Hardly Child's Play

Everyone wants to write a children’s book these days, including educators who may have the inside track on what kids like — and don’t like — in a tall tale. Still, as any published illustrator or author will tell you, the work is not easy. Alumni who write children’s books tell their stories.

by Mary Tamer

Charlotte Agell, Ed.M.’86, retells a story — originally told by Big Bend author Bill Roorbach — that poignantly illustrates the all-too-frequent plight of the children’s book writer.

After Roorbach had delivered remarks at a speaking engagement in Maine, he was approached by a brain surgeon who was excited to meet a writer of his stature. “It was so great to hear you speak,” the surgeon told Roorbach. “I am planning to take a six-month sabbatical so I can write a book.”

“That’s so strange,” Roorbach replied. “I was thinking of taking a six-month sabbatical so I can become a brain surgeon.” Agell, who is about to publish her 11th book, laughs at the juxtaposition, which typifies what many children’s authors and illustrators like her already know: producing books for children goes far beyond mere child’s play, despite the public’s perception to the contrary.

Agell, who is counted among the Harvard Graduate School of Education’s eclectic crop of educators-turned-authorsand- illustrators, will also tell you there is a great distinction between simple and simplistic, and that telling — or drawing — a compelling 32-page story with 400 words and 16 images can pose more challenges than one would ever imagine.

“People will ask, ‘Did that take you 15 minutes?’ and I tell them, ‘Yes, 15 minutes and a lifetime,’” says Agell. “People have that reaction because they’ve all been kids and they all have stories in them. . . . I say, ‘Sure, try it, but remember that less is more.’ There’s a lot of chopping and choosing, and it’s hard work.”

“Everyone wants to write a children’s book . . . but everyone doesn’t realize that there has to be narrative tension, transformation, and contradiction,” says Katie McKy, Ed.M.’01, a longtime teacher-turned-writer who has published two books for children. “Writing is hard. People who don’t write have a dreamy, idealized sense of what it’s all about . . . but sometimes it’s like pulling a badger out of its burrow. You stick your hand in the hole and there are just teeth and claws down there.”

The teeth and claws that McKy refers to could also be the competition. According to the Para Publishing website, only three in every 10,000 children’s book manuscripts get published, and McKy acknowledges that picture books have the highest rejection rate in the industry. This genre is not for the faint of heart, or for those who can’t handle rejection. Even Shel Silverstein — the late author and illustrator whose books have become classics among both children and adults — spent four years trying to find a publisher for The Giving Tree, which went on to sell millions of copies.

“I’m still getting rejections,” says Leda Schubert, M.A.T.’71, author of the highly acclaimed Ballet of the Elephants, as well as five other published or soon-to-be-published books. “If they were still on paper instead of e-mail, I could paper my house.”

“Children’s publishing is certainly a far more winner-takeall market than adult publishing,” says Caleb Neelon, Ed.M.’04, an artist, educator, and author of Lilman Makes a Name for Himself. “And certainly, writing a kids’ book is harder than it looks. You’d be amazed at how many ways there are to poorly use 400 words to tell exactly the same story.”

Teachers Turned Storytellers

A veteran teacher of 23 years, McKy thought she had heard it all until a question was earnestly posed to her by one of her second graders.

“Ms. McKy,” the eight-year-old boy asked her, with nary a smirk in sight. “What would happen if everyone in the world farted at once?”

McKy recalls that as the class fell silent, so did she. It was one of those rare teaching moments that left her speechless, though she told the boy she would find him an answer. Better yet, she decided, she would create one. Utilizing both her storytelling skills honed over years in the classroom, some research on gas-inducing foods, and her sly sense of humor, a story was born of an instance in the world when all creatures — large, small, and insignificant — flatulate at the same precise moment. The story, and its malodorous end result, was met with pure delight by her second-graders. Years later, after her time at Harvard and after the prerequisite rejections from publishers and 18 sets of revisions, It All Began with a Bean was published in 2004 on the heels of the success of William Kotzwinkle’s Walter the Farting Dog, a book that McKy says became a “juggernaut” for books in the potty humor genre.

“I’ve had my shame gland removed,” says McKy, now a fulltime freelance writer. “I’ll do anything for a laugh.”

While Bean did not catapult McKy into fame and fortune — another widespread misconception, in part brought on by the overwhelming success of J.K. Rowling with her Harry Potter series — it did officially launch her career as a writer and a public speaker. This year alone, McKy has visited 70 schools and performed her second book, Pumpkin Town!, for thousands of students, many of whom take part in the story about a garden gone awry.

“The irony is I make so much more money for being a writer than for writing,” she says. She is paid for her speaking engagements and juggles a dozen writing assignments.

“I recently saw a number that only 483 books published last year sold more than 100,000 copies,” says Schubert, who teaches writing in addition to her book work. “So no, I couldn’t make a living from this.”

To help put the numbers in perspective, Schubert explains that a first printing for the average picture book (“average” meaning one not written by Silverstein, Madonna, or another well-known celebrity) is between 5,000 and 10,000 copies. In most cases, the writer receives 5 percent of the list price, so if the book sells for $16, the author/illustrator will receive 80 cents on the book. According to Schubert, if you make a total of $7,000 on one picture book, you can consider yourself lucky.

Schubert is indeed one of the lucky ones, whose books have not only received high praise — including a glowing New York Times review for Elephants — but also sold relatively well. As a latecomer to the world of writing for children, Schubert in part credits her decades of teaching and her extensive statewide literacy work in Vermont for keeping her abreast on the reading likes and dislikes of children.

“Definitely, teaching helped,” says Schubert, who admits to a voracious reading habit as a child. “I felt that I knew kids at various ages well, which is unbelievably useful knowledge. Plus I’ve read so many books aloud . . . there’s no substitute for reading aloud. You get the rhythm of books. Teaching is a wonderful background to have.”

“We have a special insight because we spend so much time with these little human beings,” says teacher Megan Brown, Ed.M.’06, a yet-to-be-published author who is working on a book about transgender youth. “You learn their language and you learn simple ways of explaining things.”

Books with a Purpose

The background in education can also come in handy when the books being produced have an educational bent, such as the new series created by Valeria Fontanals, Ed.M.’04, who bypassed the traditional route to getting a children’s book published by starting her company, Little Talentum.

An educational psychologist and former kindergarten teacher, Fontanals spent a year working in a preschool in Beijing that was based upon Professor Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences. After her time at the Ed School, where she counted Gardner among her professors, Fontanals’ focus evolved into a publishing firm.

“I found that there wasn’t something ready that focused on multiple intelligences. . . . There weren’t books with a teachers’ guide and a parents’ guide,” says Fontanals, who cofounded the company in 2006 with a graduate from the Kennedy School of Government. “We wanted something comprehensive. . . . Now we have books with story guides that include activities, assessments, and worksheets. We’re offering teachers something practical to do that’s research-based for children aged 2 to 6.”

Like the work of Fontanals, the illustrative work of Jennifer Candon, Ed.M.’00, also has a distinct purpose for young children; namely helping them, as well as their parents and teachers, to cope with anxiety disorders. For Candon, however, her path to publishing was not quite as deliberate or as difficult as it is for many.

“My mom deserves full credit for this; it was her initiative,” says Candon of her mother, clinical psychologist Inger Maier, who authored the three Fuzzy the Sheep books that Candon illustrated. “In her work she found there was very little material on the issues that she was dealing with . . . so she really wanted to put the books together.”

The series, whose titles include When Fuzzy Was Afraid of Big and Loud Things and When Fuzzy Was Afraid of Losing His Mother, is purposely simple in both message and illustration — namely kid-friendly farm animals. Candon says each book contains a message to parents and teachers, with coaching techniques to work with the different anxieties.

On the international front, recent graduate Srisrividhiya “Srivi” Kalyanasundaram, Ed.M.’07, already a published author in her native India, plans to take lessons learned in the Ed School’s Arts in Education Program to produce “culturally relevant books” for her country.

“I have a lot of plans for more children’s books,” says Kalyanasundaram, who has written and illustrated 10 books for children and teens. “One of the things I’ve been working on is how traditional Indian art models can be used as a new way of educating kids . . . using culturally relevant imagery. I’ve tried to look at how relevant I can make my work for Indian children today.”

Kalyanasundaram will soon find out. This summer she returned home to become creative director with Galli Galli Sim Sim, India’s version of Sesame Street.

Happy Endings

Do happy endings exist in the world of children’s books? It depends upon who you ask. “I feel like I am beginning to blossom, but I hope there are exciting things to come down the road,” says Jeff Hopkins, Ed.M.’05, illustrator of The Only One Club and a longtime museum educator. “In order to make that happen you just have to be persistent and believe in yourself and take criticism and live in poverty. It’s a strange business, but an exciting one.”

Shel Silverstein did believe in himself and in his books, despite the rejections for The Giving Tree (finally published in 1964), many of which said the book was “too short” or “too sad” for a children’s book. McKy, for one, subscribes to the Silverstein theory that “life, you know, has pretty sad endings.” And so do some books.

“I write very open-ended books,” she says. “The story goes on. I was always perturbed by ‘happily ever after.’ There’s always another dragon to slay.”

And there’s always another child to entertain.

“If you ask people what book changed their life, they’ll tell you the name of a children’s book,” says Schubert. “Children are the most intensive readers, and there is no greater honor than writing for children. To quote [Bridge to Terabithia author] Katherine Paterson, one of the most honored authors in America for children, ‘Children are the hardest audience in the world and also the most rewarding.’ I’ve had children come up to me hugging a book who tell me, ‘I love this book.’ There is more joy in that, I think, than writing for adults.”

Even with all the rejection and angst that comes with the job. “I started submitting books in 1984 and getting rejections, and rejections are not easy to deal with. It takes time to recover from each one,” Schubert says. “I still get rejections, but now I think, if they didn’t like it, I’ll make it better.”

— Illustrations by Jeff Hopkins, Ed.M.'05

— Mary Tamer is a freelance writer and frequent contributor to Ed. magazine.

About the Article

A version of this article originally appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Ed., the magazine of the Harvard Graduate School of Education.

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