Rafi Mittlefehldt guest post

Hypable

Hi Rafi.

It’s Monday, November 27, 2000. You just got off the phone with Dad and a weight has lifted. He told you he didn’t like how Saturday’s conversation ended because he never explicitly said that nothing’s changed; he didn’t say, “I love you.” He wanted to make sure you knew.

You did, but hearing it makes all the difference. That creeping first regret at coming out evaporates. It’s done. Everyone at college knows; now your parents know too and it’s cool. You’re done. 

You’re not. It will be years before you even realize you hide this fact of you in small ways from anyone you meet. You try to act straighter than you are. You take comfort in your own natural masculinity, thinking you’re one of the lucky ones, not understanding how destructive that mindset is. You’ll avoid Pride, telling yourself it’s not your scene. You will actually think having pride in your own self is a scene.

This is the misery of internalized homophobia: Each tiny step is a battle you don’t even know you’re fighting until it’s behind you. You’re never really sure whether it’s over or another invisible battle is just gearing up.

You’ll get there, but, kiddo, it will be years. Part of that will be through your writing. Writing helps you learn so much about yourself that is there, right in front of you, but obscured behind decades of wall-building. This is how your first book will come to be.

And then, when you’ve finally, truly gotten to a point of fearlessness with one part of your identity, you’ll find you’ve been discounting another.

Remember in high school, those two kids who got in the habit of using “jewed” as a verb? They would turn to you afterwards and sheepishly apologize, every time. You would tell them you didn’t care. The worst part: you didn’t.

At an Italian restaurant, you told your friends two awful jokes. Later, the manager handed you a napkin. The family seated next to you had overheard and written you a note. They didn’t know you were Jewish too, but did that matter? You still think about their kids. They looked like they were maybe eight or ten. Do they still think about it, twenty years later?

You will.

How Jewish have you ever felt? You’ve always held that identity at arm’s length. You will continue to do that for years and years.

Then there will be an election you aren’t prepared for.

Suddenly, Jews will become more explicitly targeted than you – you, personally – have lived through. Hate crimes will increase exponentially. People carrying swastika flags will march down the street and you will think, Where did they come from?, not yet getting that they were always there.

On a Friday evening in October, a man will storm into a Pittsburgh synagogue during Shabbat services. As he shoots eleven people to death, he will shout, “All Jews must die!”

On Saturday, everyone will start adding a frame to their profile photos. Six interlocking arms forming the Star of David, with the words: “Together Against Antisemitism.” Something will finally click.

You’ll know what that frame is. You’ll know you’re supposed to feel comforted seeing so many non-Jews tell us we aren’t alone in our horror. That you’re supposed to look at those frames and see empathy, support, kinship, allyship.

You will hate those frames. They’re better than nothing, but only just. What you see instead of allyship is a way for people to provide cover for themselves. How many of the people who set their temporary profile photos engage in casual antisemitism regularly?

You will come to understand the architecture of liberal antisemitism. That it exists because too many liberals don’t view Jews as a legitimate marginalized people. They see the power dynamic within Israel, between Israelis and Palestinians, and extrapolate that to the Jewish diaspora in America.

They will say Israel should cease to exist. They will say the Star of David should be banned. They will make sly references to the power Jews hold, furtive allusions to money or loyalty or globalism. You will think a lot about how enduring anti-Jewish tropes are, even for people who pride themselves in their enlightenment.

You will call out casual antisemitism when you see it, and immediately be labeled a Netanyahu apologist. You will never again feel comfortable criticizing fellow progressives without first making clear your positions on racist Israeli policy. This will baffle you. It shouldn’t. You are an Israeli Jew, so what’s the point of nuance?

When they finally understand your beliefs are aligned with theirs, they will tell you you’re too sensitive. They, white non-Jews, will explain to you what antisemitism is. It’s Pittsburgh you should be focused on. It’s Trump. They will define thresholds that allow them to see their remarks, perversely, as a tool of social justice. They will use euphemisms – “confrontational language” and “justified criticism” – to make their antisemitism more palatable to their own consciences. You will learn what fraudulent progressivism looks like.

You will realize one day that white right-wing anti-Semites kill Jews, but only because white liberal anti-Semites give them cover to believe our lives are worth less.

You’ll write a second book. It will, to your great shame, need prodding from other people to become as Jewish as it obviously should have been. But a round of editing will take you from hating this book to loving it. It will end up meaning so much more to you than you ever expected. It will become a reflection of things you felt but couldn’t yet name.

It won’t be near enough. You’ll read the final version and be… content. It will stick to capturing right-wing antisemitism. Because that’s more violent, because it’s more urgent and orders of magnitude more deadly.

But there will be so much more you want to say. Words you left between the lines, for those who care to find them. But between the lines is a poor substitute for black and white.

You’ll get there. You’re not there yet, but you will be. There will be more books. You’ll use them both to learn more about yourself and to tell others what can be.

Rafi Mittlefehldt is a writer who has worked as a newspaper reporter, freelance theater critic, and children’s author. His debut novel was It Looks Like This. Rafi Mittlefehldt lives with his husband in Philadelphia.

Why Representation Matters

By L.L. McKinney

I’m seven and falling in love with Spider-Man. I learn everything I can about this kid who has incredible powers, but (unlike all the other heroes) his city hates him. He tries his best, and people are always knocking him down for it. Sometimes he wants to give up, but he doesn’t. Somehow, he keeps going. With addiction eating at my parents and slowly tearing my family apart, Peter helps me figure out how to keep going, too.

I’m ten, and it’s the first Show-and-Tell of the year. I bring the comic my Granny gave me, the first I’ve ever owned. A group of kids near the cubbies are giving each other sneak peeks of favorite toys, books, and other things before class. Thrumming with excitement, I join them and thrust my copy of Amazing Fantasy #15 out.

A boy snorts and mutters “What do you know about Spider-Man?” Before I can answer, his friends start in on how I’m just faking. How I should’ve brought my Barbie, the “ugly” one (they know I have it). Or maybe I should’ve brought my pet watermelon. I don’t present that day, or ever again.

I’m fifteen, waiting for the 4:30 bus with some other kids, since I had to stay after class and practice with the rest of the Symphonic Orchestra. Sitting on the front steps of my high school, I sing along to “Crawling” by Linkin Park.

Someone rips my headphones off. A boy from the class ahead of mine presses them to his ears. He sucks his teeth. “Man, you listening to that white boy music.” A girl behind him giggles. “That’s cause she white.” Their little group cracks up, and he drops my headphones on the ground. Shouts of Oreo, wannabe white girl, and worse follow me home. For the rest of the year, I only listen to Hip-Hop in public.

I’m twenty, and after spending most of my life playing video games, I decide I want to make them for a living. I spend weeks researching schools and programs before finally settling on one. I save up my pennies, I pack my bags, and I move across the country to live with one of my best friends while I go to school. She tours the campus with me and helps me buy my supplies. 

The first day of class, I notice I’m one of three girls. I’m the only non-white person period. I sit in the back and try not to draw attention to myself. The teacher asks us to introduce ourselves and, for an icebreaker, say what we want to change about gaming. I say I’d like to see more Black characters. After that, it only takes two days for someone to ask why I’m not in the music program, because “that’s where all the other Black people are.”

Equality Illustrated: Chana Ginelle Ewing, Author of An ABC of Equality Interviews Paulina Morgan

Many children today inherit biased language and concepts from generations before. In An ABC of Equality (Frances Lincoln, The Quarto Group, 9781786037428) debut author and intersectionality expert, Chana Ginelle Ewing offers the first children’s concept book focused on educating youth about the importance of the intersections of equality. Together with Chilean illustrator Paulina Morgan, Ewing makes complicated identity concepts like gender, immigration, and ability - accessible for children and encourages informative and constructive conversations around our modern and evolving vocabulary. Together, Ewing and Morgan offer parents a jumping off point for conversation about equality in today’s divisive world. In the Q & A below, author Chana Ginelle Ewing interviews the illustrator of An ABC of Equality, Paulina Morgan.

What excited you about taking on the project of illustrating An ABC of Equality?

 I loved the concept of An ABC of Equality! I found it wonderful to be part of a project that spoke to children in such an honest way and that was able to teach such complex concepts in a simple and love-filled way. I had never seen such a book and it seemed at the same time a great challenge to accompany these words with images that also talked about equality.

 Walk me through your process. How did you arrive at the imagery we see? What tools did you use? 

 It was a significant job to illustrate these concepts and I learned a lot in the process. The first thing I did was read, understand and feel, in order to translate into images a world in which we were all equal without leaving anyone out. Such a world must be colorful, friendly and fun. Secondly, I explored my color palette and the characters that accompany this book. I spent many hours drawing and looking for the images that best represent each concept and taking great care in each drawing to maintain the simplicity of the words. Finally, when I found the perfect characters, I added the color and gave life to the images. The tools I use are very simple, paper pencil, my digitizing tablet and tons of love.

Stargazing by Jen Wang (First Second, September 2019). All rights reserved. @macmillanchildrensbooks 

Weaving Words and Worlds on the Page: An Interview with Traci Sorell & Weshoyot Alvitre

At the Mountain’s Base features powerful artwork by comics/graphics artist Weshoyot Alvitre (Tongva) in her picture book debut. Written by Traci Sorell (Cherokee), the story centers on a family waiting for their relative to return from war. Penguin’s new imprint Kokila Books connected these creators and here they share how this process worked for them.

Sorell: I had some initial trepidation about how this concise poem would be illustrated. After publisher Namrata Tripathi acquired the manuscript, she emailed me and asked if I knew your work. I didn’t and wondered how working in the comics world would translate to crafting a picture book.

What did you first think when she contacted you?

Alvitre:  I was excited and surprised at the short length. Its circular pattern of imagery was just so powerful. I was both intimidated by the minimalism and eager to see what I could do with it. I also wanted to know more about you to see if I could pull from your tribe’s traditions for the art.

Sorell: You definitely pulled from Cherokee traditions. I purposefully left room for any illustrator to choose whatever tribe they wanted for the family.

What was it about weaving that spoke to your creative process?

Alvitre: I loved the concept of weaving you included as I do a lot of fiber arts and crafts. I’ve taught myself spinning on hand spindles and spinning wheels. My tribe is known for their fine basketry, but we don’t really have weavings with wool or yarns. So I learned specifics of Cherokee finger weaving and it ended up being a visual theme throughout the entire book.

Sorell: What a gorgeous theme it is! I love the yarn defining each panel. Those few double page spreads have so much impact. I delight in lifting the dust jacket and showing everyone the case cover. Your artwork throughout the entire book takes the poem to another level. Tears flow. I didn’t anticipate it would produce that type of reaction, but I’ve seen it repeatedly when I’ve shared the advance copies. Powerful!

Let’s Become Multicultural!

By Mina Javaherbin

I grew up in prerevolutionary Iran and immigrated to the United States when I was a teen. My new book, My Grandma and Me, is an homage to a peaceful childhood, when everyday activities are bliss. When I came to America, I was running from war and revolution. It took me a long time and a considerable amount of money to follow the immigration procedures and become an American citizen. All this happened before mass immigrations, revolutions, and wars in other countries had made a noticeable dent in the American psyche. These days the internet has caused a silent revolution in everyone’s consciousness and we are more aware of our global village.

Terms such as global village, multicultural, and diversity did not trend during my childhood. However, we’ve always known about one another, and we even try to communicate—hence the United Nations. But it’s clear from the recurring disagreements and wars that sitting across a table in a large building is not enough, and a multicultural mind-set is needed to prevent things from getting lost in translation.

Author Interview with Makiia Lucier

Both Isle of Blood and Stone and its standalone companion, Song of the Abyss, are about mapmakers and explorers. Why did you decide to write about these topics?

It really came down to writing what interests me. I’ve always loved adventure stories and historical fiction. The Count of Monte Cristo, Jane Eyre, and Anne of Green Gables were favorites growing up. Additionally, I’ve always loved old maps, the beautiful ones with the sea serpents and sailing ships painted onto them. And growing up, I was obsessed with the Indiana Jones movies. With this duology, I wanted to create characters inspired by Dr. Jones, young men and women who were smart and funny and who used their intellect to solve the mysteries that were at the heart of these stories.

 Did any particular place inspire the maps in your book?

Most definitely. The map at the front of Isle of Blood and Stone depicts the fictional island kingdom of St. John del Mar. But if you were to google the island “Guam,” where I was raised, you would see that they are a near perfect match. Why not? I needed an island and I thought it would be fun to use the one I know best.

 How do you choose your character names?

For Isle of Blood and Stone, I was looking for old-fashioned names that were Spanish in origin. I started with ‘Mercedes,’ which I first came across in Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo. Then I followed up with Elias, Jaime, and Ulises. Some names had a more personal connection. Reyna is the hero in Song of the Abyss. Reyna also happens to be my favorite cousin’s name. The village of Esperanca is named after my grandmother. And the Sea of Magdalen…well, Maggie was my mother’s name.

Author Interview with Shabazz Larkin

What inspired you to write The Thing About Bees?

I wrote the book because I have a ridiculous fear of bees. When my sons were born I didn’t want to pass that fear to them, so I set out to discover all I could about the little buzzers. 

What did you find out?

I learned three things about bees. First I learned that every living creature has a special part to play in the world, and that includes grownups and kids. Second, when I learn more about a scary thing, the thing feels less scary to me. Third, I researched which bees and wasps are kind and which are kinda mean, and made it into a chart for the book. 

 What do you hope to be the takeaway to your book? 

I hope kids will understand that it’s brave to understand the things that scare us. This can be scary objects like bees, but it can also be people who are different from us. The book is all about love. Love is magic. Love is super power. Love conquers fear. It’s so important that I even wrote it in big letters on the back cover of the book! 

 What do you think about fatherhood?  

It scares me! (ha, ha!) There’s so much responsibility. I have to show my two sons how to be brave when I’m not always brave myself. 

Author Interview with Junauda Petrus

There are two Black queer girls from two different Black cultures in this book falling in love.  What was it like writing a Caribbean and Black American protagonist?

As a first generation Caribbean-American author, I got to connect with the spectrum and multitudes of Blackness that shaped me through writing this book. Audre and Mabel represent aspects of who I am as a Black women who was raised in multiple Black cultures. My mother is Trinidadian and my father is from St. Croix, and I was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota. I loved writing these girls, because they represented parts of me and the Black diaspora in a way that was eclectic, vibrant and healing.

In writing Audre and Mabel, I wanted to show them falling in love with a Black girl, that was a reflection of them, but also unique and magical in a way all her own. Their love is one that I longed to read as a young person. One that centered weird Black girls in a romantic love.  

You traveled to Trinidad and Tobago to interview folks who are LGBTQIA on these islands. How did that research affect the story?

 I wanted to depict with love, curiosity and expansiveness the experience of being queer in Trinidad and Tobago (T&T). There are a lot of assumptions in the mainstream about the backwardness of attitudes towards LGBTQIA folks in the Caribbean region, and this isn’t the only truth. There is also the notion that folks in the U.S. are inherently more progressive and this is not the case. I learned from activists in T&T, that colonialism and religious evangelism from the west has fostered a lot of the homophobic sentiments that persist in the region.  

I traveled to T&T to interview artists, students, activists, government employees, queer party organizers, etc to get their perspective on queer life in T&T. It was a true gift to hear Trinibagoans talk about their queerness and speak to the ways that they live out loud despite bigotry and ignorance about who they are. There were stories of people being exiled from family, as well as others who were embraced and accepted for their queerness. On a personal note, I traveled there with my wife, and was grateful for how we were embraced by my Trinidadian relatives in ways that was affirming and healing.   

Ancestral spirituality, astrology and natural healing are all themes in this book. Why were these themes important for you to include in this book?

 With Audre and Mabel, I wanted them to explore relationships with the divine and the sacred that helped them navigate the world and challenges they were up against. As a young person, I loved anything that was mystical and otherworldly, things that seemed connected to intuition and spirit. I wanted these Black girls to be spiritual seekers in a way that empowered and blossomed them. They have to deal with some heavy and difficult realities that required spiritual skill sets that were ancestral, organic and cosmic. I have always loved astrology and love the ways that it has helped me see other realities within myself. The character of Queenie, Audre’s grandmother, represents how Black people can be spiritual in a way that is shaped out of intuition and deep listening. 

How I Got to Color Me In

By Natasha Díaz

As a white-presenting, multiracial Jewish woman, I looked like most of the protagonists in the books that I read growing up (aka white girls), but I never related to them. I didn’t understand why all the characters somehow came from families that seemed exactly the same. These casually all-white, anglo universes weren’t a part of my reality, and as much as I appeared as though I should, I did not I see myself mirrored in the pages.

When I got a little older, I realized that if I searched, there were books that featured mixed-race and Jewish characters. If it was a Jewish narrative, the book was almost always about the Holocaust. In the stories I found with characters of mixed race, more often than not, biracial and multiracial narratives focused on their external appearance and exoticized the character’s “European features” praising “light eyes” or “silky hair” or “thin noses,” reinforcing the sentiment that the lack of visual connection to their Black or Brown heritage made them special or more beautiful and desirable. The stories rarely delved into the internal struggle so many people of mixed heritage experience with feelings of unworthiness to themselves and their histories. Biracial and multiracial characters were written as victims of their “light-skinned plight,” often bullied by darker-skinned people in their families and communities. (I should pause here to state for the record that not all mixed or biracial or multiracial people have a white parent, and not all people with mixed racial and ethnic heritage, even those who do have a white parent, look white or are light-skinned. There are many mixed people who present as Black and Brown and are subject to the same prejudices that monoracial people of color experience.) But it seemed as though all mixed people were being portrayed in one way. And as readers, we were asked to pity and empathize with the hardship of not fitting in as a result of a lighter skin tone without ever acknowledging the negative impact that perpetuating these colorist ideas has on communities of color.

Author Interview with Varsha Bajaj

What inspired you to write Count Me In?

In 2013 Dr. Singh, a practicing doctor and professor from Columbia University was attacked by a group of young men in upper Manhattan. It was unfortunately not the first such news story I was reading. The story stayed with me. It could have been me, or someone from my family.

In the following years, the prevalence of hate crimes had risen -- and I was alarmed at the escalation in bullying in schools. I felt compelled to write a story that would address this, and help readers process the events going on around us.

At the time I also saw people coming out and speaking against hate and supporting each other. These positive voices gave me hope.

Count Me In is therefore an uplifting story, told through the alternating voices of two middle-schoolers, in which a community rallies to reject racism.

You’ve written both picture books and middle grade – how is the writing process different for each?

With picture books I have help from a partner, the illustrator. We bring the characters and the story to life together. In my latest picture book, The Home Builders, I didn’t even name The Home Builders, till the babies are born. I didn’t need to. The illustrator, Simona Mulazzani did it for me.

With middle grade books, it’s my words alone that have to go forth and make the characters breathe and the story feel real.

Count Me In features a heartwarming intergenerational friendship. Is that something you particularly wanted to include and why?

I wanted to highlight the difference in perspectives within immigrant families.  Papa is the immigrant and his generation’s thoughts and actions are different from Karina, who is born in America. Generations have so much to give each other. Their stories, their experiences and their viewpoints. When I visit schools and interact with children, I grow as a person.

What do you hope readers will take away from reading Count Me In?

This book is an open letter to America and the values and ideals it embodies. I remember watching President Obama speak at the DNC in 2004 when he said that “in no other country on earth is my story even possible.” His story, he said, was possible in a “tolerant” and “generous” America.

I hope readers realize that each one of us can make a difference to make sure that this country continues to live up to its ideals.

Tell us a little about how the wonderfully diverse cover came to be!

The cover is magnificent and the work of the talented Eleni Kalorkoti (www.elenikalorkoti.com). Without giving away the story, it looks a whole lot like a project that Karina and Chris undertake.

All those beautiful faces reflect the diversity of my community, my city, and of America.

Karina and Chris show us how a few voices can make a difference. What are the things that give you hope about this generation?

 Having both Chris and Karina’s voices tell the story was so important to me because it was yet another way to show different perspectives. The younger generation in most cities and towns in America has only known a diverse student body. They have grown up eating different foods, they have been exposed to different music, and cultures through social media. When I see not only their acceptance of their diverse reality, but their excitement at its richness, it makes me happy. When I see the courage of young people like Malala and others it is inspiring.

Varsha Bajaj (varshabajaj.com) also wrote the picture books The Home Builders and This Is Our Baby, Born Today (a Bank Street Best Book). She grew up in Mumbai, India, and when she came to the United States to obtain her master's degree, her adjustment to the country was aided by her awareness of the culture through books. In addition to her previous picture books, she wrote the middle-grade novel Abby Spencer Goes to Bollywood, which was shortlisted for the Cybils Award and included on the Spirit of Texas Reading Program. She lives in Houston, Texas.

Akshaya Iyer: How I Got Into Publishing

Editorial Assistant, Graphix/Scholastic

Books have ruled my life since birth. I can’t remember a time that I wasn’t carrying either a novel or a journal in hand. There’s a picture of me at my sister’s high school graduation, holding Goblet of Fire, which I was re-reading for the millionth time during the ceremony. This image about sums me up.

So when the time came to choose a college major, naturally, I chose biology.

Confused? So was I.

But the reality is that, like many of us who grew up in the farthest, intimate little pockets of the country, growing up in Texas, I hadn’t heard a single thing about the possibility of publishing as a career option. To add to this, I was born to Indian immigrants who’d rather I pursued the straightforward life of a doctor or lawyer.

I got lucky. I had a sister who paved the way (edit: went to war) for me and chose an equally unique career path for herself. So when my time came around, my parents were skeptical, but willing to listen, especially when I didn’t shut up about it for the years to come. Unable to let the possibility of working with books go, and aware that I was about to begin an arduous, and possibly fruitless, journey, I wheedled my way into an internship with a local magazine with a tiny print run, and an office that was crammed with all sorts of strange antiques and Texan memorabilia. I’m forever grateful for that job, because the team had so much faith in me and gave me responsibilities far above my title. The following year, I made the insane choice to take on two unpaid internships in one semester; one at a larger magazine where I was one of many minions, and the second at a tiny indie publishing house.

Author Interview with Gayle E. Pitman

Tell us about your most recent book, The Stonewall Riots: Coming Out in the Streets . How did you come to write it?

When my first book, This Day in June , won the ALA Stonewall Award, I received the following message: “Let me add my own congratulations. As one of those old timers who was at Stonewall and our first Pride march, it amazes me how far we’ve all come. Congrats, Fred Sargeant.” After overcoming my complete state of shock and awe at this message, I pulled it together and responded to Fred, and we struck up a friendship. Fred and his partner at the time, Craig Rodwell, owned and ran the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop, and both were key activists in the period before and after Stonewall. His message is what inspired me to learn more about Stonewall and its role in the larger fight for LGBTQ+ rights.  

Why did you choose to tell this story through objects?

Stonewall is what many scholars refer to as a “contested history.” There was very little media coverage of the event itself, and many of the people who were involved in the riots and the subsequent activism are no longer with us. To complicate things further, so much of the story is based on “he said/she said/they said” anecdotes, and many of those narratives are conflicting. Using objects to understand history is a good way to tell a story that’s complicated, especially if that story differs depending on who’s telling it. Plus, I love antiques and collectibles, and they help me bring history to life.   

How did you do your research?

Researching Stonewall was incredibly difficult, because it’s hard to find accurate and credible information about it unless you know where to look. Fred Sargeant was so helpful in this endeavor. He pointed me towards the Craig Rodwell papers at the New York Public Library and the Foster Gunnison papers at the University of Connecticut library, and even went so far as to advise me on which folders in the collection held specific items. I also combed through archival materials at the New York LGBT Center, the ONE Archives at USC, the Museum of the City of New York, and other places. I interviewed people like Margot Avery, who was ten years old when the riots occurred, and watched them from her apartment building’s fire escape. I read books and watched documentaries. I visited New York City and went to the Stonewall Inn. I explored various sites, including where the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop, the Village Voice offices, STAR House were originally located. I even walked the route of the first Christopher Street Liberation Day March. In order for me to share history authentically, it helps if I can get as close as I can to the experience.

A Normal Pig: A Picture Book that Takes on Microaggressions

By K-Fai Steele

A Normal Pig is a picture book about a pig named Pip. Pip considers herself to be a “pretty normal pig” who “does normal stuff.” But when a new pig shows up at her school and makes fun of Pip’s lunch, her identity—and sense of normalcy—is turned upside down. A Normal Pig is somewhat autobiographical: I grew up in a town with little diversity and my parents are of different ethnicities. If physically standing out wasn’t enough, no one else had the same seemingly unpronounceable names as me and my brothers, and I have yet to meet another person who shares any of our names. There was little else I wanted as a kid than to pass as normal; I wanted a normal name, a normal house, and normal parents who had normal well-paying jobs and drove nice normal cars. I internalized and accepted that I was not typical, a reality that was reinforced regularly by my school and my community.

Our Favorite Day: Story Inspiration and Process

By Joowon Oh

Our Favorite Day is a book about the bond between Papa and his granddaughter.

Every morning, Papa starts his day by drinking some tea, watering his plants, and tidying up. Then he takes the bus into town to have his favorite lunch — dumplings! Papa enjoys his daily tasks, but Thursdays are his favorite, because that’s the day his granddaughter visits him. On that day, he buys some art supplies from the craft store, gets two orders of dumplings to go, and picks some flowers that he sees along the path. When his granddaughter finally arrives, they spend time together sharing dumplings, tiding up, doing arts and crafts, and flying a kite they make.

This tale of a grandfather’s love for his granddaughter was inspired by my childhood memories of my own grandfather. In the story, Papa and his granddaughter don’t live together, as I wanted their Thursdays to be particularly special, but my grandfather actually lived with my family until he passed away when I was eleven years old.

I have a lot of good memories with him, but the first thing that always comes to mind are the times we shared steamed dumplings in our dining room after school. After my grandmother passed away, my grandfather often had lunch alone at home or in the city, since my parents were at work and my siblings and I were at school. On the days he had dumplings for lunch in the city, he would bring some home for me and my siblings. When I got home from school, he would call me to our dining room and give me the dumplings to eat, sometimes wrapped in a napkin in his coat pocket. I think he did this out of habit: during the Korean War, food was very precious, and he may have saved leftovers like that then. I sometimes bit into a dumpling where a piece of napkin wasn’t peeled off properly, but I was never annoyed, because I knew that these dumplings were his love for us.

We would sit together, spending most of the late afternoons eating dumplings and talking about what I learned at school, how my exam went, what I did with my friends, and what my homework was for the next day. I loved those moments with him, not only because the dumplings were sweet, but also because I felt his love for me in the way he would look at me so endearingly while smiling tenderly. This may seem like a simple and insignificant detail in one’s childhood, but for me, it is a cherished moment that inspired me to write my very first children’s book about the special relationship between a grandparent and grandchild — and dumplings.

I started off by building Papa’s character, trying to visualize all the memories I had of my grandfather and jotting them down: wrinkles and age spots on his hands and face, gray hair, coat and knitted vest, cane, hat, shoes, slippers, pajamas, bedroom, plants, plant pots, hunched back, the way he walked, and so on. Then I set up Papa’s day, imagining what his routine would be by asking myself, What does he spend his time doing at home all alone? How does he get to the city? Where does he sit at the dumpling restaurant? Before his granddaughter comes home, what does he do to prepare for her?

Author Spotlight: Aida Salazar

What are your literary influences?

My literary influences come from disparate sources. I studied a wide variety of theory in college and graduate school — everyone from Roland Barthes to Judith Butler to Gloria Anzaldua and Cherrie Moraga to Bell Hooks to Mikail Baktin to Subcomandante Marcos. I also read poetry voraciously including everyone from Waslowa Simbroska to Lorna Dee Cervantes, Audre Lorde, Rumi, Wole Soyinka, Juan Felipe Herrera. I was marveled by the fiction of Milan Kundera, Arundati Roy, Elena Poniatowska and all of the Latin American magical realists – Asturias, Garcia Marquez, Allende, Esquivel. But also, American writers such as Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Helena Maria Viramontes, Ana Castillo, Julia Alvarez and Christina Garcia. I was drawn to authors from the margin almost exclusively. In a sense, I created my own canon in this way.

It wasn’t until I became a mother that I truly started reading children’s literature. My children and I found an oasis in our weekly visits to the library. In Oakland, we are fortunate to have a comprehensive Spanish language collection at the Cesar Chavez Library and we often checked out the forty-book limit! However, many of the books were authored by non Latinx writers and were translated into Spanish. While these books served to reinforce the Spanish language in our family, I saw the huge lack of writings from Latinx creators. I wanted to be a part of filling that gap. I wanted for my children to not only see their language reflected in books but their cultures and their sensibilities. That is why I always praise the work of those Latinx authors who forged the way so that new Latinx kidlit authors could have a seat at the table. We stand on the shoulders of giants and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention their work. Authors such as Pura Belpre, Gary Soto, Sandra Cisneros, Alma Flor Ada, Pat Mora, Carmen Lomas Garza, Francisco X. Alarcon, Juan Felipe Herrera, and Victor Martinez really set the stage for us to be able to tell our stories to young audiences too.

What was the first book you read where you identified with one of the characters?

As a young child, I didn’t understand that I was missing in the narratives of books that I read. I loved Judy Blume. I loved Shell Silverstein. I loved Encyclopedia Brown and Choose Your Own Adventure books. I connected to those books by default, in a similar way that I connected to mass media that also didn’t include me in their blond-haired blue-eyed middle-class, English-only narratives. There was no other option. It wasn’t until I was eighteen and in college that I enrolled in a Latino (we called it that back then) literature course that I saw myself reflected in a book. I remember reading the short story “My Lucy Friend That Smells Like Corn,” in Sandra Cisneros’ Woman Hollering Creek and feeling a moment that I can only describe as grace. I realized that I had been missing in almost everything I had read up until that point. My experiences were alive and validated in that story. It was exhilarating.

Did that experience lead you to want to write books for readers with diverse backgrounds?

I was so inspired by reading all of the books in that Latino literature class. It was an awakening not only to the world of Latinx literature but to the possibility that I too could be a writer. I had been writing poetry and stories since I was a young teenager but those writings remained in my notebooks and journals. After reading their work, I began to take myself seriously and began to understand the writing that lived in my heart could be something I could aspire to do as a living someday. However, my awakening is one that should have not taken eighteen years and I want to be part of making sure that doesn’t happen to other children.  

Your characters in The Moon Within have interesting intersections. Could you speak to why this was important to build into your book?

I did this intentionally. My children are multi-racial and bi-cultural like two of the characters, Celi and Iván. It is not uncommon to see many different mixed children in the San Francisco Bay Area where we live. I find it beautiful how they navigate multiple cultures – sometimes with a sense of wonder and pride and sometimes with neglect or shame and every feeling in between. It’s complicated and certainly isn’t always seamless given so much discussion over racial and cultural purity that is happening today. Through those characters, I wanted to show this negotiation, how they deal with these fusions. I wanted to show readers what it might look like for someone to celebrate and embrace all of who they are. Similarly, I wanted to show with the gender fluid character, Marco, the intersectionality of his identity as a gender fluid Mexican that happens to be in love with playing bomba (a Afro-Puertorican form of music). It was important to show readers that we could be queer and Mexican, Black Puerto Rican Mexican, and Black and Mexican. The range of identities are part of the beauty of who they are, and serve to strengthen and not weaken them. 

Music infuses the whole world of The Moon Within …can you speak a little on that, a little on what role music plays in your own life?

Ironically, I am not a musician though I have a good ear and I love to dance. I am married to a musician and there has not been one day in the eighteen years since we’ve been together when we did not engage in some way with music – listening, playing, singing, dancing or just being in a house filled with instruments and an extraordinary recorded music collection. Our children were naturally born into this environment and took to music right away. I realized that this was a unique experience and that it could be a wonderful world to explore in this book. I wanted to normalize music and the arts as a way of life but also, wanted to inspire readers to seek out the arts as a way to find agency as the children in the book did through traditional music and dance. These are superpowers that unfortunately, with the cutting of the arts for decades now, we don’t have access to as much.

I made a playlist on Spotify that includes all of the styles of music that inspired The Moon Within – bomba, indigenous Mexican music, Caribbean music, and lots of moon related songs in Spanish and in English. It can be found here: https://spoti.fi/2FSnZgM . I hope that you enjoy it!

This Author Spotlight appeared in the April 2019 issue of the CBC Diversity Newsletter. To sign up for our monthly Diversity newsletter click here. 

Aida Salazar is a writer, arts advocate, and home-schooling mother who grew up in South East LA. She received an MFA in Writing from the California Institute of the Arts, and her writings have appeared in publications such as the Huffington Post, Women and Performance: Journal of Feminist Theory, and Huizache Magazine. Her short story, By the Light of the Moon, was adapted into a ballet by the Sonoma Conservatory of Dance and is the first Xicana-themed ballet in history. Aida lives with her family of artists in a teal house in Oakland, CA.

Safe Diversity in YA Lit Isn’t Enough Diversity

By Sonia Patel

While YA novels are increasingly diverse, safe diversity—with accessible and likable protagonists and their convenient struggles—is usually seen as enough. These unoffending books tend to be championed and more popular. Unsettling diversity, on the other hand, is often frowned upon, discounted, or misconceived.

I’m a practicing child and adolescent psychiatrist and a young adult novelist. To me, dismissing YA that’s outside the realm of palatable diversity is like a psychiatrist refusing to treat certain teen patients because they have “too many problems.”

I’ve spent over fifteen years treating diverse teens who suffer tremendous adversity—abuse of all kinds, neglect, parental mental illness or drug use, etc. Medical research proves that youth exposed to these types of adverse experiences have an increased incidence of chronic medical and mental health problems, increased risky behaviors, and less future success. That’s why I’m dedicated to being in the trenches with them, helping them dodge life’s bullets. Hoping to steer them to higher ground.

An example is in order.

Kai (not his real name), a seventeen-year-old Filipino-Hawaiian-Japanese-Korean boy, is sitting across from me, staring out the window. It’s been six months of almost weekly individual  talk therapy sessions. I bring up the heavy family issue. Kai presses his lips together. Suddenly he shoots up, a scowl covering his usual poker face. He takes three steps to the large window and slams his head, three times. A pause then three more slams.

I call his name. He glances over his shoulder, his eyes moist. In a gentle voice, I ask, “Will you sit down or should I call the police to keep you safe like last time?”

He punches his head three times. “It hurts so much in here,” he angry whispers, tears now streaming.

“Let’s talk about it,” I suggest.

He glares at me but then sits. “Fine,” he mutters.

That was Kai’s breakthrough moment. It was the first time he spoke about a feeling instead of showing it with alarming behavior. It was the moment we started translating his behavioral language (obsessions, compulsions that were often harmful to himself, bullying, social isolation, alcohol use, and truancy) into English words.