
Long a closeted YA/kid lit reader, I then took it upon myself to recommend books I liked to my kids. Books by authors like Jacqueline Woodson, Walter Dean Myers, Virginia Euwer Wolff, Terry Trueman and Laurie Halse Anderson. I wanted to provide them with some variety in content and perspectives, something different from what they were regularly reading outside the classroom if they were reading outside the classroom at all. I watched them (even my "reluctant" readers) devour the books and develop a different way to engage and talk about literature (as if what they read in the pages of these books was really personally relevant to them and the way they lived their lives) that they then brought to our classroom conversations about everything from James Baldwin to William Shakespeare. It was an exciting time for me as a teacher--to have my students compare character motivations in The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien to character motivations in Monster by Walter Dean Myers. But as they continued reading and investigating books specifically for their age range on their own, they started to bemoan the lack of books that featured characters that looked like them (I taught in school districts whose student populations were largely African American, Latino and even Cape Verdean when I taught in Boston). I agreed.

During my last years of teaching, I was already back in grad school pursuing my MFA. And right around the
time my students at that time were noticing the lack of diversity in teen books, I discovered publishing in a random book publishing course I took as part of prerequisites for my fiction workshops. Prior to taking this publishing course I'd truly believed books were gifts from god placed on bookstore shelves especially for me. I never dreamed there was a whole industry responsible for the care and making of books. I caught the publishing bug immediately, and I knew what I was going to do. I was going to publish those books my students deemed missing.

What this means in practical terms is that people associated with the adult part of the industry have now very suddenly and very seriously turned their attention to children's books. Agents who had previously only represented adult books are now sending YA and other children's submissions my way. Authors who had previously only written adult books are now turning to the children's market to revive or extend their audience. There is a great deal of interesting interest in what I do day-to-day in the children's book world from people who previously never gave children's books a second thought. I think it's wonderful.
But the question I get from my adult colleagues who are wading into the kiddie pool, is what is safe to write about for the children's market. This is a tricky question to answer, especially with the bad rap teen books often get for being too dark, but ultimately, after giving these colleagues a long list of suggested reading to catch up, my answer is there is nothing that's not safe to write about for children as long as it's honest. On my own list, I have published a middle grade novel about albino killings in Tanzania, which on the face of it doesn't seem like middle grade fair, but it's honestly written and from the perspective of a thirteen-year-old boy. This is an issue that affects children in Tanzania just as well as adults. Why wouldn't or shouldn't a child have a perspective on a hard issue? I have also published books where children have lost parents, suffered abuse and had sex. Again, all written honestly and from a genuine child or teen perspective. Whenever you start thinking in order to write children's books that you have to water it down, you're not writing honestly and you're not writing anything they'd be interested in reading. So if you're interested in writing for children, go out and read and then read some more. And when you do finally put pen to paper, don't dwell on the age you're writing for, but instead dwell on how honest whatever you are writing is. Readers are readers no matter their age. We're all looking for something honest. That's what moves us.
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