The Nonfiction Author-Illustrator Relationship

It’s an exciting day. I’m getting ready to leave for the International Reading Association conference in Atlanta. Even more exciting, I just learned that two pieces of art from my new book WINGS (Charlesbridge), are winging their way to my home. This is only the second time I’ve been able to buy original art from one of my books, and these pieces are particularly stunning. Robin Brickman has been my favorite artist I’ve worked with. Her dazzling 3-dimensional cut-paper collages just pop off of the page, eliciting oohs and ahs from everyone who sees them. Thinking about the many talented artists who have illustrated my books, however, I thought it might be interesting to share something about the nonfiction author-illustrator relationship.

Not long ago if someone had asked me about this relationship, I would have answered, “It’s simple. The author and illustrator don’t have a relationship.” After all, authors and artists rarely meet each other and almost never have direct correspondence with each other during a project. For a variety of reasons—some valid, some silly—publishers like to keep authors and artists apart. Our titanic egos probably have something to do with it! Still, I’ve found that in nonfiction, I do get the opportunity to interact with artists more than a typical fiction author might.

One reason for that is because nonfiction art not only has to be beautiful, it has to be accurate. I often get to see art at the sketch stage as well as once or twice in the final stages. This is critical in catching mistakes or misinterpretations. As editors have learned that I’m not going to be a complete jerk to my artist colleagues, however, I’ve also had a few chances to correspond directly with them during a project. Recently, for instance, I and Andrew Plant, who illustrated my new book REIGN OF THE SEA DRAGONS (Charlesbridge Publishing), got to trade some information about giant ancient marine reptiles. This was helpful to both of us and helped to clarify some information in the book.

Robin Brickman and I have also swapped info a number of times. One reason she is my favorite artist to work with is we’ve had a chance to do three books together. I just have fun talking to her and seeing what amazing things she’s going to come up with next. She is also one of only three artists I’ve gotten to present with at a conference. I hope we get to do this again.

Not long ago, another one of “my” artists, Joanna Yardley, who lives here in Montana, took an especially daring step. She decided to include me in part of the fun of the artistic process. While working on our book SHEP—OUR MOST LOYAL DOG (Sleeping Bear Press), she called me up and said, “Sneed, I need a model.” I went over with my dog Mattie and we got to pose for the illustrations of Shep with his master. Of course, my character ends up dead in that book, but I try not to take that too personally!

Artists have extended me other kindnesses as well. When my book ANIMALS ASLEEP (Houghton Mifflin) came out, the artist, Anik McGrory, made up a little board-book version of the book to send. The timing was perfect as my son Braden had just been born. It was one of the most touching experiences I’ve had in my career.

All of this aside, authors and artists do not interact much. Of the fifteen or so artists I’ve worked with, I’ve probably only met about half of them, and usually briefly. Although I understand why editors like to keep us apart, part of me feels sad about that. It’s not a situation that’s likely to change, however. Meanwhile, I try to appreciate the interactions we do have—and look forward to having many, many talented people work on my future books.

My Tune Has Changed: Writers and Photo Research

Back when I started publishing nonfiction (about 11 years ago), things in the photo acquisitions world were a bit different for me than they are today. I would write a book and include with it a photo “wish list” for the publisher. I would then wait for the layouts to arrive and weigh in with my opinions about those photos—are they placed near enough to the text they illustrate, are there enough images to help tell the story, is this one too small or that one too big—all fairly straightforward issues. The publishing team did the rest. I didn’t question it at the time; in fact, I felt pretty lucky that I had a team available to do this. So lucky that when I heard other writers complain that they had to do all the photo research themselves, I was known to climb up on my soapbox and point them in the direction of publishers who would not make the writer do the lion’s share of the work.

I have given said soapbox away.

Extenuating circumstances notwithstanding, I now guard my right to find and secure the photos I need to help me tell stories. Why, you may ask, the change of heart? Why would you want to add the many hours, nay weeks or months, of time into an already bursting schedule to play detective and track down image after image after image? The answer is simple.

Of everyone on the team involved with putting together a fabulous book—and we all know there are many invaluable players—there is only one person who can claim having come close to becoming an expert on a topic. That person is the writer. The one who has made it her business to learn everything there is about a subject and more (as Jennifer Armstrong’s post recently pointed out—we continue to care and learn about our topics long after our books hit the shelves).

I am the one who is equipped to do the extensive digging to find a source, an obscure credit, an event in someone’s life that may have been visually documented, a mention here, a hint there—all clues that lead me to discovering the best images I can possibly find. And believe me, the best ones are often the hardest to uncover and take the most persistence.

I now cherish this part of my job as a nonfiction writer. I look forward to the time in the production process when I can focus wholeheartedly on the images and study the notes I have made along the way. I call people, find out interesting histories in the process, meet family members with new perspectives. The act of searching for the images inevitably leads me to new information I am able to add to my story. It’s a thrill. A privilege.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not walking away from photo budgets or permissions counsel in the foreseeable future. Those necessary assists are also part of the team process. But the next time someone gripes about having to do their own photo research, my own experiences have changed my soapbox platform. Be the expert. Find the photos. Your subjects will thank you in the end.

The Book that Started It All for Me

Other authors on I.N.K. have mentioned how they started writing books for kids or what children’s books truly inspired them. For me, one book answers both questions. A magazine writer at the time, I picked it up because of its intriguing title: Round Buildings, Square Buildings, and Buildings That Wiggle Like a Fish. (Sorry, I tried to get its cover shown here but messed up.) Philip Isaacson was an architect and wrote the book to explain the elements of architecture, but also to tackle the abstract notion of how and why we perceive beauty.

Frankly, I was blown away. Here was a guy who had clearly thought about this subject for a long time. He had passion and vision—two ingredients that characterize many great nonfiction kids books. And he could convey them both, beautifully.

Let’s go for the acid test, a discussion of the lowest and dullest of building materials—concrete. Isaacson starts by saying that concrete has strength, but can take on soft, flowing shapes. Then, as an example of both, he describes the now defunct Trans World Airlines Terminal at JFK Airport. “The designer of the terminal must have loved air travel, because he gave us a building that looks as though it is sailing through air. Its roof sits on columns that sweep upward and its insides soar toward the heavens. When we enter it we feel that our flight has already begun. Most terminals are the last place on land; this one is our first step into the sky.”

Okay, he can write. But what amazed me just as much as his lyric prose was his ability to explain complex, abstract subjects without dumbing them down a bit. He made us understand them—and feel them.

My reaction? I didn’t know you could write this way for kids!?! I want to try.

* * * * *

AND NOW A REQUEST TO ANY TEACHERS OR LIBRARIANS who look at this site, or anyone with elementary school aged kids or anyone with access to elementary school teachers or kids…

My new book, See How They Run: Campaign Dreams, Election Schemes, and the Race to the White House, deals with democracy, the electoral process, and ways kids get involved. To help kids start thinking about these issues, I created the KIDS SPEAK OUT! Survey—a quick (12 questions), anonymous, nonpartisan way for them to give their opinions on voting and issues facing our country.

The survey can be accessed via http://www.seehowtheyrunbook.com/ which takes you to my web site where you can click on the Take the Kids Speak Out Survey link on top. Another option is to go directly to my web site: http://www.susangoodmanbooks.com/.

The goal is for students all over the country to participate. My target audience is 3rd to 8th graders, but the more the merrier. Could you look at this survey and, if you feel comfortable, tell students about it? Soon there will be a downloadable teachers guide for the book on the same web site that includes ways teachers can use the survey in their classroom. And other activities to help teach about elections in the fall.

Thanks so much--Susan

The Problem with Science

Full disclosure: I’ve used another cute, somewhat misleading title. Catchy, though. On a final art deadline, so I’ll try to be succinct.

The problem, of course, isn’t with science. Science is a process — a way of explaining things — that’s been developed and refined over the past twenty-five hundred years or so. It works pretty well, and is the best tool we have for understanding why the world is the way it is.

Science does have a problem, however. There’s a widespread misunderstanding and mistrust of science and scientists in the U.S. This is causing lots of problems, or at least delaying their solution. Preventable diseases are re-emerging because parents won’t vaccinate their children, the planet is rapidly warming, stem-cell research is crippled — need I go on?

Certainly part of this disconnect — this basic misunderstanding of what science is and how it works — can be attributed to culture war fallout. The anti-science policies of the administration that is limping, at last, into the home stretch, along with the usual cast of IDers, flat-earthers, and others who are driven by something other than the quest for truth all share a little credit for muddying the waters and confusing the general public.

But that’s an old sore, and it’s not what I want to talk about. Some other time, perhaps.

I’m more interested in the problems that arise from the nature of contemporary scientific inquiry itself. These aren’t social or philosophical issues. Rather, they bring us up against the limits of human intellect and imagination. Much current science deals with the very large or the very small. The units of measurement used in astronomy and sub-atomic physics are so remote from our direct experience that they are nothing more than abstractions. The same is true of time. The impossibly short life spans of man-made elements or the billion-year intervals that describe the development of life are, once again, too extreme for most of us (perhaps any of us) to really grasp. I’m convinced that an inability to appreciate the time scale of the earth is at the root of many people’s refusal to accept evolution as an explanation of life’s diversity. It just doesn’t feel like it makes sense.

How does all this relate to science writing for children? I think giving kids a way to understand extremes of size, time and quantity is one of the most important tasks of a science writer. There are lots of ways to do this, and many authors have tackled the problem. David Schwartz’s How Much is a Million is an ingenious look at large quantities, using familiar scale references such as goldfish — and children themselves — to express just what a big number a million is.




Powers of Ten, by Philip Morrison and Phylis Morrison (based on the film of the same name by Ray and Charles Eames) is not usually thought of as a children’s book, but it should be. The book begins at the scale of the universe and takes us to sub-atomic particles in a series of views, each magnified ten times from the previous one. My own book Looking Down uses a similar structure to explore a more limited range of scale. It opens with a view of the earth from space and zooms in to a ladybug in a child’s backyard.




Metaphor can also help make the extreme understandable. One of my favorite examples is Richard Dawkins’ Climbing Mount Improbable (this is not a children’s book, but I include it because it illustrates the principal so elegantly). Mount Improbable is life, in all its complexity and diversity. Looking at it head-on, we see an unscalable cliff: how could all these marvelous organisms have just happened? They must have been designed. Dawkins takes us around the sheer face of the mountain to see the long, gradual slope that leads from single-celled bacteria to us — and everything else alive — in a series of tiny, gradual steps. It’s a slope that can easily be climbed, if we have the time.

I think that anytime we introduce a concept or phenomenon that is bigger, smaller, faster or slower than what a child can directly experience, we should provide some sort of key — a way for the reader to leverage what they already know about the world to make sense of this new information.

"Can Informational Books Be Sexy?"

Sorry, I must gush about our first Fartiste signing, a giddy event at IRA in Atlanta where Paul and I signed books as fast as we could. (I would describe the sensation as like being on drugs, but you would think I’m obsessed, per April 14.) I had talked up the book at the two sessions I spoke at, but most people in line had simply seen the title in the IRA program and had to have it. Yep-- all the laughing teachers and librarians were buying the book for males, a significant percent for their reluctant readers, and another major percent as gifts for husbands... fathers...even grandpas. Paul and I got even fizzier when we learned on site of our first review-- a star from Kirkus in its kindest mode: “Put that tired copy of Walter the Farting Dog away: This long-overdue tribute to Le Petomane, ‘the man who made his pants dance,’ is a total blast.”


OK, on to hot-off-the-press books by other people, such as The Day the World Exploded. What kid could resist such a title? The subtitle explains all-- The Earthshaking Catastrophe at Krakatoa. It was the most violent explosion ever recorded, destroying the Indonesian island of Krakatoa in 1883. Followed by a tsunami that killed at least 36,00, it became known as the "mother" of all natural disasters. The explosion caused 13 percent of the earth's surface to vibrate, and it actually changed the way people thought about the world. Edvard Munch, to take but one example, was inspired to paint The Scream. This blend of history (of all sorts of things), science (of all kinds), and insights about the meaning of life goes down easy. In full color, it's even easy to visualize, with maps, diagrams, archival photos and etchings, plus dramatic new drawings by Jason Chin. Wherever possible, author Simon Winchester and his adapter Dwight Jon Zimmerman pull in info relevant to today; a second edition will probably mention that Krakatoa is not far from the ongoing disaster in Myanmar. A splendid example of this trend of downsizing popular adult books (in this case, Winchester's Krakatoa) into ones worthy of kids (HarperCollins, ages 10-14).


Am I the only one who’s a sucker for self-help books pitched at younger readers? When they’re done well, of course, as in the series of “What-to-Do Guides for Kids.” The newest, by child psychologist Dawn Huebner, is What to Do When You Dread Your Bed, a clever title subtitled A Kid's Guide to Overcoming Problems with Sleep. I would imagine that this 96-page paperback would be particularly handy for therapists and concerned parents (who are addressed in the introduction). But with its language, concepts, and art (cartoony illustrations by Bonnie Matthews) it's actually aimed straight at kids: "Wouldn't it be great if you could climb into bed, snuggle under your covers, close your eyes, and fall asleep without any fuss or fear?" And if you can't? You're not alone. Insomnia, nightmares, fear of the dark, crawling into bed with your parents-- such problems affect one of every three children, according to the author. So here is a workbook full of advice and practical techniques to improve sleeping skills-- an honest, head-on approach to one of life's frustrations (Magination Press/American Psychological Association, ages 9-12).


The Mysterious Universe-- yet another tempting title, and what a fascinating science book this is. Subtitled Supernovae, Dark Energy, and Black Holes, this is the newest in the well-received “Scientists in the Field” series. Focusing on the work of astronomy professor Alex Filippenko, who uses the most powerful telescopes ever, this enlightens us on discoveries that are being made right now about the big bang, our expanding universe, time travel, spiraling galaxies, dark matter, not to mention how exciting it can be to be a scientist. Ellen Jackson writes clear, high-interest text (though in some unfortunately tiny fonts, not her fault), with stark black backgrounds making NASA's and Nic Bishop's photos even more dramatic. Includes a thorough glossary for those of us not up on these ultra-mysterious matters (Houghton Mifflin, ages 9-12).




For the very young and the musically inclined (the same thing, really), Before John Was a Jazz Giant: A Song of John Coltrane makes a lovely, lyrical tribute. Coltrane wasn't born knowing how to create innovative jazz with his sax. His childhood was all about listening, lots of listening, to the sounds a child growing up in the South in the 1930s might have heard-- bones knocking around in a grandma's pot, the rhythms of a grandpa's sermons, birds singing, steam engines whistling, big bands on the radio. Carole Boston Weatherford shapes the sounds into a flowing story, while Sean Qualls accompanies her with airy, mixed-media illustrations. A detailed Author's Note gives a full biography and a list of CDs to listen to.

As for today’s outrageous title above and what on earth “sexy” could have to do with the world of children’s books, I refer you to The Craft & Business Of Writing: Essential Tools For Writing Success (Writers Digest Books). It's a brand-new tome that reprints an old article of mine with this question as its title and an elaborate case for an affirmative answer: After you swap out "sexy" for "stimulating," nonfiction clearly rules-- for readers and writers.

Three Favorite Writing Tips from Patient Editors

The following are some words of advice I give writing students, as I travel around the country teaching workshops. I’ll be leading a seminar at Aspen Summer Words in June. I’d love to hear from some of you if you have other writing tips that I can share with my students.
1. The first tip has to do with revisions. In high school (a few hundred years ago), when I told my English teacher, my first real editor, that my fantasy was to someday be a writer, she said, “You have to write a million lousy words before you can begin to get it right.” I was lucky that my first novel (A Season In-Between 1979) found a publisher right away, but it went through five revisions before it went to press. Writing is rewriting. Collette said you have to murder your darlings. Flaubert said you can’t be married to your words.

2. Strange work we writers do, turning words around all day. But don’t worry about writing the perfect sentence or you’ll never get past the first paragraph. Write it all down the way you’ve been thinking about it, mulling it over in your head, and then go back and rewrite later. Remember to cut any scene that doesn’t serve to move the plot along or reveal character, no matter how brilliantly written you think it is. If you like the scene that much, go back and try to give it a reason for being there. (I guess those are two tips in one.)

3. I never begin a story, either fiction or non-fiction, without having a sense of beginning and end. Writing a story is like making a sandwich. What do you need to make a sandwich? Yes, two slices of bread. What goes in between the slices can be added as you go along, a tomato here, a marshmallow there. But you need bread to hold the parts together so they don’t fall apart. It’s the same principle for writing a story. Reserve the right to change the ending, but at least you can see a light at the end of the tunnel, so you’re not stumbling around in the dark.

Just wanted to tell Linda that I enjoyed her report on the wise words of two of our great writers of non-fiction for kids, James Cross Giblin and Russell Freedman. Also check out a blog
http:/blaine.org/sevenimpossiblethings It mentions I.N.K. and has enthusiastic discussions of new children’s books. Side by Side was featured last week. CCBC-Net from University of Wisconsin is also one to enjoy. Finally even though I didn’t enter the discussion, I was fascinated by Don Brown’s exchanges about history, what’s politically correct, what’s not. Thank you, Don. These short, feisty exchanges, along with news and information, are what “blogging” is about, I think.

Sources of Inspiration

Since I was confused about which day I was supposed to be blogging (I thought it was next Thursday), today’s entry is a bit last minute.

As I was mulling over possible topics, I got to thinking about the people who inspired me to start writing children’s books in the first place, as well as those who continue to inspire me. And I thought sharing the names of these people might help some other writers and illustrators out there. Or cause them to share some of their own sources of inspiration.

So without further ado, my very random list of 10 creative people who have inspired me, in no particular order:

Douglas Florian

Children’s poet and wordplayer extraordinaire. And he illustrates his own poems to boot. I love the apparent simplicity of everything he does.

Chris Van Allsburg

He re-introduced me to the wonders of children’s books when I was in my 30’s. When I saw The Polar Express, I knew I had to get into this field.

Bill Bernbach

The guru of creative advertising in the 60’s. If you want to learn about how words and pictures work together, look up the advertising work of Doyle Dane Bernbach from that era.

Robert McCloskey

What a storyteller. What an illustrator. I never get tired of reading his books to my kids.

Eric Carle

To experience the sheer joy of creation, I highly recommend a video that he did about his creative process called Eric Carle, Picture Writer. It’s available at my local library and probably at yours too.

Leonard Marcus

He’s written so many books about the business of children’s books, all of them inspirational–especially Dear Genius and Ways of Telling.

Vincent van Gogh

800 paintings in 10 years–he literally painted like a madman. Like me, he was a latecomer to his chosen field. I’m not ashamed to say I cried when I saw The Sower in person.

Jan Vermeer

Only 35 of his paintings survive, and most of them stop me in my tracks. I love the fact that he may have used an early form of the camera, called a camera obscura. Some see it as cheating. I see it as creativity.

Dr. Seuss

No one can match his talent. But everyone tries. I also like the roundabout way he discovered his calling.

Bob Gill

I was a Graphic Design major in college, and Bob Gill wrote a wonderful book called Forget All the Rules You Learned About Graphic Design, Including the Ones in This Book. His basic premise is, when you’re designing something to solve a problem, and you get stuck, creatively redefine the problem. It’s a great book about thinking differently. And it’s fun to read because it’s made up entirely of examples.

Is that ten already? I know, I know, there isn’t a non-fiction writer in the bunch, unless you count Douglas Florian. But as they say, inspiration can come from anywhere.

About the Selling of Books at an Author's School Visit

Note: I wrote this piece many years ago. It was originally published in the SCBWI Bulletin. After the recent live chat on school visits, I was asked to post it as a blog. It is also available on my website: http://www.vickicobb.com/:



As an author of science books for children, I have been the guest speaker at many schools across the country. Because I was a teacher, I don't do the typical program of discussing how I write. Instead, I do a performance designed to get kids interested in science. Usually my books are sold at my appearances. But there are a few places where they have not been sold and I have come across a negative attitude toward the selling of books at an author's appearance that prompts this article.
There are all sorts of reasons to bring an author to a school both on the part of the children and the author. An author's appearance "makes books come alive." It shows kids that "authors are real people." Authors have enough visibility to pass as "famous" in our celebrity-crazed society, thus making the visit a special event. They are usually articulate and can present an entertaining program that reinforces interest in their books. For authors, school appearances promote their books and have a residual effect, putting their name on the map in a school for many years to come. It also gives them feedback on their readers' reactions. But, in my opinion as an educator, there is only one truly important reason to have an author come to a school: namely, to motivate kids to read. Presumably, meeting an author in person can create a demand for his or books, particularly when the author writes, as I do, on less popular subjects. If an author excites and interests kids, the author is invariably asked, "Where can I get your books? If the books are not at hand, the moment is lost. What baffles me is why a school that has spent some of its limited resources to bring an author to the school, obviously caring about "enrichment," does not understand how to optimize the educational experience it has created.

One argument against selling books is simply school policy: nothing is sold to kids at school, period. Any exception to the rule would somehow open a Pandora's Box of ills. In this kind of thinking, kids are characterized as avid consumers, easily manipulated by the excitement of a performance to spend money they don't have on a frivolous impulse. The schools' role is to protect them from such exploitation. A superintendent recently said to me, "If you were a rock star, the kids would want to buy your CD." I found myself in the ludicrous position of having to point out to the educator that I am not a rock star, and it might do some good in the fight against boredom, video games and drugs to create a demand for science books along with the opportunity to fulfill it.

Another argument is, "We live in a mixed socio-economic district and we don't want to put pressure on poor kids to buy things they can't afford." My most popular books are paperbacks that can be offered in schools at a discount, priced at under $4.00. From what I hear about certain poor districts, kids have money for Nintendo, VCR's, candy bars and sometimes drugs. Why not put pressure on them to buy a book? I once signed a book for a poor child in a small village in Alaska. It was a hard cover and I didn't know he hadn't yet paid for it when I wrote his name in it. When he realized he didn't have enough money to pay for it, he was offered a less expensive book, one he could easily afford. But no. This was the one he wanted. He would bring in the money the next day. The librarian told me that there was no way his parents would give him the money to buy the book. Yet the next day he did, in fact, return for it. It was clear that this book was precious to him. Imagine! A poor child valuing a book! A small event yet one with enormous implications for the thesis that education is a way out of poverty. One reality of society is that often we think things are valuable only when we have to pay for them. And if this is yet another way to instill a value for books in children, we are remiss if we don't offer the opportunity.

Finally, there is the unstated insinuation that we authors are money-grubbers who want the royalties as part of our fee, and the schools will have no part of such greed. Personally, wearing my educator's hat, I don't care if only the $4.00 books are for sale at my appearances. Every book sold frees up the library book for a kid who truly can't afford it. The royalties will hardly amount to anything, let alone make me a rich woman. In fact, a career as a children's book author is hardly a get-rich-quick scheme. On the other hand, children's book authors are often viewed at schools as career models. If we make our living writing books, should we then be put in a position of apologizing for the fact that they are for sale?

In the real world, people earn money selling something of value, whether it's a product or a service. My fee for a day's school appearance pays for three entertaining, highly motivating programs for hundreds of children. If books for sale are not made a part of the day, the library cannot handle the demand. I become simply another entertainer for a passive audience of kids all too accustomed to being entertained. That momentary flicker of interest in reading a book quickly dies for most kids if it is not immediately reinforced. At a time when our educational systems are under fire, when students are turned off and dropping out, we can't afford to waste any opportunity to involve kids as active participants in the learning process.

I.N.K. Links

We are about to begin the process of overhauling our links and recommendations. We hope to expand them to make a greater, more user friendly resource for information on children's nonfiction.

We need to expand our database a bit. If you write or have an interest in nonfiction for kids, please introduce yourself and let us know if you have a site on the world wide web.

We'd be happy to link to anyone connected to and supportive of writing interesting nonfiction for kids including other writers, teachers, publishers,schools, booksellers, and libraries. If you'd like to be included on our I.N.K. links, please leave your information in a comment or send it by email to the contact address listed on the sidebar.

If you have a blog or website of your own, please mention I.N.K. and set up a link. If you need any more information from us, feel free to ask.


More interesting posts coming soon.

What I Wish I Had Known

Being book-oriented means I have always preferred doing my research at the library. Or in an easy chair in front of the fire. Sometimes, however, there is no substitute for direct experience. Depending on the topic of the research, however, there may not be an opportunity for direct research. Not many of us get to go into space, for example, so writing a book about space travel will have some unavoidable physical limits on the kind of research you can do.

I can think of two examples of opportunities for direct experience that came my way after the book was written -- written, published, and on the library shelves. The first was my trip to Antarctica, which I made well after my two books about Shackleton's Endurance adventure were in print. (Shipwreck at the Bottom of the World, and Spirit of Endurance both published by Crown.) Of all the direct experience of Antarctica that I had, the one that I wished I had known before writing about it was....... silence. I have never experienced such profound silence as I encountered in Antarctica. I remember clearly the day I wandered through an expanse of volcanic debris on Ross Island, with no sound at all but the crunching of grit under my feet. No animal sounds, no wind through trees. No mechanical noises. Yes, there are other places in the world to experience deep silence; that is true. But without a trip to Antarctica while I was writing about it, I overlooked that silence as a meaningful part of the story.

The second example is from a class in wet-plate collodion photography that I was able to take after I wrote a book about Civil War photographs (Photo by Brady: A Picture of the Civil War, published by Atheneum.) During the three-day workshop I was relieved to discover that I had, in fact, described the process accurately. Whew! But one little thing had escaped my researches at the time, and I think it is because it was so commonplace for wet-plate photographers that none of them had mentioned it. The silver nitrate solution, which is what turns jet black when exposed to light, thus creating the image on filmed glass, gets on the photographer, too! It's unavoidable, especially in rough, outdoor conditions. In the darkroom the clear silver nitrate might splash on the photographer's hands or clothes; the moment that photographer steps out into the light, those splashes turn black! I left that three-day workshop stained everywhere -- on my feet (I'd worn flip-flops), on my hands, on my jeans, even a smudge on my cheek where I'd scratched an itch with a silver-nitrate-dipped finger. And it didn't wash off, it just had to wear off after several days. There is no way a field operator in the Civil War could have avoided tell-tale drips, drops, and splashes of black on his skin and clothes. I wish I had known that when I was writing.

Sometimes this kind of direct experience is not available to the researcher. But this is why my recommendation is to experience as many things as possible. Some day you may be writing about that subject and you'll remember the silence and the stains. These are the things you won't find in the library stacks.

All in the Family

Though I grew up the daughter of a CPA and a former schoolteacher, in some ways I’ve always considered publishing to be the family business. In 1929, my dad’s uncle, George Macy, founded an amazing venture called the Limited Editions Club, and for 27 years he was an integral part of the storied literary circles of New York. His club issued limited editions of the classics —usually 1,500 copies—with illustrations by the leading visual artists of the day. Among the 300-plus volumes were Main Street, illustrated by Grant Wood; Ulysses, illustrated by Henri Matisse; and Lysistrata, illustrated by Pablo Picasso. Upon the dedication of The George Macy Memorial Collection at Columbia University’s Low Library in 1957, the English book designer Sir Francis Meynell declared, “No one but George Macy could have persuaded both Picasso and Matisse to illustrate books for him.” Today, these $10 books, all signed by the artists, are worth thousands of dollars.

Although Uncle George died in 1956, when I was only two, his presence loomed large in my house. When my parents got married, my dad asked him for books to fill the bookcases in his new home, and Uncle George responded by sending one hundred or so volumes from the Heritage Press, which produced less expensive reprints of Limited Editions Club offerings. These books, with their elegant bindings and their sturdy slipcases, formed the backdrop of my childhood and set the bar high for me as an aspiring writer. I wonder what Uncle George would have thought had he known I would spend 16 years as an editor with Scholastic, the company largely responsible for the proliferation of mass-market paperbacks among the country’s youth. Hopefully, this connoisseur of fine bookmaking didn’t believe you could always tell a book by its cover, or its paper quality.

Uncle George is on my mind today because last week, his daughter Linda came to town after being out of touch with our family for almost 20 years. Over lunch, she shared tales of her mythical dad and his life among the literati, including Alexander Woollcott of the Algonquin Round Table, who she often found in their living room, and Norman Rockwell, who created the portrait of her father shown here.

Linda’s memories brought me back to the golden age of publishing, when ambitious kids fresh out of college launched brilliant ventures and a company could succeed by making every book a work of art. It seems like such a different world today, but it’s reassuring to know that many of Uncle George’s modern counterparts continue to take pains to produce books whose visual impact goes hand-in-hand with the text. There are still editors who refuse to do a book if they can’t do it right, and that means holding fast to their standards of design and paper quality. I’m lucky to have worked with such editors at National Geographic, but as my colleagues on this blog will tell you, there are others throughout the publishing world. I think Uncle George would have approved.

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