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Margo Sorenson
When I spoke in Kailua, Hawaii at Keolu Elementary, the first thing I saw on my arrival were all the children's shoes lined up outside the door of the classroom, most of them flip-flops, or "rubbah slippers" as they say there. The children gave me a plumeria lei and sat cross-legged on the floor—barefoot, of course! Here's how to tell if you are not a kamaaina (local resident) when you do an author visit: you wear the lei incorrectly (hanau okolele!—the kids' expression for "shame on you!") by letting it all hang down in front! The correct way to wear your author lei is to drape it so it lies half on your chest and half down your back!
Maryann Weidt
At one of the best visits I've ever had, a teacher in Florida was totally engrossed in my presentation. She sat up front, over to the side, and when I talked to the students about using strong verbs, she was right there with me. When I talked about the need for conflict in a story, even nonfiction, she nodded vigorously. However, when I told the students to go through their work and get rid of most of the adjectives, she cried out, "Oh, no! We just finished a whole unit on adjectives!" I assured her it was okay, that the kids probably needed to know about adjectives, but I suggested they use them sparingly.
Also in Florida, as I was reading Daddy Played Music for the Cows to the kids, a boy in the front row, probably in fourth grade, looked up at me with dark, sad eyes and said, "I wish I had a Dad like that." That tugged at my heart!
Lisa Bullard
I cover hundreds of miles traveling to out-of-the-way schools as a visiting writer. And it isn’t always the glamorous life some people think! There are bad roads, bad food, bad TV at night, and REALLY bad hotels (complete with creepy-crawlies).
But there are also moments I feel like visiting royalty. Some schools have decorated their entire building with art projects featuring my books. I’ve been prayed over, serenaded, hugged, and led around by personal student bodyguards. I get thank-you notes afterwards that make me tear up.
But my funniest moment of fame came in a tiny school in Southwest Minnesota. I’d raced in at the last minute after (typically) getting lost. The anxious principal correctly read the desperation on my face and pointed me towards the nearest restroom. I dashed past a huddle of first-graders washing their hands and into a stall. Loud whispering began at the sink.
“That’s her,” said First-grader 1.
“Who?” said First-grader 2.
“Her! The Writer!” said First-grader 3.
I could hear the outer door swing open as First-grader 4 joined her friends.
“The Writer’s in there,” said the first three, presumable pointing towards my stall door.
I didn’t notice that the conversation had stopped as I sat there feeling smug. Here at “little school on the prairie,” I was a bona-fide celebrity! And then I suddenly realized there was a pair of eyes peeking into the bathroom stall, staring right at me as I finished up nature’s call. First-grader 4 was confirming my royal presence for herself!
The paparazzi may not be chasing after me, but I know the truth: being spied on while you pee is really as big as it gets when you’re a children’s book author!
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