Funny Story

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Emily Henry has become one of my auto-buy authors. Meaning, when Emily Henry publishes a book, I’m going to buy it. Sometimes I wait a bit, for the paperback edition or for the hardcover to be on sale. Or I wait for a promotion or sale like those periodic free shipping days offered by Bookshop.org. 

But, even though I buy Emily Henry’s novels I don’t read them right away. It’s kind of like saving the best for last. (Am I the only one who eats the cake part of a cake first and then eats the frosting part last?) 

So although I know Funny Story was published last year, and I still have to buy Ms. Henry’s most recent novel (Great Big Beautiful Life), I just finished reading it. And this week, I wanted to share some of my favorite parts with you. 

“Still, a chorus of ridiculous little voices rises as I approach, cries of ‘Miss Daffy!’ and other adorable mispronunciations of my name. In my heart, it feels like little kernels are bursting into fluffy blossoms of popcorn.”

“It’s funny: As a kid, I had no idea how to interact with other kids. I felt most at home with Mom and her friends. But as an adult, I find kids so much easier to understand.
“They say how they feel, and they show it too. There are fewer ulterior motives and written rules. Silences aren’t unbearably awkward, and abrupt segues to different subjects are the norm. If you want to be friends with someone, you just ask, and if they don’t want, to, they’ll probably just tell you.”

“ ‘ How did it start?’ he asks. ‘The library thing.’
“ I cast my mind back, to before grad school, before undergrad even, all the way to the first moment I remember loving a story. Feeling like I was living it. Being, even as a child, bowled over by how something imaginary could become real, could wring every emotion from me or make me homesick for places I’d never been.”

“ ‘I have noticed you tend to do well with the over-seventy set,’ I allow. ‘Then again, you’re not so bad with the under-seventy set.’

“He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. ‘I guess it’s nice being around people who’ve made it through shit, you know?’ He shrugs. ‘Like probably all their worst mistakes are behind them, and they know who they are now, and how to be who they want to be.” 

“’The library is, like, the single best cross section of humanity,’ I tell him. ‘You meet all kinds of interesting people.’”

“All those moments throughout the days, weeks, months that don’t get marked on calendars with hand-drawn stars or little stickers.
“Those are the moments that make a life.
“Not grand gestures, but mundane details that, over time, accumulate until you have a home, instead of a house.
“The things that matter.
“The things I can’t stop longing for.
“There’s only one place that feeling exists for me, only one person with whom I belong.” 

“ ‘You?’ she says. ‘You, my girl, are whoever you decide to be. But I hope you always keep some piece of that girl who sat by the window, hoping for the best. Life’s short enough without us talking ourselves out of hope and trying to dodge every bad feeling. Sometimes you have to push through the discomfort, instead of running.’”

“… I’d wanted so badly to escape myself, my life, that I forgot about all the beautiful little pieces of it I’ve been acquiring like sea glass these last few months.” 

“But if I’ve learned anything from parenting, it’s that it matters way more that you’re present than that you’re perfect. Just be here, really be here, and the kids will love it.” 

“… sometimes the unexpected is better than what you plan.
“The same universe that dispassionately takes things away can bring you things you weren’t imaginative enough to dream up.”

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

An Acrostic Poem for Invisible Disabilities Week

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
Not all disabilities are immediately visible

Invisible Disabilities Week started on Sunday, October 19th and continues through Saturday, October 25th. 

The goal behind Invisible Disabilities Week is to raise awareness, because not all disabilities are easily recognizable or easily seen. Not all disabilities look the same. Not all people living with disability behave in the same way.

But just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

Just because I “look fine,” doesn’t mean I feel fine.

This week, I borrowed an activity from my teaching days — I created an acrostic poem as a way of raising awareness and sharing a bit of my personal experience. (In an acrostic poem, the first letter of each line spells out a word or phrase. I used the word Disability.)

Dinner time is generally hard for me. My family doesn’t know this, but many times I cry while I’m in the kitchen preparing dinner. Sometimes I think it’s because my body is tired after all day. Sometimes it all just feels like too much; I’m hurting so much I don’t know how I’ll keep standing, let alone wash the pot in the sink or cook the rice on the stove. 

Invisible disability means I don’t regularly use an assistive device. So at first glance you may think I’m “fine.” But if you pay attention you’ll notice that instead of climbing the five stairs out front, I walk up the ramp to get into the building where I go for my physical therapy. You may notice I limp sometimes when going for a walk in the neighborhood. Look carefully, and you may see me pause after crossing the street and stepping up onto the sidewalk. (Some of those curbs seem so high!) 

Symptoms vary and are not always a direct result of anything I did or didn’t do. Sometimes I experience a heaviness in my leg, as if I’m walking through mud and just can’t get my feet to move any quicker. Sometimes my left calf feels hard and tight, as if it’s stuck in a charley horse. Sometimes my left leg feels like it’s being squeezed, as if someone has strapped a blood pressure cuff around my leg. 

Ableism is discrimination in favor of non-disabled people. Like when my son’s high school expects all parents to navigate the stairs and hallways during Back to School Night. (You can read about my experience in this blog post.) Or when I used to see someone park their car in a handicap parking spot and exit their car looking “fine,” and I immediately thought they must be faking, using someone else’s placard. It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s the truth.

Books. After receiving my diagnosis, I went searching for books on the subject. Then I looked for books written by authors on parallel paths, maybe their diagnosis was different than mine, but the emotions would be similar. I really couldn’t find much. Which is why I’m always recommending The Things We Don’t Say: An Anthology of Chronic Illness Truths. Full disclosure, one of my essays is included in this anthology. (Side note – this is why I believe there is an audience for my as-yet-unpublished memoir.)

Ironic. When I was in high school, I had such a hard time learning to swallow pills. I gagged. I coughed and sputtered, certain I would choke. Yet, here I am all these years later, and I take almost 20 pills a day (both prescription medication and over-the-counter supplements/vitamins). 

Live the life you’ve dreamed of. We had a plaque with that expression hanging on the wall by the staircase. It didn’t happen right after I became ill, but sometime later I came to  realize I no longer liked that wall hanging and I no longer wanted it in our home. In some respects, this is absolutely not the life I dreamed of. I didn’t dream of retiring from teaching because I was physically unable to continue. I didn’t dream of qualifying for a disabled parking placard before my parents. It happened. Period. But I definitely didn’t dream it.

Individual experiences do vary. Each chronically ill patient is dealing with a different set of variables, including different symptoms and different treatments. Which means it’s not helpful when someone (who knows very little of my medical history) makes a general statement trying to convince me that the solution is yoga/green smoothies/becoming gluten-free/fill-in-the-blank because it worked for their friend/neighbor/coworker/relative.

Treatment is challenging. Because what worked for a while (meaning, what kept my inflammation under control) can suddenly stop working. There are so many variables at play, including physical movement, mental health, stress, menopause, and sleep it’s hard to really know which one is the biggest factor in how I feel. 

Yearning to feel like my “old self.” The Wendy who woke up feeling rested. The Wendy who didn’t dread that first walk downstairs. The Wendy who didn’t have to think about her pain and her knees and her sensitive calf. The Wendy who could walk for an hour. The Wendy who could walk to the nearby shopping center without thinking twice about how I’d feel during and after the walk. The Wendy who trusted her body would always work the way I expected it to. 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

Sunflowers

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
Summer 2021

I don’t remember when I decided sunflowers were my favorite flower. 

Was it before or after I started working part-time in a flower shop? (I started working there during my last semester of high school and continued working there during the years I spent at community college before transferring to a four-year university.)

I do know that a year after I graduated high school, my mom gave me a large tote bag, with sunflowers on both sides.

Spring 1995. This is a photo of the photo.

It was a perfect gift then, but I’m pretty sure neither one of us imagined I would still be using that bag today, thirty years later.

Why do I like sunflowers? Or should I say, why do I like sunflowers more than other flowers? Several reasons:

In my eyes, they’re bright and happy flowers. Cheerful. 

As flowers go, they’re pretty low maintenance — no thorns or excessive leaves to remove before snipping off the bottom of the stem and putting them into a vase full of water. 

I always felt good about selling sunflowers because they’re long-lasting, unlike other flowers, like irises for example, which only last a day or two, maybe three if you’re lucky. 

Yet, the older I get, and the more my body changes, the more it makes sense that I would find myself identifying with sunflowers. As in, maybe I liked sunflowers for more superficial reasons, and now I regard them as a sort of symbol of my life. 

I like to think I share some of the characteristics that make sunflowers the special flowers they are. 

Sunflowers, with their bright yellow color, are said to symbolize positivity and optimism. Generally speaking I try to go through life looking for the good. Hoping for the good. Spreading good by complimenting a stranger’s pretty pink nail polish. Sweeping my neighbor’s back patio. Picking up the package of cookies that fell off the shelf at the market (even though some days it really hurts to bend and pick anything up).   

Sunflowers are resilient. They are known for their ability to turn towards the sunlight and to thrive in what many would consider to be impossible-to-thrive conditions. And let’s just say that becoming chronically ill at age 34 left me no choice but to develop my resilience and create this whole other career and identity for myself as a writer. 

Sunflowers are hardy. Tough. Because when you live with chronic pain you don’t have a choice. You have to be strong.  

Some of the sunflowers in my writing room.

And, sunflowers are also a symbol for the chronic illness community. 

“The Hidden Disabilities Sunflower is a simple tool for you to voluntarily share that you have a disability or condition that may not be immediately apparent – and that you may need a helping hand, understanding, or more time in shops, at work, on transport, or in public spaces.”

That’s why you’ll find sunflowers on my website (in the header).

And when I dream of my book and the cover for my memoir-in-essays, I imagine sunflowers on it in some way. 

Dear Readers, that’s the story behind my favorite flower. May I ask, what’s your favorite flower? And, is there a particular reason why you chose that flower? Feel free to share in the comments. Let’s create a virtual bouquet of all our favorite flowers!

More sunflowers in my writing room.

Dear Writer

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog post about the “pep talks” portion of Maggie Smith’s Dear Writer: Pep Talks & Practical Advice for the Creative Life. (If you missed the post, click here to read it.)

This week, I’d like to share some more, because Dear Writer is one special book. In fact, I think Dear Writer is one of those books that won’t just sit on the shelf with other writing-related books. Dear Writer will be read and re-read. 

The book is organized into “ten essential elements”: attention, wonder, vision, surprise, play, vulnerability, restlessness, connection, tenacity, and hope. Within each section, readers will find craft-centered essays, writing prompts, and suggestions for related reading. 

But, I don’t think this book is only for writers. Or artists. I think the inspiring words found within this book, could really be applied to any area of life.

Here are some of the passages I marked with a sticky note. What do you think — only for writers or all humans?

“Although my work has changed over time, the act of writing feels no different to me than it did five or ten or twenty years ago. I’m still gathering, still collecting, still trying to make a garment from these scraps. The pleasure in the writing is the surprise — having no idea what you’re making as you’re making it.”

“When you try something new, whether it’s writing or baking or running, you’re in a period of apprenticeship to that art or activity. You’re a beginner, a novice, an amateur. But the root of amateur is the Latin amare, meaning ‘to love.’ An amateur does something for the love of it. And when you love something, you stick with it.
“When you stick with something out of love, you grow in it and with it. Each day, truly.”

“I don’t go to literature for comfort, as a writer or as a reader — I read and write to be changed, to see anew, to revise my own thinking. Actually, change is the opposite of comfort. But change invigorates. It stretches muscles you might not have known you had. It might hurt a little, that strain, but ultimately it strengthens. 
“I want to write and read pieces that lean toward wonder and rediscovery — toward questioning rather than knowing, toward authenticity and sincerity rather than irony and cynicism. Art is a site of wonder and discover — or rediscovery. Art is a place where we might learn what we think, not a place where we teach the reader what we’ve already processed.”



“The discovery doesn’t end when the piece is published. Sometimes readers will point things out that surprise you. Sometimes you’ll be reading a piece aloud in front of an audience, and something will strike you differently. The piece isn’t static, because you aren’t static. You change, your perspective changes, your experiences pile up, and you engage with the piece differently because of it.” 

“Creativity is artistic mischief. As writers and artists, our work is play. We come to the page — to the canvas, to the stage, to the studio — with trickster energy and a sense of daring. We’re working, but we’re delighting in the work.” 

“When we create, we choose the openness, the exposure, the risk — and that takes courage and nerve.
“There is no vulnerability without courage. They travel together, and I don’t think you can create without them both.” 

“I got ordained on the Internet for the same reasons I write poems. To marry two people is an act of hope, optimism, and connection. To write is an act of hope, optimism, and connection.”

“I’ve said for years that what every writer needs is a combination of tenacity — fierce, bulldog-like tenacity — and patience. The two go hand in hand. Tenacity is stick-to-it-ive-ness: part perseverance, part stubborn persistence, part fortitude, part endurance, part determination, part mettle (I love that word: mettle), and part drive.” 

“To make things that don’t exist yet — and don’t need to exist, because that is the very definition of art — and to send them out into the world is wildly, impractically, gorgeously hopeful.
“This is my way of saying there is no creativity without hope. Creativity is inherently hopeful, and the reverse is also true: Hope is inherently creative. Hope is imaginative; it allows you to envision what might be up ahead, even when you see nothing.”

“Remember: You are a writer if you write. You’re succeeding if you answer when the idea knocks — if you let it in, and pay attention to it, and see it through. If you don’t half-ass it. WHOLE-ASS IT. Your creative life deserves all of you. The whole you.”

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

107 Days — More Than Just a Book

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

When I click on the Dictionary app at the bottom of my laptop, and search the word book, here’s what I read: 

1. “A written or printed work consisting of pages glued or sewn together along one side and bound in covers.” 

2. “A literary composition that is published or intended for publication as a book.”

So, when is a book more than a book?

When it’s 107 Days by Kamala Harris. 

And purchasing the book did not mean visiting one of my favorite independent bookstores. Instead, I purchased a ticket for “A Conversation with Kamala Harris” at The Wiltern Theater in Los Angeles, which also included a copy of the book! (The event was held just a few days ago, on Monday, September 29th.) 

I attended the event with one of my closest friends which made it even more special. Before and after the discussion, my friend and I talked about what we already knew about the book, about the heartbreak of this last presidential election, about our concern/anger/frustration/sadness/dismay at the current state of our country. 

And then, up on stage, standing before us was Madame Vice President. She talked about why she chose to write the book, even sharing that she and her husband, former Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff, had never spoken about election night until she wrote about that night for this book. 

Completely unexpected!! -- The Former Second Gentleman graciously posed for pictures shortly before the conversation began.

I consider this book to be a historic document. A primary account of an unparalleled time in our country’s history. Many years from now, my copy of 107 Days will be passed down to future generations of my family. By then, I’m sure the book will have sticky notes on many pages. Maybe notes in the margins. Maybe a sentence underlined. 

Years from now, I’ll share my memories of this time. How close our country came to doing something groundbreaking, (or ceiling-breaking, I should say). Something already being done in other countries — electing a female to the highest office in the land. 

“Kamala Harris, for the people.” 

And Monday night the people in Los Angeles were there for Kamala Harris and her book. 

Love this photo on the back cover of the book!

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

The Last Time

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
My son helped me out by editing this photo. For privacy reasons, the teacher's name has been blurred.

Somewhere, I once read about a sneaky fact of parenting; the one you didn’t realize happened, until after it happened — the phenomenon known as “The Last Time.”

For instance, the last time I held my son’s hand as we crossed the street.

Or, the last time I helped my son wiggle his feet into his socks and shoes. 

Just a few days ago, there was a last time. Though this “last time” was different because I knew it was coming. More than that, I looked forward to it. 

Last Thursday evening was the last time I will attend a Back-to-School Night. 

As a former teacher and parent, I always appreciated a parent’s attendance at school functions. At the same time, I completely understand why parents can’t always attend these important school events. (In fact, when I was teaching, if a parent missed Back-to-School Night and/or Open House, I always saved any handouts I distributed that evening, and the following day I sent them home with the student whose parents weren’t in attendance.)

So even though my son is a senior and is a strong student and there were no concerns we needed to discuss with his teachers, last Thursday evening, my husband and I attended Back-to-School Night and met seven of my son’s eight teachers. (One was absent.) We briefly chatted with each teacher and thanked them for all they do. In many instances, we were the only parents in the room. 

But oh-my-goodness I am so relieved I won’t have to do that again. Because at my son’s high school, parents follow a very strict schedule during Back-to-School Night. We spend ten minutes in each classroom and have only five minutes to get from one classroom to another. 

This means we went to our son’s first period class for ten minutes (4:00 pm – 4:10 pm) and then had only five minutes to get to my son’s second period class — located on the second floor in a different building. Now, I know I’m not going to get penalized for not being in class before the bell rings. (And yes, bells ring throughout Back-to-School Night.) But I consider it a courtesy and obligation for me to try, as hard as I can, not to be late. (You can imagine our frustration when we made it to our son’s second period class, a minute late, and found a note on the door stating the teacher’s absence.)

Which is a long-winded way of saying our son’s high school operates on an ableist mentality when it comes to Back-to-School Night. Parents are expected to be physically able to navigate the stairs, both inside and outside the buildings. 

For those who don’t know, school elevators are not easily accessible. You don’t just push the up button like you do in an office building. School elevators require a key to operate, which means you have to get in touch with a school staff member who has the key. (Only a select few have the coveted elevator key. I did have an elevator key the last few years of my teaching career.)

Remember, Back-to-School Night operates on a very tight timetable. There is no extra time built in for navigating the elevator situation. Plus, I never wanted to be a distraction, or make more work for anyone else — things I think about, things I know logically aren’t true, but they feel true to me. I wanted Back-to-School Night to be about my son and his experiences in school, not on my weak left leg and my bad knees and my invisible disability. 

Plus, I always feared someone would accuse me of not really needing an elevator. Let’s face it, I don’t look like I “need” an elevator. How best do I explain my invisible-to-others physical limitations?

Now, all that’s behind me. I made it to the finish line — The Last Time I Attended My Son’s Back to School Night. 

Pep Talks

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I’m at the halfway-ish point of Maggie Smith’s wonderful book, Dear Writer: Pep Talks and Practical Advice For the Creative Life. 

First, I must admit, I love the “Pep Talks” part of the sub-title.

Many books offer “practical advice.” Some include “Tips and tricks.” And still other books may have “Steps and suggestions.” 

But “pep talks”? That’s a new one, at least for me. (And if I’m overlooking another writing craft book offering pep talks, please, friends, let me know.)

And there will definitely be a blog post dedicated to Ms. Smith’s book once I finish reading it.

This week, at the halfway-ish point of the book, I wanted to pause and share some of Ms. Smith’s “pep talks,” because maybe you’re needing them as much as I am. 

Because, let’s be honest, most of the time, us writers aren’t working each day with someone giving us a pat on the back, or a back rub, or even a set of new file folders. (Is it just me that enjoys looking at all the stationery supplies at Dollar Tree?)

We write, not because anyone is necessarily cheerleading us on (though, that is one of the wonderful benefits of working with a Book Coach). We write, day after day, not because anyone will ask us at dinner about the progress we made on the fourth draft of the new personal essay we’re working on. 

We write simply because we have to. We have to get words down on the page — whether those words are fiction or nonfiction. Whether they rhyme or not. Whether a day’s work will stand alone or be a part of a much larger piece. 

But, it’s hard work. And I have found non-writers generally don’t understand just how hard this writing work is. Not physically hard like a landscaper, down on their knees under a fiercely bright sun. And not hard like needing an entire chalkboard to work out one math equation. (Anyone else think of the film Hidden Figures here?) 

But, still, hard. Hard because we don’t always know where the writing is going. The words I got down today may be the same words I delete four days from now in a later draft. And the words I wrote and then spoke out loud to hear the rhythm of the language may be the words some faceless person on the other side of the country will declare “not a good fit for us at this time.”

So, yes, I’ll take a pep talk. Thank you.

And if you’re needing a pep talk, or four, allow me to share some pep talks from Ms. Smith’s Dear Writer:

“Taking care of yourself is taking care of your creativity. Taking care of yourself as a whole human being is taking care of the writer in you.”

“Any piece of writing is a time capsule. It reflects the choices — and the abilities, and the limitations — of the writer we are at the time.”

“Being true to your own vision as a writer or an artist means doing your work, the work that only you can do. Your memories, your point of view, your observations and metaphors — everything about you that you bring to bear when you write — is a combination that no one else has.
“If you don’t write your poems, your stories, your plays and essays and scripts, they won’t exist. No one else can do it for you.”

“Be for you first. Create for you first. Trust your own vision.” 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

Pain Awareness Month. Again.

Posted on by Wendy Kennar
Oahu, June 2025. This is a photo of a woman in pain.

September is Pain Awareness Month.

I wrote about it last year.

I wrote about it in 2023.

I wrote about it in 2022.

I wrote about it in 2021.

I wrote about it in 2020.

You get the idea. 

Each post shares some variation of the same message:

I live with pain. Every. Single. Day. For fifteen years and counting. 

That’s why it’s called “chronic pain.” It’s long-lasting.

You never know what someone is going through just by looking at them. 

Because during those fifteen years, I have lived. I have made new friends. I have written, and published. I have traveled. I have adventured (horseback riding, hot air ballooning, parasailing – twice, zip lining). I have attended Back to School Nights and Open Houses. I have gone grocery shopping and shoe-shopping for my son. I have attended book launch events and Harlem Globetrotter games. I’ve visited museums and beaches. 

I remember meeting with a neurologist, referred to me by my neurologist-at-the-time. She thought this other doctor could look at my medical records and give us a fresh perspective with another set of eyes. 

Instead, this fresh-set-of-eyes-doctor was condescending and rude and mean. Before leaving the exam room he patted my shoulder and told me my pain really couldn’t be all that bad if I truly did all the things I told him I do each day.

And that, right there, is the purpose of Pain Awareness Month.

Those of us living with chronic pain have figured out how to navigate our days while struggling with pain that doesn’t ever completely go away. We have developed work-arounds and shortcuts when possible. We have learned to bite our tongue or clench our fists or whatever it is we do that helps us push past the limit of what we thought our bodies were capable of. 

Oahu, June 2025. Same day as the picture above. This is also a photo of a woman in pain. Notice my lips. I often do that when in pain.

Which leads me to this — please, be kind and patient and compassionate toward others. That person walking slowly in front of you could be me. Someone who is walking slowly but it’s the best she can do because each step brings a fresh jolt of pain up and down her leg. 

Or maybe it’s someone whose stomach hurts. Or their head. Or their back. Or their feet. Or their shoulder. Or their elbow. 

I could go on, but you get the idea. 

And, one more thing – this year, I wanted to end the post introducing you to an alternative way to talk about pain. Most of us have experience with the (dreaded) pain scale that depicts faces on a 1-10 scale. And if you haven’t had personal experience with this scale (wonderful for you!), it’s most likely you’ve seen it hanging on the wall in an exam room.

Christina Irene, a hidden disability advocate, speaker, and author, has developed what she calls the “Splat” system. As she writes, “Splat is a system of communication for people with chronic illnesses, mental health diagnoses, and other hidden disabilities. Our conditions are often a ‘moving target,’ meaning we never know how we’re going to feel from one day to the next. The one certainty is: Every day, we feel like we’ve been run over by something.” Check out her website where she has a whole page dedicated to the Splat system, with resources you may find helpful.

13 Artists Children Should Know

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

I’ve been packing up a bag of children’s books to donate. (In case you’re wondering, we usually donate our books to the public library, little free libraries, and Big Sunday, a wonderful organization here in Los Angeles.)

That’s how I came across my son’s copy of 13 Artists Children Should Know by Angela Wenzel. We bought this book many years ago during one of our visits to the Getty Center. And rather than immediately place the book in the donation bag, I decided to read it. It had been years since we had gone through it, and I had forgotten which artists had made the cut and were included in the book. 

Vincent van Gogh is one of the artists featured in the book. Our family likes van Gogh. He painted a series of sunflower pictures, which happen to be my favorite flower. Plus, my son not only shares his birthday with his Grandma, my mom, but also Vincent van Gogh.

Claude Monet is included. (I love his Water Lilies and have a framed print hanging in our bedroom. We also have a framed print of Impression: Sunrise, 1872; both prints were bought in Paris twenty years ago.) 

Other artists included in the book are Andy Warhol, Pablo Picasso, Leonardo da Vinci. Names we all recognize. 

Among the thirteen, only two were women — Mary Cassatt and Frida Kahlo.

(If you’re curious, the rest of the list includes: Marc Chagall, Franz Marc, Paul Klee, Henri Matisse, Jan Vermeer, and Henri Rousseau.)

And as I read through the book, I wondered — who decided which artists to include. Why these twelve? 

Likewise, why during his high school years, did my son read The Catcher in the Rye? The Great Gatsby? Romeo and Juliet? 

I’m not saying these literary pieces aren’t worthy of being read. 

But I am saying I read these same pieces of literature, in the same high school, thirty years ago.

We really need to expand the lists of artists, authors, and musicians young people “should” know. 

Do you agree? If you were putting together a book of artists, or writing a list of books to be taught in a public high school, who or what would you include? I’m really curious; feel free to share your thoughts in the comments.

By the Book

Posted on by Wendy Kennar

Earlier this week I finished reading Jasmine Guillory’s romance novel, By the Book. The novel is part of the “Meant to Be collection,” books “inspired by the classic fairy tale stories we all know and love, perfect for adult readers who crave contemporary, escapist rom-coms.” 

I’m not a big fairy tale, prince-saves-the-princess fan. 

However, I do have a soft spot for Beauty and the Beast, which serves as the inspiration for By the Book. 

Why, you may wonder, do I have a soft spot for Beauty and the Beast? 

I mean, besides the fantastic library that is such a big part of the story (or at least it was for me). 

Almost thirty years ago, my closest college friend and I went to see the live production of Beauty and the Beast here in Los Angeles. Specifically at the no-longer-there Shubert Theatre in Century City. In the front row. (Tom Bosley made eye contact with me!) On February 29, 1996. Leap Year. 

A souvenir from Beauty and the Beast

I have read, and enjoyed, a few other novels written by Jasmine Guillory. (You can read my post, The Need for Romance Novels, which features Ms. Guillory’s book, The Proposal. And this post featured Ms. Guillory’s book, Royal Holiday.)

By the Book was an absolute delight to read. And not just because it was a lovely escape-read. Or that the two main characters did finally express their love for each other. But because the book itself was also a love story of another kind — a love letter to books. 

Here are a few of my favorite passages:

“Something she barely wanted to admit to herself was that working at TAOAT had spoiled her previously uncomplicated love for books and reading. Reading used to be her greatest hobby, her source of relaxation, comfort, joy. Always reliable, always there for her.” (12)  (Note – TAOAT is the acronym for Tale as Old as Time, the New York publishing house where our female main character works as an editorial assistant.)

“I work hard at my job because I love books. I love everything about them. I love the way you can fall into another world while you’re reading, the way books can help you forget hard things in life, or help you deal with them. I love all the different shapes books come in, and the way they feel in your hand. I love seeing authors develop their idea from just a few sentences to a manuscript to an actual book that’s on the shelves, and I love the face they make when they see their name on a book cover for the first time. I love when readers discover books that felt like they were meant just for them, and they’re so happy and grateful and emotional that everyone in the room want to cry, and sometimes they all do. Those books do change lives.”

“When she found the bookstore, she walked inside, then stopped and took a long, happy breath. God, she loved that moment when she walked inside a bookstore. Books were stacked everywhere, with friendly little signs directing you to local authors or signed copies or bestsellers.” 

“At one point, she saw a book she was looking for, high up on a shelf, at least a foot or so out of her reach. But right next to it was a rolling ladder, one that could slide along the whole wall. She’d always wanted to climb up on one of those. She looked to the left and then to the right.
“ ‘I won’t tell,’ the woman behind her said.
“Izzy grinned at her and climbed up the ladder. She grabbed her book and then turned to look at the bookstore from above. It was fun up there. She should have done that years ago.
“When she finally left the bookstore, it was with two new books in her bag, a smile on her face, and warm happy feeling in her chest.” 

“She’d gone to the library with her parents, once a week, every week, when she was a little girl. It had felt like a magic place to her, full of books just waiting to be read — on shelves, in stacks, in every corner. She’d fantasized about having a place like that in her own imaginary future home, with sleeves and shelves of books, wherever you looked.” 

“Izzy slowly walked around the room, trailing her fingers over the spines and occasionally stopping to pick one up and flip through it. There was fiction, history, science, cookbooks, politics, and many shelves full of children’s books. And the best thing about them was that these books looked read. She could tell. These weren’t all brand-new books that some interior decorator had bought in bulk and arranged carefully on a shelf in some sort of order to make the room look good. As a matter of fact, many of them were in no order at all — she itched to organize them. But that also told her they were all books that had been reached for, and read, and maybe even reread. The spines were broken, the book jackets removed or a little torn, pages dog-eared. These books hadn’t just been read, they’d been loved.” 

Readers, have you read any of Jasmine Guillory’s novels? Any favorites? 

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.