In my earlier writing years, after taking courses, experimenting a lot, and having some work for adults published, I finally decided I’d rather write for children. Not because it was easier, but because I enjoyed it more. Probably because I was still a fourth grader at heart.
But my immature writer self knew I needed help. To improve, I’d have to be brave, take bigger chances, explore opportunities even if they seemed unattainable. And the only way would be to reach out, make connections until I found a community of like-minded folks willing to teach me what I needed to know.
I explored many possibilities and was turned down by most. But finally I applied for a scholarship to the Highlights Children’s Writers Workshop. I didn’t have a chance, I thought, until one of our kids called me when I was away from home and said, “Mom, some guy called to talk to you.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. But he said he was from Highlights.”
That “guy” turned out to be Kent Brown, Mr. Highlights himself, whose grandparents founded Highlights for Children magazine in 1946! After supper, when Kent called back, he congratulated me on receiving the scholarship. Then he proceeded to talk farming for another half hour like we were old friends.
I couldn’t believe it! My dream had come true. I’d won my personal lottery! A week of kid-lit immersion in a fairy tale village. Talking to writers and illustrators. Meeting editors and publishers galore. Learning from the best!
But yikes! I hadn’t even been on a plane since we’d flown to New Orleans on a Co-op trip for our honeymoon. And now, nearly thirty years later, I was about to fly to Chautauqua, New York? Gulp.
Needless to say, that week was magical. So much so, that I’ll have to write about it in a another newsletter so this one doesn’t get boringly long. But, truly, that phone call changed my life. I met people that week who have become lifelong friends, like illustrator Sharon Lane Holm, my roommate. And George Brown, Kent’s son, and George’s wife Katharine, who so kindly put up with my mistiness on a visit to their Pennsylvania farm in 2006 or 7, I think, not long after we had to leave western Kansas and stop farming.
Those first connections lead to others and soon it was like I had a huge extended family. A giving group who welcomed me with open arms and hearts, who let me be myself and didn’t judge or make this Kansas farm gal feel like an outsider.
That first trip east led to many more as I attended Founders’ Workshops at the home place at Boyd’s Mills. But I want to end with a story about the last hours of one trip in particular.
I think it was after one of Carolyn Yoder's workshops, and my flight home was to leave early the next morning, long after everyone else was gone. At our last delicious meal we were all somber, already missing each other and the creative time we’d spent together. Several worried that I might be afraid alone in the farm house. But I wasn’t. In fact I was looking forward to the last bit of quiet before returning home. Besides, I lived on a farm in the middle of no where, for Pete’s sake, and I knew how to lock a door!
But that didn’t stop the hairs from rising on the back of my neck when a pickup truck pulled into the drive a few hours later and someone rattled the back door. Then, it squeaked open and footsteps clump, clumped toward the living room.
“Dale, what are you doing here?” Kent said, rounding the corner and looking as surprised as I was.
I explained, showed him that I had plenty to do, and assured him that I’d be fine until my ride to the airport came at four in the morning. He left to do whatever he’d come to do, but returned a few minutes later.
“What are you doing for supper?”
“Marcia left some of her fabulous cooking in the fridge.”
“Why don’t you come over and have supper with us.”
A little while later, Katharine came to pick me up and Kent’s wife, Jody, welcomed me like an old friend to her and Kent’s beautiful home. George was there, too, and he, Kent, and I compared the complexities of farming in Kansas and Pennsylvania. That evening of conversation, good food, and friendship was a gift I will never forget.
I share this now as a precursor to another of my acknowledgement conversations, when I take time to thank those who have helped me along my writing path. Next week, my conversation will be with George. Yes, we’ll probably discuss farming a little for old time’s sake. But mostly we’ll talk about the miracle that is Highlights.
So, until next week,
Hugs,
Dale
Me, too, Suzanne.
I am so glad you are writing! And Chautauqua - that magical experience that launched many of us on a marvelous new trajectory! You make me want to go back. We are so blessed to have been taken in by the Highlights gang!