My Dream Job--at Age Fourteen!

As I mentioned earlier, when my sisters and I were little, my mother took us to the library weekly.  When I grew older, I passed the small but handsome library on my way home from school.  One day, much to my surprise, as I was checking out a book, the librarian offered me a job.  Me?  A job?  Looking back on it, I hadn’t longed for the job because I didn’t know it existed.  Of course, it took me only a split second to say “Yes!”

My parents gave their permission and I had my first job—no, come to think of it--my second.  I had done a lot of babysitting.  The babysitting was challenging but I considered this my first real job.

Miss Ainsworth, the librarian, was a very kind person.  I couldn’t then and can’t now think of a nicer boss.  My library job duties included sticking inside the front cover of every book a label with the library’s picture and name.  Next was to squeeze with a handpress the words “Westboro Public Library” on page 100 or if there were not 100 pages, on the page halfway through the book.  I suppose all this was to protect the book from theft.

I discovered that while I was doing these routine tasks, I could read a page or two--enough to know whether the book was something I wanted to put on my list of books to read.  (I always was a fast reader and probably became faster as I rushed through those pages.)  Before long I discovered that young readers like me were not allowed to check out certain books shelved behind Miss Ainsworth’s desk.  The only one I remember was Forever Amber.  Hmmm…I never have read it.  Perhaps I’ll locate it and find out what the deal was.

Another thing I remember from sixty years ago is that suddenly three or four boys that I knew from school started hanging around in the stacks where I worked.  Miss A., when she caught sight of them, clucked disapprovingly and shooed them away.  The boys hadn’t so much as spoken to me but I could see they were working up their courage, and Miss Ainsworth would have no teenagers fooling around back in my workspace.

Having a real job motivated me to have a real bank account and on the day that I received my monthly check, I always went straight to the bank and deposited it.  As the teller handed back to me my bankbook, I looked at the growing figure with pride.  I knew that my dad was determined that his four daughters go to college, yet worried that he might not be able to afford it.  Now I could help.

More Reading with Dad

Thinking of the Old Mother West Wind stories, I'm still shaking my head in wonder at how prolific Burgess was, having written 15,000 (!) syndicated stories, delivered a popular radio show for ten years, and become a leader in the movement to protect wildlife.

Harold Garis impresses too with his thirty-year, six-day-a-week output.  I said in my last post that I'd include one of Garis's chapter endings--silly statements that besides making the child listener laugh, give the subject of tomorrow's chapter.  Here's a typical one: "And on the page after this, in case the moving picture man doesn't take our kitchen sink away to use as a fountain pen, I'll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the lazy duck."

I think it's interesting that Burgess and Garis were journalists and kept writing day after day for their long lives, while Beatrix Potter in middle-age happily gave up her writing and illustrating children's books to become a sheep-farmer and to lead the effort to create a huge land trust.

But back to my father reading to me at bedtime....Several years passed and I was sick with measles.  The absolute worst part of this disease is that I wasn't allowed to read.  It shows you what a loving father mine was that he picked up the book I had been devouring and began reading it to me.  That book was Little Women.  I don't believe he found Jo and her sisters and handsome young Laurie very interesting but night after night he read, until I was allowed to  read again and began for myself Alcott's Little Men.

One more book I remember my dad bringing to read soon after this was The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe.  As I saw the book I thought: "Well this isn't a book I'd choose but fair's fair: he read a book I love, this must be a favorite of his."

Dad began: "I was born in the Year 1632, in the City of York, of a good Family, 'tho not of that country, my Father being a Foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull...  He went on reading more of this for about five minutes, if I remember rightly, and then shut the book emphatically: "Good lord, the whole page is one sentence.  Tomorrow we'll try something else."

I don't remember his reading to me after that but one of the photos over my desk is my dad happily absorbed in a book.

Stories My Father Read to Us at Bedtime

My dad had a desk job--was a merchandise manager for Dennison in Framingham, Massachusetts, a paper-products company.  Every night he pulled into the driveway at the same time, and my mother always had dinner ready.  After dinner, he'd either wash the dishes while one or two of his daughters dried or, in growing season, he worked in the garden he dearly loved.  In my memory, he often read to us after we climbed into bed.  The first three of us--Marilyn, me, and Susan were spaced four years apart.  Sally the youngest was seven years younger than Sue.  That spread is probably why I remember his reading occasionally just to me.

What did he read?  I've had fun recalling the stories.  One of Dad's favorites was Old Mother West Wind by Thornton W. Burgess.  These were gentle tales of animals with distinct personalities: Reddy Fox, Peter Cottontail, Sammy Jay, Jimmy Skunk, and many more.  The Laughing Brook provided background.  Burgess kept these tales coming for decades.  My dad loved the natural world--no wonder he enjoyed these stories featuring the denizens of the outdoors in which he grew up.

My sisters and I often clamored for a series that also featured wild animals but were a bit scarier:
Uncle Wiggley by Harold Garis.  Garis remarkably published these stories for the Newark News, six days a week for thirty years.  Uncle Wiggley is an elderly gentleman who suffers from rheumatism.   There are bad guys: the bully Pipsiseqah and the Skeezicks.  Uncle Wiggley's housekeeper Nurse Jane Fuzzy-Wuzzy keeps things calm.  I loved the endings best, I think.  They were cliff-hangers--funny cliff-hangers.  I'll try to find one and share it with you in a later post.

A rabbit also figures prominently in my most vivid memory of being read to by my father.  Hearing my dad read Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Peter Rabbit when I was quite young entranced me.  The vividness is such that I can tell you which bedroom we were in.  (We sisters switched rooms from time to time).  What I remember best is hearing Daddy read the odd but apt words "lippety, lippety" as Peter wanders Mr. McGregor's garden, looking for the gate so he could escape.  After Peter got safely home, daddy gave me a goodnight kiss and wished me a loving "sweet dreams." I think I fell asleep murmuring "Lippety, lippety."

Did you notice that a distinguished rabbit is missing here?  It was years before I encountered B'rer Rabbit.  If I were still in academia, I'd be thinking of writing an article exploring this.

Books of My Childhood

My blog is headed "A Blog about  the Books of Elizabeth Segel."  That  refers to more than my three  published books.   "The Books of Elizabeth Segel" refers as well to books I read or listened to in early childhood, the ones that made me a lover of books.

We didn't own many children's books--perhaps a shelf two or three feet wide.  One of the books we owned was set in exotic India--I was fascinated by it but didn't understand it.  Instead of owning books, we went to the library every week.  The library was a handsome building that projected importance yet was very inviting.  One thing that fascinated me was a glass case of stuffed birds near the doorway.  Hmmm..it just occurs to me that those birds may have something to do with my becoming an avid--if not skilled--bird-watcher.

The photograph that appears on the back of my new book Duck Dreams: City Boy to Farmer Boy 
shows my mother reading to me (age three) and my big sister Marilyn (she would have been seven.)  My mother loved books.  Her mother had died of tuberculosis in a sanitarium when my mother was just five years old.  She was even younger when her father left to work on the Panama Canal--left for good.  An interesting footnote...the book my mum was reading to us in the photo doesn't look like a children's book: it's very thick.  My mother's uncle reported that she loved Grimm's fairy tales when she was little...even the gruesome, scary ones, and she confirmed this.  Perhaps scary stories helped her through the scary circumstances of her young life.  Fortunately, she was raised by a loving grandmother who did a good job of it.

Now back to my childhood.  Mother took us to the public library every week.  I remember that I always went right to where The Story of Ferdinand was shelved and took it to the check-out desk.  The visits when the story of the gentle bull was there on the shelf were happy ones.  The days when I had to return my much-loved story were sad.

When I was older, I began thinking about why I liked so much the story of the bull who rejected his appointed fierceness.  I decided  it was because, like him, I was shy.  Years later however my sister Marilyn remarked casually that she loved ...Ferdinand also.  She wasn't shy in the least, so there went that theory.

I remember my mother reading many other books to us: a favorite was The Poky Little Puppy. a Golden  Book which you could buy at the Five and Dime store.  Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey we asked for over and over.   We lived only forty miles from Boston and had the thrill of riding on the swan boats in the Public Gardens.  We caught glimpses of ducks and left feeling we surely had seen Mr. and Mrs. Mallard.

Memories of my Dad reading to me are particularly vivid ones--to be the subject of my next entry..

Losing a Contest While Learning So Much

I entered the Sydney Taylor Manuscript Competition in 2010, having read that submissions should have appealing Jewish content and be a work of fiction for children 8 to 11 years.  The writer should have no published work of fiction, as this was designed as an incentive for beginning authors.  The prize was $1000 and the judges were members of The Association of Jewish Libraries.

The name of the contest attracted my attention.  Sydney Taylor was author of the All-of-a-Kind Family books about a Jewish family living on New York's lower East Side. My daughter had loved those books.  I believe she organized a dramatization of the story in her early elementary school classroom.  

What made this competition priceless for me was that the judges sent to entrants their observations about the stories--the strengths and the weaknesses.  The first opinion I read: "Bad title."  Since the title at that time was The Chicken-Cheater, Duck Disasters  (2), and the Rocky Road to Freedom, I couldn't disagree.

Then someone wrote: "Both boys and girls should like this but it might be too old-fashioned."  
"Would like to see more creative chapter-titles."  Hmmm...do I need chapter titles? was my reaction to that and out they went!  Someone else thought a glossary for Yiddish terms was needed, which was definitely a good idea.  I added one.

The compliments kept me from giving up on this book:

• "Writing is simple, clear, well-organized."
• "Writing is superior."
• "Characters are realistic and appealing."
• "Sweet simple story about a family settling in America.  Subject matter is very creative."
• "The Jewish content, while present, is not dominant in this story.  [the reviewer] has some reservations about giving the award to this book when other entrants of equal caliber present stronger Jewish themes." [This comment is a mixture of positive and negative but conveys that I was a contender, which made me very happy.]
• "Nice storyline with different problems and great solutions.  Author did a great job integrating the themes of immigration, making friendships and dealing with being different, as well as the farm story."

Not winning truly didn't bother me.  I hadn't expected to.  The experience was as valuable as a semester's course--perhaps more, as it was specific to this work.

As one judge noted, the story was old-fashioned.  More than one editor replied to my submission of this story something like: "strong writing but not for our list."  I guessed that their list would welcome a dystopian young adult series that would sell a ton of copies.  Duck Dreams wasn't that which is what made me turn to self-publishing.  Never made a better decision, I think.

More about our writing group and its members

Our critique group is led by Sally Alexander, author of a remarkable book: She Touched the World: Laura Bridgman, Deaf-Blind Pioneer.  Sally lost her sight in her twenties but doesn't let that hold her back, even though her hearing is now also a problem.  In addition to several books, Sally writes a blog I highly recommend: Traveling through the Mist.

Sally teaches at Chatham University and reads profusely, sharing with the group information that may help us with our writing.  I'm always impressed when, after one of our group reads, she makes just the right suggestions--sometimes very detailed--for improvement.

I've had excellent suggestion from other group members as well.  I recently found a draft of what I've called "my farm story," which  a class member--a young mother and former teacher--had read.  Her notations were a combination of praise ("I like this description of Benny--so succinct") and helpful suggestions ("would a ten-year-old have said this?--sounds adult to me.")

My dearest friend, also a group member, has read through a number of drafts, catching errors of all types.

In the next post, I'll tell you about a contest I entered.  I didn't win but learned a great deal about improving my story by participating.

Twenty-five years plus...how could it be?

More than twenty-five years passed from Uncle Abe's letters recalling his boyhood escapades to the publication of Duck Dreams: City Boy to Farmer Boy.  How could that be?

Part of it is that I had to learn to write for children.  I had published numerous articles about children's books and writers for children.  Two books ate up a good deal of time and energy in those twenty-five years.  One was for adults, urging parents to read to their children and recommending books likely to engage children.  This book, which went into three editions, was a collaboration with Professor Margaret Mary Kimmel.  Maggie taught children's literature in the Library Science Department; I taught it in the English Department.  The second book,  Short Takes, was a collection of stories I compiled for middle-grade children.  I chose the stories, recruited the writers--Lois Lowry, Philippa Pearce, Robert Cormier, E. L. Konigsburg, and others--and I  wrote introductions to each story.  But this wasn't teaching me to write for children.

About when Short Takes came out, I took a key step that would prepare me to write for children.  I joined Sally Alexander's critique group.  No one could have helped me more--Sally is herself a marvelous writer.  As a critic and teacher, she is unparalleled.  More on our group--its leader and helpful participants--in the next blog entry.

A Duck Dreams Party....

Last Sunday afternoon my son Ken and daughter-in-law Sara were kind enough to throw a party celebrating the publication of my book.  They invited their friends--very special people--and a few friends of mine, particularly those who had helped me with the book.  Many of their friends had children of the right age to enjoy Duck Dreams.

To begin the more formal part of the event, I had asked my three granddaughters to read interesting passages of Duck Dreams and Naomi, 7, Abigail, who had turned eleven a week before, and Isabel, 14, all read with enthusiasm and clarity.

Then I read about an event in the book that seems to me very central (parts of chapters 19 and 20).  It noticed it brought tears to my husband's eyes (and not for the first time).  

I invited questions which gave me a chance to explain that the boyhood memories of a favorite uncle sparked the book, but 95% of it is fiction.

As people purchased copies (at the reduced rate for friends and family :-)), they came up for autographs.  Mostly, I was asked to autograph the book for one or more of the children who were there, but one guest after requesting the autograph, expressed admiration for what I've accomplished with Parkinson's, a disease which she sees close-up in her own family.

Sara and Ken had laid out delicious snacks attractively in the dining room.  We're at the age where we've begun passing family possessions on to our children, and it is such a treat to meet up with them in a new setting.  Sara and Ken have a gift for being hosts and I deeply appreciated the happy event. 

With a lot of help from my friends....

When the Little Red Hen didn't get help from her friends, she said: "Then I'll do it myself"--and she did!

I've been more fortunate.  As luck would have it, two remarkably talented people have signed on to work with me on my book: Duck Dreams, City Boy to Farmer Boy.  First, Todd Sanders agreed to be the designer of the book (and turned out to be so much more).  I found Todd through Liane Norman, a dear friend who had used him for a number of attractive books--mostly poetry.  She recommended him highly and I'm so glad she did.  Not only did Todd make the book handsome in every detail, he researched costs, set up this blog, worked on my Author Page for me and more.  It would have been another year before Duck Dreams appeared in print without Todd's efficient and knowledgeable help.

Now I needed an illustrator.  Todd showed me a few drawings from the portfolios of 8-10 artists.  None seemed right--some drawings were more fantastic than my story; some more comic.  Then I had the bright idea that numerous artists posted samples of their work on the SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators) website.  Well, I was right, but there were hundreds of illustrators.  I didn't have the patience.

Suddenly I thought of Liz Jones, a member of my writing group who sometimes illustrates her own stories.  Her lovely impressionistic illustrations wouldn't work, but perhaps she knew someone whose work would fit this warm family story, historical fiction for middle-grade children.  Anni Matsick was perfect!  I was bowled over seeing her first sketches and then gradually viewing the characters come to life.  She worked very hard on three illustrations that capture my vision of Simon, his family, and his experiences.  She chose exactly the right scene for the cover.  This must have been difficult because few scenes in the book involve a close-up of Simon and a duck and it was Duck Dreams after all.  Anni remarked "I chose the one scene that represents a happy triumph," and she was right.  

Another example of Anni's acuteness: she asked if in the interior scene it might be a good idea to show a menorah on the mantelpiece.  It was a good idea indeed.  The menorah, the candelabrum which Jewish families light each of the eight nights of Hanukkah, subtly shows that this is a Jewish home.

Anni has gone on working for the success of our book.  She is very knowledgable about "spreading the word."  She advises me on arranging readings and such.  She lives in State College and makes a brief appearance fairly regularly on a TV station there.  Recently, she kindly featured Duck Dreams in her interview, showing how she builds a black-and-white illustration.

We learned while Anni was working on the illustrations for my book that we were both going to attend the western Pa. SCBWI conference in November so we planned to have lunch together.  It was delightful to meet.  We look forward to telling folks about the process of independent publishing as it worked for us.  Todd may attend the conference next fall too.

Todd signed on mid-July and Anni started work in August, I believe.  The first copies of Duck Dreams: City Boy to Farmer Boy  arrived at my home on November 22 or thereabouts.  A wonder indeed.

I've been thinking about the feedback from children on one draft or another of "my farm story," as I've called it.  Some time ago I had the story copied and spiral-bound.  Then I gave it out to grandchildren and the great-nieces and nephews.  The feedback was helpful to me, though I trust that every writer reading this knows that it's the kiss of death to submit a manuscript to an editor with the words "my grandchildren loved this story."

The first to read it was my grandson Jonah.  We were on a family vacation and since I had had a recent hip replacement, I came into the cottage when others were still outside, the children playing Frisbee and the adults watching.  Jonah came in too. I had brought along a copy of what is now Duck Dreams but was probably then titled The Chicken Cheater, Duck Disasters, and the Rough Road to Friendship.  It was an awful title but seven-year-old Jonah didn't comment on that.  He flopped on his belly and began to read.  Again the next night, he came in when the other children were still running around and he read until bedtime.

When his mother asked how he liked the book, he said "It's great." The next evening I asked: "Jonah, is there anything you didn't like or didn't understand?"  I was a little worried about the anti-Semitism that enters into the story at one point.

"Nope.  It's great," he said again and that's all he ever said.  It was enough to encourage me.


Two Israeli family members were young readers as well.  Roi was eleven, I think, when his uncle Joel came from the U.S. and left spiral-bound copies of the story with his nieces and nephews of the right ages.  Roi was one of the recipients.  He emailed me that one night he had been reading a book he loved and had read many times when his dad suggested he try instead this book that his great-aunt Betty had written.  Roi took it a bit reluctantly but read until his dad turned off the light, then reports that he took the story to school in his backpack and read it whenever he could manage it.

His cousin Talia, age eleven, emailed: "I read your book and you know it was interesting because I hate to read English!"  

Petra, a New York child, also got a copy of the story, and her response was very special.  She drew an illustration for me and she had chosen the very same scene that Anni Matsick chose to do for the cover!

My oldest granddaughter, Isabel, read my story years ago and said without prompting: "You should publish this, Mimi."  I sent it to many publishers, Isabel.  Some gave me advice that helped me make the book stronger but none wanted to publish it,

Soooo...
                                        I did it myself!


                                                                    ....with help from my friends

Twenty-seven years!

Thinking back, I discover that Duck Dreams was conceived twenty-seven years ago!  My husband's uncle, Abe Segel, wrote a letter to answer questions put to him about his boyhood by two nephews, Joel and Michael Segel.  We received a copy as well.   And more letters followed, multiple pages written in longhand from one edge of the page to the other.  After reading two or three of the letters, I wrote back to Abe, saying how I loved reading his letters and that I thought there was an appealing children's story there.  Would he mind if I tried?

Well, he didn't mind, in fact he began to write letters to me, describing life in the town of Melrose in 1910 to 1912, and giving me good background detail, such as huddling around the kitchen stove to dress and the ritual of Mama's haircuts.

Twenty-seven years is a long time and I'm glad to have the chance to think about the different helpers along the way and the quick dominance of fiction over the facts of the letters.

My Granddaughter Reading

My granddaughter Naomi discovering Duck Dreams

Duck Dreams now on Amazon

You can purchase Duck Dreams - on Amazon

Duck Dreams

About Duck Dreams: 

Simon Hirsh, living in 1910 in a crowded Boston tenement, wants to be a farmer when he grows up. “Who ever heard of a Jewish farmer?” his uncle scoffs. But after Simon’s little brother almost gets stepped on by a huge carthorse in the street teeming with traffic, Simon’s parents decide to buy a house away from the city’s dangers. Simon works hard after school to make their new home a real farm, so that his father doesn’t have to work so hard in the clothing business, but he encounters many setbacks, among them a chicken-cheater, duck disasters (2), and a challenging friendship.

Simon and Patrick–both outsiders–become friends. Patrick’s Irish family is destitute and in trying to help them, Simon gets into serious trouble. Too proud to accept charity, Patrick turns on Simon and they have a bitter fight. Simon doesn’t care if he never sees Patrick again. He has something else to worry about. The aunt he’s never seen, who was a little girl when Simon’s mother left Russia years ago, is coming to live with his family if she can escape from Russia and survive the difficult voyage to America. Little does Simon know that his Aunt Rifka will help him make his farm dream a reality.

Cover and interior artwork are by Anni Matsick - more of her work can be seen at www.annimatsick.com