A Quiet Sunday Afternoon

I’ve been quiet because of the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature. I haven’t had the time to follow much of what’s going on and I have a bit of a ban on what I can say in public. The National Book Foundation isn’t as limiting as the American Library Association (ALA) on what I can and cannot say out loud, but ALA has shaped my behavior. I’ve become more of a lightweight lurker who focuses more on reading the outstanding contributions to youth literature than engaging online. The thing is if one is in a position to influence others, don’t they, don’t I, have a responsibility to use that voice? Otherwise, I become irrelevant, right? The question then becomes how to express myself under the confines of a larger institution.

These confines are not the question, not in this case. NBF, ALA and others who award creators for their work are justified in requiring a sense of integrity from those who work with them as part of their greater mission.

Haven’t my ancestors faced the same dilemma imposed upon them by larger institutions: how to freely express themselves whether it be through the vote, the ability to tell their own stories, or to get products to market that allows them to earn a living? Rather than wringing their hands and giving up, the people who came before me rose to the occasion. W. C. Handy spoke through music and created the blues. Ann Lowe picked up her needle and sewed. Lucille Clifton with her pen used stanzas and verse. Alma Thomas picked up her easel to paint a new vision. Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed a new dream. Augusta Baker collection and told stories to the children.

My ancestors didn’t dwell in the mud. They avoid gunk and grime, leaving the world with luminous examples to guide us through.

My ancestors didn’t dwell in the mud. My mother worked in a factory to send her three children to Catholic schools and on to college. My father used his days off to take us to museums and libraries. The examples are right in front of me.

Even now my contemporaries, Nikkolas Smith, Bissa Butler, Jacqueline Woodson, Wade and Cheryl Hudson, Kwame Alexander, Patricia Smith, Aleshea Harris, RuPaul, Viola Davis, and so many, many more do not dwell in the mud.

I cannot shame them by ignoring their examples.

I can use NBF work as an excuse but, it’s a weak one. I knew what I was getting into when I willingly accepted, considering the legacy I’d be part of as a greater reward. Being part of a committee that celebrates the best of the best is such important work because I’m allowed to be a representative for youth literature. Last year, when I attended the ceremony, I had the opportunity to mingle with some of the finest in literature, many of whom, unfortunately, didn’t have much regard for the kiddie stuff. There I was in a space change some of that.

Here we are at a time when everyone thinks the easiest thing in the world to do is to write a picture book (it’s not easy. Notice I’ve not done one, have you?) and they think anyone can write one, even AI. There are people more willing to allow predictive AI, a problematic system with no moral compass to create books that are used to shape, inform, and entertain our precious little tomorrows. Yet, the voices of marginalized creators are limited. Something is wrong here.

Even the voices of the marginalized who have risen to national, even international prominence, have been denied the same opportunities as their white counterparts whether it be the networks from which they’re excluded, pathways that are inaccessible, or opportunities that are not granted. To be clear, I’m talking about people who have really done the work, who have built a strong foundation and are primed for greater things. Readers may not be aware of the dynamics of a white male author’s career as compared to a BIPOC person’s, but trust me, there’s difference.

There used to be a community that would question these things. OK, I use that term loosely, no doubt it was sometimes more often a mob than community. Can it come back in  2.0 version that uses public spaces to urge consideration of what we’re creating for young readers so that decision makers not only listen, but participate? No, that won’t happen because we’ve been convinced that we can’t talk to each other and we all live to prove that to be true, even though it only works to further empower the oligarchs.

Where am I going with this? I could talk more about what publishers and organizations devoted to literacy don’t say about current issues –all of which are crucial when we need to figure out how to keep young people reading—but, I’m examining my own culpability. I think here in the 21^st century, here when we find so much disdain for social media, what we have to admit is that Twitter and IG and TikTok and Bluesky and FaceBook  and blogs have become the great levelers. They are tools that this this generation can creatively use for resistance.

So, check out my work with the We Are Kidlit Summer Reading List. Follow the National Book Foundation on the socials. Be prepared for our longlist on 16/17 September and read those books along with us so you can then have some of the best in youth literature to recommend in your libraries. Yeah, and follow my socials because I do come up for air from time to time, hopefully more often than not. Hopefully, I’ll find creative ways to keep using my voice between now and November.

I probably could have given this a little more thought, but I have a reading deadline. These couple of hours will have to suffice.

Be well and do good.

Filed under: Awards