We're proud of the books we write, but at a recent school visit, I discovered that maybe it's not that impressive a thing after all. After all, it's just words.
My Power Point slide show was over. The lights in the school auditorium came back on. The kids stretched their legs. I turned off the projector, and glanced at the clock. It had been only been a half hour but I was still under the spell of the past evoked by my slides – the ballet doll my Aunt Ruth sent me for Christmas that inspired my first children's book, the farm house in Bucks County where I began to write it, the beautiful cover of Noelle of the Nutcracker.
My Power Point slide show was over. The lights in the school auditorium came back on. The kids stretched their legs. I turned off the projector, and glanced at the clock. It had been only been a half hour but I was still under the spell of the past evoked by my slides – the ballet doll my Aunt Ruth sent me for Christmas that inspired my first children's book, the farm house in Bucks County where I began to write it, the beautiful cover of Noelle of the Nutcracker.
It was time for questions and answers.
“Does your hand get tired when you color?” asked a little girl in blue leggings sitting in the front row.
“Well, actually I don’t draw the pictures for my books,” said, with a smile.
Another hand shots up.
“Do you glue the covers on?”
I shook my head.
The kids looked puzzled.
Finally a boy in the second row raised his hand.
“What exactly do you do?”
All the kids looked at me, waiting.
“I just do the writing,” I said. “Just the words.”
“Just the words?” He looked incredulous.
I nod.
Just the words.
Those moments can be humbling, but the pen is still mightier than the sword even if we don't color the pictures or glue on the covers.
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