People are sometimes surprised to learn that I never (very rarely?) attend ALA, AASL, ISTE, etc. I only go when I am asked to present and, typically, I only stay long enough to meet those obligations, heading for the exit as soon as humanly possible. Even though I've learned how to present as an extrovert, giving off an "I love people!" vibe when I'm in "Library Girl" mode, the truth is that I am deeply shy, unbearably awkward and find both large and small groups of people (who aren't my people) very, very draining.
In recent years, however, I've made NCTE an annual tradition. This started entirely because of Franki Sibberson, who (as many people know!) is impossible to say no to. Franki says this is because she frames every request as an invitation and while I don't disagree, I also know (that for me anyway) disappointing Franki, or letting her down, feels like an unforgivable sin. So... when Franki decreed that I needed to start attending NCTE, I reluctantly said okay, to which Franki replied, "Go once, and if you don't like it, never go back. But I predict you will love it, because NCTE is your people." Of course, (as she so often is), Franki was right.
If you've attended NCTE before, you know that it's also the destination of many, many authors/illustrators, too. In addition to the typical author signings, many sessions at NCTE are author/illustrator led. Over the years, I've presented at NCTE a handful of times. In every instance, I was asked to participate in a session proposed and organized by a group of authors. This year, those authors were Katherine Marsh, Dashka Slater and Martha Brockenbrough, and our session focused on how books written for young people can be used to teach information literacy. In addition to writing books for kids, all the authors who participated also have experience in journalism. Their unique perspective made this conversation feel additionally relevant. I'm so grateful to have been asked to participate in this work. I will continue to think about our conversation for a long time.
A CONSPIRACY OF READERS
It's a bit cliché, I know, but it's also true that NCTE feels a lot like a family reunion. As a library person, who isn't (yet!) a long time attendee, I always feel a bit like a distant relative: someone who is part of the family, but who is also a stranger to a lot of people there. Still, the joy that others clearly feel, reuniting with this particular branch of their chosen family, is always contagious. And (because more than one thing can be true at the same time) this year, there was also an energy in the air that I've been struggling to name, but I think it has something to do with grief. I'm guessing everyone reading this has experienced the kind of seismic event that precipitates profound grief. Of course, grief looks different for everyone, but in the midst of it, I often feel lost and alone. For me, sometimes, the first (of many long) steps out of that wilderness involves connecting with my people. That's kind of what NCTE felt like to me this year - thousands of people taking their first steps out of grief by being reunited with their people. And, honestly, y'all... I don't think I fully realized just how much I needed that reunion, too.
With that in mind, my bucket was filled over and over again by my own reunions with people I love. I'm grateful for all of those encounters, but would like to share one in particular. Many moons ago, when I was a baby teacher, wrangling 8th graders in Winston-Salem, NC, one of my students bought a book at the Scholastic Book fair, read it, and gave it to me with the assertion that I would love it. She was right. On the back of the book, I learned that the author actually lived only a couple of hours from where I taught. This was before social media had become ubiquitous, so I had to do some old school research until I found the author's phone number - which I used to invite him to speak to my class. That book was New Found Land by Allan Wolf. Allan did, indeed, visit my class that year, and... every year after. When I transitioned to the library and moved several hundred miles away, he made the trek to teach poetry workshops to multiple classes at my new school. As I write this post, I am reminded of the very first words Allan ever spoke to me. Walking up to my school, Allan greeted me with a wide grin and the question: "Do I have spinach in my teeth?" After doing a thorough check and confirming that his chompers were, in fact, spinach free, he said, "Great! Once you've checked a person's teeth, you're officially friends." He was right. It was official. We were fast and fierce friends. Still... when I left NC in 2017, we lost touch.
Fast forward to this year's NCTE - Allan and I were reunited in a session featuring (another dear friend) John Schu. I spotted Allan in the room near the end of the session, but waited until after the presentation to say hello. After many hugs and a few tears, Allan shared that he was supposed to attend another session, but it had been cancelled. Walking down the hallway, unsure where he was going, he heard John Schu say my name. It will come as no surprise to those who know Allan, that he told the rest of the story with his whole body... spinning around to demonstrate how the sound of my name caused him to pivot and then follow John Schu's voice until it led him to me. I wanted to share this story for so many reasons: first, the serendipity of the reunion just felt too magical to keep to myself; and, it's true that Allan's work has had a profound effect on my own trajectory over the years; but also, he has a new book out, How to Tantrum Like a Champion: Ten Small Ways to Temper Big Feelings, with Keisha Morris, which I love and have been using with educators as I explore ideas surrounding Information Mindfulness. I'm so grateful for this reunion and for all the others that helped buoy my spirit during a dark time.
That idea of fortifying our spirits in preparation for the days ahead was a recurring theme as NCTE came to an end and the ALAN workshop began. During her opening keynote, Dhonelle Clayton made no bones about her anger and disappointment, but she also used those emotions to remind us that, "the children who have been living along side us are heading into the dark and will need books and stories to guide them." Later, calling the room full of educators a "conspiracy of readers," Pam Muñoz Ryan shared that having hope doesn't require cockeyed optimism, the finding silver linings or turning a blind eye to the bleakness of our shared reality. Rather, she described hope as having the capacity to look at the pain, injustice and brokenness of our world and within those shards, also finding openings. Openings for joy; openings for love; openings for connection; openings for change. She likened those openings to white space on the page: a place for the eye and heart to rest, reflect and fortify. I know I am not alone when I say that both of these speeches, and so many others, were a balm for my weary heart.
DREAMING BOLDLY
While I've presented at NCTE a few times, I've never actually submitted a proposal. Rather, I've always been asked to contribute to presentations others were plotting. That might soon change, however, as I'm already dreaming of some session topics that I feel curious about and would like to explore further. I'm not ready to share what I'm dreaming about yet, but I will say that some of those dreams are inspired and fueled by many brilliant people including: Chris Baron, Alicia D Williams, Kristin Ziemke, Kim Johnson and José Olivarez. Like all dreams, I am not sure how or if these will materialize, but it's empowering to feel like I have some ideas for creating the kind of world I want to live in and that our children deserve.
Are you dreaming boldly, too? Good! Because NCTE is accepting proposals for next year's conference. The theme is “Dreaming and Creating Our Shared Futures,” which feels prescient right now. Maybe your dream is simply to attend. Good! I hope that dream comes true! And if you're not sure if NCTE is for you, let me be your Franki Sibberson (caveat: I am no Franki Sibberson!) Chances are, if you're reading this post, we're family. Even if we've never met. We're part of a beautiful and powerful family whose DNA is made of story. As Franki said to me, "Go once, and if you don't like it, never go back. But I predict you will love it because NCTE is your people." We need our people right now, y'all... so, I hope to see you at our next family of reunion.
DEFYING GRATIFY!
In middle school, I saw The Rocky Horror Picture Show 104 times. That's not a hyperbolic guestimate; that's the actual number. I remember it, because getting to the magical 100 viewings before the end of 8th grade was a goal I chased relentlessly. Once reached, I managed to see the campy, cult classic four more times. Of course, I've seen it many times since, but that middle school milestone is still lodged in my heart.
I'm writing this post a few days after the theatrical release of Wicked (which I ended up seeing, while in Boston, with John Schu). As the premier of Wicked drew near, I found myself thinking a lot about Rocky Horror, and for awhile, I wasn't sure why. Although both are musicals, on the surface, Wicked and Rocky Horror don't appear to have much in common, but hear me out. Both stories center weirdos, feature unforgettable characters in fabulous costumes, challenge identity norms and inspire viewers to be the fiercest versions of themselves. If you'd asked 8th grade me why I loved Rocky Horror, my reply probably would have focused on the music. As an adult, however, I can see that while I did (and still!) love the soundtrack to the1975 film, I found a home in that movie because it centered the idea that there is no such thing as "normal." Normal is a cage (hello, Wicked!) created to encourage conformity. Normal is a backhanded compliment. Normal is a lie designed to make us feel like who we are is somehow wrong. And maybe it's that rejection of normal that inspires the fan communities who are devoted to either/both Wicked and Rocky Horror. After all, who needs normal when you have friends?
As I head home from this year's gatherings at NCTE and ALAN, I'm grateful for the friends I (re)connected with in Boston who, in all their varied, epic awesomeness, are anything but normal. I'm grateful for all the ways the speakers and attendees at both events were intentional in their acknowledgement of the moment we live in, while not allowing us to linger there for long. As we head into a period of uncertainty, something I know for sure is that we need each other now more than ever. So... with that in my heart, I'm looking towards the western sky, y'all. I'm hanging on to this community, this conspiracy of readers and to these words:
Together, we're unlimited
Together we'll be the greatest team there's ever been
If we work in tandem
There's no fight we cannot win
Just you and I, defying gravity
With you and I defying gravity
They'll never bring us down
