catholic relatives, all after their own version of gelt: free food like the latkes with jalapeño’s Mom made because Dad likes them. That means he and I have one thing in common.

“Hey there, rocket man.” Dad’s older brother arrives with another young, skinny-as-a-string-bean girlfriend. She giggles. I nearly barf.

Uncle Leon proves my biology teacher was wrong in claiming successful predators had to be masters of deception. He never pretends to be anything except a major player who won’t be caught.

Dad’s father approaches me, rubbing his nose before crouching into a fighting stance. “There’s my favorite grandson.”

“God no,” I mutter to both my family’s deities. I’m 16, too old to play Granddad’s version of fight club. He goes for my shoulder. I surrender, telling him he’s a great fighter. He’s disappointed he won so easily. I love my grandfather. Just…not all the time.

The door opens; a blast of winter air signals Dad’s arrival. I catch a whiff of motor oil as he passes. He plants a kiss on Mom’s cheek, saying, “Sorry I’m late, I had a last minute customer issue I had to handle myself.”

“Hurry up,” Uncle Leon yells. “We’re starving.”

“I’ll shower and be right back.” Dad turns toward the stairs as he speaks. “I’m sorry.”

“Never tell anyone you’re sorry,” Granddad sneers. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

Dad stares at his father, hands clenched at his side.

Tell him to stuff it, Dad.

But he never does. My father lets everyone disrespect him.

I look around, realizing my uncles have disappeared. The door to the den, Dad’s private room, is closed. When I turn the knob, it slides opens, silently. Two walls are filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The only furniture is a lamp and a wingback chair, so much like the one in Dad’s office that I wonder if he found a two-for-one sale years ago.

Mom’s oldest brother, William I-was-gonna-be-a-priest-but, sits in his chair, clasping a crucifix like he wants to beg God’s forgiveness for being here. Tyrese, her younger brother, stands next to Uncle Leon. The three are best friends. Not one ever forgave Dad for not marrying Mom until she was seven months pregnant. Dad makes the most money, but they still tell ugly jokes about the “auto guy,” as if handling engines makes him dirty. Yet every year they come running when he invites them to his house.

“She abandoned her religion for a jerk who ignores her over some ‘customer issue.’” Uncle Tyrese makes air quotes, like a middle-school kid.

Uncle Leon sighs. “Don’t you Catholics ever forgive mistakes?”

“Mistakes?” I yell and rush forward. “Don’t you disrespect my dad!”

“He disrespected my sister first,” Tyrese snarls.

“Not in front of his kid,” William says. “No one blames the boy.”

“Take your blame and shove it.” Dad steps to my side. His hair, moist from a quick shower, is now covered by a red yarmulke; his eyes spit fire. The familiar scent of motor oil still clings to his wet skin. “Neither my son nor my marriage was a mistake.” 

Uncle William fingers his crucifix. “Maybe we should go.” Uncle Tyrese nods. Dad’s brother turns away, like he’s hiding from the truth.

“No. My wife wants you here. You’ll stay to make her happy.”
All are silent as we return to the others and gather around the nine-candle menorah symbolizing light and wisdom. Dad steps beside Mom. She takes his hand. No matter what the family thinks, they love each other.

“Son, would you say the mitzvah berakhah?” he asks me.

I know the Chanukah blessing so well I don’t have to think as I chant:

“Baruch atah Adonai Elo-heinu Melech ha’olam
Asher kid’shanu b’mitzvosav v’tzivanu
l’hadlik ner shel Chanukah.”

As I light the candles, I silently request another miracle to help me survive this evening. Dad isn’t my real father; that was “uncle” Leon. Dad stepped in and took the heat after his brother abandoned Mom. Her brothers never knew.

But I know. I’ve always known.

That was Gelt, presented to you in celebraton of the season. If the spirit moves you, drop a comment to tell me what you think.

its a marvelous world, I just can't seem to get out into it

 

I have to get to Pakistan.  Don't ask why, I have been watching Ms. Marvel. The writers have done what any good story should, made me fall in love with a family and their issues. And as I watched daughter, mother, grandmother and even great grandmother dealing with a multi-generational trauma, I was taken to the Indian sub continenet, and fell in love  there too.  

I expected Ms.Marvel to be a teen story. I decided to watch it, but to not be upset if it was not my cup of tea. (I'm supposed to be a writer, you would think I could come up with something beter than cup of tea.)  At first I thought I was right, that initial episode was a total teen drama that just made me feel old.

Then the writers got to the deeper story. Two weeks ago they took me to the Pakistan of today. From the super crowded airport (and I honestly thought O'Hare Airport was a nightmare) to roads were lane lies and traffic signals were literal suggestions, to stately, beautiful homes, bright colors, and a market full of vendors lying in wait for an unwary tourist. The sights, sounds, smells, and the vendor  who grossly overcharged the young heroine for a picture, then cheerfully gave her directions to the train stations, Left, and then left, and left, then right, a little it right, and then around the donkey cart.  And, somehow, those instructions worked and she found her destination.

And the food! She was apparently not a spicy food afficionado, and I could tell by her face that everything she ate was more tasty than the meal before. By the time she got to the real Chinese food, the kind Americans had no whitewashed,  my mouth watered.

Unfortunatly, there are major travel problems in that part of the world,  right now, and it's not just Covid. 

You've probably noticed this is a pretty weak post. I planned to write a great post. I mean I've worked on it forever inside my head. It was going to be so awsome. 

Except, I hit writer's block. And what was inside my head - still is for that mater, won't come out.

I seriously feel brain dead or something. I've had blocks before, but none of them this complete, I guess that's the right word.   Next month i'll do better, I promise,

Location, Location, Location

I envy people who get to take sabbaticals and travel, find new writing locations and landscapes that simulate those creative juices. I never get to do that.

 
When it's time for me to sit in a chair and write, it's always the same chair, in the sae room, in front of the same mirror. My view only changes with the seasons. Of course, since I live near Chicago, Illinois, those seasons can change pretty fast.  We can do spring, winter, fall and then spring again, all within twenty-four hours.   No, I didn't forget summer, but summer only appears when it is good and ready.  So, if I wanted to write a story based on the season, I would have to learn to be a speed-writer.

As if. I've been writing for over a decade now, and have yet to master that trick.  At a school presentation last week a young lady asked how long it took me to finish a book. I didn't want to say forever so I made something up, but forever is really close to accurate. I think I know every blade of grass in my lawn, even when buried under snow. I have counted and recounted them in the long years of completing five books, with my agent shopping a sixth one around right now. My chair must be so tired of me.

Ar least I did get a change of scenary on Tuesday.

    

No, it was not because of a sabbatical or vacation. I spent much of yesterday perched in an uncomfortable chair looking out the window of an auto shop at the traffic. I was there because a flat tire so far gone the wheel needed to be replaced. The air was stuffy. A television blared something incomprehensible from its position mounted over my head. Not the most conducive location for creativity and story writing. 

 
However, it proved to be an awesome spot for editing. That's one part of writing I consider the most boring chore in the world. I was armed with a print copy of my WIP (Work In Progress) and one of my trusty pens. I edit best the old fashioned way, with pen and paper, not on a screen. And during two very long hours, the location ended up being conducive to updating multiplied chapters.

 
Maybe discomfort makes it easier to stay on task when faced with a distasteful job.

Who knows, maybe I will just go back there sometime and see if the place works it's magic on my editing again.

What parts of the writing process do you dislike the most?  Do you have any good tips for getting them done anyway? 

Libraries Are For Everyone

 I know this is the month for valentines, and Black History Month. I should probably be blogging about love this month, or an African American hero. But current events have jumped in and grabbed me, turning this to a different subject.

I have long been an advocate for reluctant readers. I’ve spoken at the Illinois Reading Council and the American Library Association on the subject. I believe that anything that makes a student want to read is a good book, no matter the subject matter.  A fourteen year old who started A Banned Book Club at her school, said, “I love to read, so it’s kind of frustrating to see the bans, especially because a lot of adults are banning it, but they’re not asking teenagers our opinion on these books … It’s scary to know that all these people who might need these books for a reason, because maybe they’re just learning about themselves, and they need something to read, they don’t have access to that.”  

Maybe some reluctant readers don't read because the worlds in the books they are allowed are bland and unimaginable when compared to video games and TikTok. That’s the problem with censorship and removing a book like MAUS from a school library. 

Parents and lawmakers claim they are only removing books from libraries to protect innocent children from feeling discomfort, guilt or any other form of psychological distress questionable content. Its an impossibly broad category, since anyone might be "distressed" about anything.  Its also the same excuse used for over two hundred years. An article in the Atlantic noted that even back in the 1800s, books that were suppressed for being inappropriate for kids were often stories about cultures and life experiences different from those of the majority population. Most banned books explore issues of race, religion, gender identity, sexual orientation, mental illness, and disability. 

(Although in 2012, the Captain Underpants books topped the list of most banned books because of language.  I attended an American Library Association meeting and presentation where membefrs of the Office of Intellectual Freedom explained why the books were banned. Adults unnerved by reading the vocabulary in the books to their small children wanted to have them removed from libraries.)

Neither parents, authors, librarians nor teachers want to increase any child's anxiety. I’m one of those people who elieve that knowledge is power. As an author, my goal is to empower young readers, to help them understand the world and to grow. To promote empathy for others. I promise I want readers to feel more knowledgeable after they read one of my stories, and never, ever ashamed.  Books can provide the kind of power and life experience that some kids cannot get any other way. An opportunity to meet people of different backgrounds and cultures young readers often cannot get in real life.

Preventing children from reading a book like Maus won’t protect them from anything. On the contrary, it may rob them of ways to understand the world they live in. We don't want kids to have to experience life in a concentration camp so they will grow up feeling what it's like, we want them to grow up determined tht kind of thing willnot happen again because they have empathy and felt what it was like in a book.  Like riding a rollar coaster, kids know their book is a safe space. They may have questions about the content, but they rest easy knowing it willnever place them in any real harm or dangr.

Studies of middle school classes found that students who got to debate controversial subjects were more likely to see themselves as “an active participant in civic affairs.” If a child comes home with a question about something theyread in a book, that does not mean they feel guilty. It means their curiosity has been awakened and they trust their parents to tell them more.  That's not a time to fail them and other students who may need to hear the message in that book.  Censorship is an attempt to stifle someone's individual thought. There's a reason why America applauded the TV show All In The Family when Edith Bunker ignored her husband's repeated command to "stifle." It is wrong at any age.

Book banning says a lot more about the banner than about the book.  Take Animal Farm for example.  The book was banned in the UK during the second world war because of fears that its publication could anger Soviet allies. Animal Farm was banned in the USSR until the Soviet Union fell. Then the book was banned in Florida in 1981. Why? Because they felt the same book the communists hate, a book written by a man who spent his life fighting totalitarianism, was pro-communist. Someone was not thinking critically.

Classroom, school, and public libraries are meant to serve an entire community of students, not just the ones with the most prudish parents. Although students are not adults, they still have rights - and agency. A dialogue between parents, teachers and librarians is important, but if young people seek out information on a topics that interest them, they should access. Better still, they should be given guidance through classroom discussion, book club leaders, and parents. Instead of banning books, more people should get involved in helping kids process what they read. Making a book forbidden means kids will  hide their reading material. It will never make them stop.