100 books like Many Points of Me

Each summer when I was small, I visited my gram. During the day we would go off on one adventure or another—and at night, she enticed me to sleep with the promise of a story. Most often, she read Grimm’s fairytales to me. Full of darkness and also hope (!), they were, and still are, some of my very favorites. And they inspire what I most enjoy writing and reading.

I went through some very tough times growing up. I was an undiagnosed autistic teen, terribly shy, with no real guidance, and I was often bullied and bewildered. But my heart was filled with only goodwill and good intentions, and a yearning to connect meaningfully with others. So, stories of adversity, of characters making it through very tough times, through trauma—these stories were like shining beacons that said, “survival is possible.” Now that I’m a grownup writer, it’s at the root of what I want to offer—hope—to today’s kids who may be going through similar tough stuff. Survival is possible.

When I worked as a middle school teacher, I surveyed more than 200 students how they felt about books that included sadness and grief. The overwhelming answer from the students was that while adults too often minimize their feelings and dismiss the validity of their heartache, books do not. Many young readers want books that are honest and raw enough not to shield them from the world, but to pay enough attention to its pain to light a path, knowing that they can keep moving forward in the dark when they feel less alone and less afraid.

I grew up in the shadows of a father who died before I was born. As a child, I had other negative experiences with grief and loss and lived a transient childhood characterized by poverty and fear. A prolific reader, I couldn’t find stories that reflected the reality I was living, stories that might have helped me cope and given me hope for the future. Now my mission is to write entertaining, thought-provoking, and ultimately hopeful stories for middle-grade readers and to introduce them to new books through Magic in the Middle, a series of free monthly recorded book talks.  

As an author who started writing after my child was born with a brain malformation resulting in autism, young neurodivergent/disabled characters who simultaneously possess some brilliant quality became literary gold for me. Readers are oftentimes blinded by the character’s disability. How can this inherently limited person possibly cope with whatever conflict kicks their story into gear? But because these quirkier characters tackle issues in nonconforming ways, they become leaders/heroes not by overcoming disabilities but by leaning into their true brilliance. There’s a heartfelt shift for me when this happens in a story, because those characters are more than their disability, exactly how I view my son.

For decades I have volunteered in different capacities, helping the hurting and those living on the margins by tutoring and teaching literacy to the formally incarcerated or homeless, teaching parenting in a maximum-security jail, and teaching ESL to resettled immigrants. Because my own suburban father fell into homelessness at the end of his life due to depression, job losses, divorce, and more, I feel tremendous compassion for anyone in this situation. And as the mother of four grown sons, we filled our home with books—especially books that taught compassion so our sons would grow into men with big hearts towards others. I believe we succeeded.

I went through major surgery when I was in eighth grade. The physical pain was bad, but what hurt more was the emotional side. When I returned to school, the friend groups had shifted, shutting me out because of my extended absence. I had to face that time in life alone. Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn to works about kids who have to face challenges on their own. When we go through hard times, our true selves come out. They have to; we have no one else. We can’t pretend. We can only try to make it. The books I like show characters that shine through their hardships.

I love middle-grade books (for eight to twelve-year-olds), which is why I write in that genre. My Summer of L.U.C.K. trilogy is sprinkled with magical adventures, but each one has real-life kids struggling with real-life problems and finding real-world solutions. I believe that books whose characters experience magical elements along with themes of friendship, perseverance, and self-acceptance will help them learn, as I did when I was a young reader, that whatever troubles they're experiencing, other kids have those troubles too, that they're not alone, and that help is possible.

When people ask me what makes me fall in love with a book, good characters will always be my first answer. And by good, I don’t mean perfect individuals who make no mistakes. I mean characters who make me feel something, whether it’s rage or hope or longing or disgust. As an author, I like filling my stories with messy, desperate characters who aren’t afraid to show emotion. And as an introverted flight attendant, I spend a lot of time observing people and I’m often fascinated by what I discover. The best stories—like people—have layers and depth to their characters. I like finding out what’s underneath.

As far as I can remember, I have been obsessed with death! Maybe it’s because my mom, who died four years ago at the age of 86, was a Holocaust survivor. Anyway, what I’ve noticed is that all kids' stories deal with death. Think, for instance, of how Harry Potter is an orphan. Or how so many characters in fairy tales have a parent who is dead. I think dealing with death – talking about it openly --- helps us live our lives in a more meaningful way. For my own novel, Planet Grief, I did a ton of researcher and befriended an amazing grief counselor named Dawn Cruchet. You can look her up on the web and learn about her too. Dawn taught me that there is no one, correct way to grieve, that grief is a life-changing journey.