Books and movies offer unique advantages and challenges when it comes to storytelling. They each appeal to different preferences and engage audiences in different ways. Novels, for instance, leave more room for imagination as readers visualize characters and scenes at their own pace and from their own perspectives. Movies, on the other hand, provide specific visual interpretations that unfold in real-time, producing emotional engagement that is often immediate and visceral. When novels are adapted into movies, significant changes inevitably occur, leading many to conclude that "the book was better." While this is often the case, there are many fine examples where the original source material inspired not only good movies but all-time classics. 

I am a reader, writer, and professor specializing in memoir writing. I think every single person has a fascinating life. But, when writing it down, it can be difficult to find a narrative structure that allows the story to feel as unique as the human being writing it. I am drawn to memoirs that have fresh, creative ways of organizing their material—memoirs that go beyond or subvert the conventional, straightforward, chronological approach. After all, our memories are often scattered, fragmented, interrupted, non-linear, or just bizarre; memoirs that capture not only the person’s lived experience but also the messiness of memory itself feel more powerful and true to me. 

I’ve enjoyed dark fiction ever since I picked up Dracula for school. But I mostly avoided crime and thriller fiction. I couldn’t relate to a rogue detective with an alcohol problem or an FBI agent on the heels of the next Hannibal Lector. Police procedural books just aren’t my thing. But then Gone Girl came out and changed the genre. The domestic suspense subgenre has exploded over the last decade, and now there’s an abundance of books centered around the dangers within our family and friendship circle. And isn’t that the scariest part of life? Serial killers are rare, but domestic violence is, unfortunately, not rare. Where is more dangerous than in our own homes?

As a young girl, I thought I was a tomboy—or I wanted to be one, because the image of a “normal” girl was far too pink and frothy and shallow for my tastes. For me, being a tomboy was less about being boy-like than being unable to claim the markers of femininity. As a historian of women and girls, I wondered how young women saw their futures in this modernizing America, with its True Women and New Women and the opening of advanced education. Did tomboys grow into the rebels who changed the world? Or, like the tomboys in so many fictional stories, did they renounce their assertive sense of self upon marriage and motherhood?

I am a teacher, writer, mother, and grandmother who sees the debilitating effects of meanness and the healing effects of kindness daily. In case that isn’t reason enough for writing A Flood of Kindness, I’m also what some call “A Floodie.” Like my character’s home flooded, so did mine. As devastating as it was, the kindness of others was overwhelming. I spent time with children whose homes also flooded. Aside from losing material things, it is easy to feel powerless. Like myself, I found that the children began their healing when they were able to give back, even in very small ways. I knew this had to be my book. 

As I child I wanted to know the information that was withheld from me. What were the adults whispering about? What were they hiding? Secrets, things that are hidden, have a way of shaping the lives around them, a dark space that exerts a presence, even though it isn’t seen. I thought if I found out the secret, maybe my family, and the world, would make sense. Breaking Out of Bedlam is my version of my grandmother’s story, based on the whispers I heard and a few faint clues—a newspaper clipping, a Bible, and a baby’s sock. More than that, it’s an explanation for the silence in my family, for my grandmother’s bitterness, her drug abuse, and depression.

I've been an editorial cartoonist and author of children's books for years, and I've always wanted to try my hand at a graphic novel. I'd want to explore this art form even if I didn't have kids. Editorial cartoons deal with serious, heavy issues. Comic strips can get monotonous, and picture books tend to skew young. Graphic novels for kids, however, are 'Goldilocks' projects for me—just right. They allow you to imagine incredible adventures for your characters, they give you an excuse to incorporate wacky humor, and the format provides a chance to have fun with art and design. What's not to love?

Figuring out who we are, figuring out our identity and where we fit in the scheme of things is one of the great themes in our lives, and in literature. In my life, I’ve gone through many identity crises, some recounted in my memoirs. These are five books that had a profound effect on me—sometimes emotionally, sometimes psychologically, and sometimes led me to think differently about my own life. In all of these books, characters have to make decisions, face struggles, and figure out who they are and how to find themselves and their authentic identity. 

“Everyone’s got something,” my mom used to say about my cerebral palsy. I knew kids who wore glasses or had mouthfuls of metal, but those somethings seemed normal compared to my leg brace, my limp, and my inability to run. When Judy Blume’s Deenie came out on my eleventh birthday, it was the very gift I needed: the story of a girl, a diagnosis, a brace. Reading it, I felt seen and understood, which led me to believe I might have a story to tell. Now, I’m thrilled to share these books by disabled authors about disabled kids leading authentic, relatable lives. I had Deenie. Today’s lucky young readers have these.

For as long as I can remember, my parents answered any/all of my questions about the body, puberty, and sex; often giving me more information than I actually wanted! So when friends asked me questions, I was always eager to pass on my knowledge. Who knew that years later, it would land me a master’s degree in public health (MPH), jobs in sexuality health education, and a passion for writing about human reproduction and family formation? Plus, I have personal experience on the topic: I come from a three-generation family created through adoption and foster care; and overcame the trials and tribulations of infertility with the use of assisted reproduction.