Once Upon A Time...

Once Upon a Time... by Suzanne M. Schweikert M.D. Copyright 2004 All Rights Reserved Once Upon A Time is a column based on Suzanne Schweikert's belief that adults, and particularly writers, can learn a lot about life and living and writing, from reading children’s books. The column will explore how these books speak to the kid in every writer, and remind us of why we wanted to be writers in the first place. (Actually, Once Upon A Time is Dr. Schweikert's clever excuse to read whatever books she feels like, and whenever she feels like it. She will be free to take great delight in all the daring mysteries and magical adventures she discovers, and in running back here to share these stories with all of us.) Comments, thoughts, and personal experiences on kid lit and related topics are welcome. Email: Dr.Schweikert@WritersMonthly.com

Libraries: Story Hour
...It was in that very library that I discovered a book by an author with my own last name and, although I can’t remember what it was about, its mere existence promised that I too could be a writer someday. That was also where I discovered Ebony magazine, and realized that African-Americans have a whole different set of materials to help them understand the world. When the librarians weren’t watching, I would leaf through its glossy pages and wonder what it was like to be black. I never found the answer, but it was important that I asked the question...

When We Were Animals...
...Stellaluna’s is a coming of age story, about getting lost, conformity, and the struggle to find one’s identity and a new place in the world. In its 42 pages, it elicits emotions that an adult novel often requires 300 pages to convey.

And What Do You Do for a Living?
Take my mailman, for instance. I know he’s a full-time mailman, but I also imagine he does other things, some of which might actually be more important to him than delivering my mail. He might write sci-fi books, make furniture in his garage, or organize food drives for his neighbors. He might have a handicapped child, or two older kids in college. And yet, he is first and foremost a mailman to me. That’s the way Americans tend to peg one another — with simple, suffocating labels...

Reading by Flashlight
I was talking to a friend at dinner last month, and mentioned that I was writing a children’s novel. He confessed to me, quite sadly, that he no longer has time to read. What with a mortgage, a marriage, and a job that keeps him fulfilled, he is too busy. But, he recalled wistfully, when he was a boy, he regularly held battles with his parents about when he had to stop reading. As soon as he thought they were asleep, he would turn the lights back on and read until he was too exhausted to continue...

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