When The Critics are Knee-High and Brutal
© 2003, Janet Lorimer

      The critic fairly bristled with indignation. "Did you see how long it took that lady to read that story to us?" she exclaimed. "Boy, that was a long story."
      "That story" was The Biggest Bubble in the World, the picture storybook I'd just had published--a tome of 30 pages, including illustrations. My outraged critic was a three-year-old. She barely came up to my knee, but her observation put me squarely in my place.
      It was my first lesson in the "rules" of public speaking to the peanut-butter-and-cracker set: Never, ever allow yourself to be scheduled as a speaker just before lunch; you'll find yourself addressing a "killer" crowd.
      And never, ever allow your program to run into Sesame Street. Believe me, if it comes right down to you or the Cookie Monster, it's the furry blue dude who'll win their votes every time.
      If you write for children and receive any local publicity, chances are you'll be invited to speak to groups of kids -- in classrooms, at libraries, to their organizations. For your efforts you probably won't be paid, but you will receive crayon drawings, school photos, flowers (slightly wilted from being clutched too long in hot, sweaty little hands), and thank-you notes from readers who frequently sign themselves "Your Number 1 Fan." And you will undoubtedly have a heck of a good time.
      However, before you embark as a speaker on the classroom circuit, here are a few things to remember:

  • Preschoolers have an attention span of a full nanosecond. They're at their best and their brightest for the first hour of the morning. After that, things deteriorate the closer you get to Recess and Snack.

  • Never, ever let anyone schedule your appearance just before Snack. It's more sacred than lunch. Small children are like armies; they travel on their stomachs. You could have written the most brilliant, most popular book in the whole world, but interfere with Snack Time and you'll be as popular as a member of Congress following a midnight pay-raise vote. I learned this the hard way. There I was, on a roll, answering questions brilliantly, until one small hand shot up. I waited breathlessly for what I was certain would be a fantastic question. What I got was a statement from a child paying more attention to the clock than me. "Our snacks are here," he announced firmly. Unspoken: "You have to go. Now." I went.

  • Kindergarteners have slightly longer attention spans, long enough to ask questions. Be prepared, however, for more statements than questions. If someone asks about using a computer for writing, for example, a dozen hands will go up. "My Mom has a computer." "I have a computer." "I'm getting a computer for Christmas." There's a subtle one-upmanship going on here that really has nothing to do with you. Go with the flow; admire everyone's computer statement.

  • Once the kids hit primary grades, they want to know where you get your ideas, how long it takes to write a book, and how many children you have. They're astonished to discover that there's a writer living in their town, because everyone knows all writers live in New York or Los Angeles. And they're curious. Do you have a life outside writing? What does it entail? Do you, for instance, have a lawn that needs mowing, pets that need bathing, furniture that needs dusting? Watch them struggle as they try to equate Writer with Human Being Who Puts On Pants, One Leg At A Time. The thank-you notes you receive afterwards are probably the result of a lesson on how to correctly format a letter. If it all seems a bit regimented, don't despair. One of my most priceless letters came from a little girl in Special Ed who'd never written a full page before. Her struggles were evident in the erasure marks, but the glow in her face, when she handed me her letter, spoke volumes. I treasure that letter to this day.

  • At the intermediate level, they're getting sophisticated and smart-mouthed. The brighter the kid, the more outrageous the question. "What kind of car do you drive?" "How much money do you make?" "How's your sex life?" (No joke! And the answer to that one is, "If you have to ask, you're not part of it." You must learn to give as good as you get.)

  • If you're invited to speak to high schoolers, 10 to 1 it's an English class and an honors group to boot. These kids are looking ahead to careers, possibly in writing, but they may be idealistic enough to think that all publishers are altruistic, all editors seek great literature, and royalty checks come on time. Be gentle.

    •       Despite their brutal honesty, my favorites are still the knee-high set. I'll never forget the four-year-old who asked me what an author was. I explained that an author is a writer. He heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's what an author is," he exclaimed. "I always thought an author was some kind of animal."
          Well....