Debutiful

I have been trying to publish a book for long time—like, a long time—which is maybe not something you should confess when you’re staring down the publication date of your debut novel. It’s possible that this is not the sort of admission that instills confidence in potential readers, but alas, it’s an important detail in the story of how that book came to be.

For years (we won’t say how many), I’d been attempting to write kid lit, and I was stuck in the middle of a fantasy thing I had no business writing. Magic systems and whimsical, made-up first names are just not one of my strengths. But there is that annoying adage about how no writing is wasted, and it held true for me here: in trying to craft a sort of classic children’s story, I found myself wondering what it was about the books of Madeleine L’Engle, Garth Nix, and C.S. Lewis that had such a hold on me as a young, avid reader.

That question didn’t immediately result in a singular, universally applicable answer, but it did get me thinking about the immense pressure of writing for kids, especially if you’re helming a series like, say, Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson books. So much anticipation, such high expectations—and then, just as a thought experiment, what if a beloved children’s author happened to die before completing her series—what would happen? And if her husband was also a writer himself—a mystery writer, sure, but someone capable of plotting out a story—what then?

Those were the questions that eventually resulted in my debut, How the Story Goes, which is about an author trying to make good on his late wife’s dying wishes, and another writer trying to sort herself out after her experiences at an MFA program have made the business of storytelling feel bleak and hopeless. Eventually I realized, oh, that’s what this is all about: finding your way back to yourself through writing; believing in the potential of storytelling. In short, hope. 

Here are some of my favorite books that scratch that same itch, written by people who, like me, believe in (there’s no non-corny way to say this) the power of a good book.