Why It All Matters

Allow me to stray slightly off-topic -- though of course, it's all connected -- to why writing and reading matter.

Though the reasons seem obvious, articulating them off the top of one's head can lead to mental stuttering. Why else does the question arise perennially? Think of all those writers trying to justify spending so many hours of their lives playing with words that may -- or may never -- be read, never mind generate any income. Or for that matter, readers explaining to their partner, parent, or maybe even boss, why they wasted an entire afternoon reading a novel when they could have been doing something productive. On an institutional level, librarians are routinely asked to clarify why taxpayers should support and even encourage consumption of all that writing. Information is okay, but that made-up stuff -- who needs it?

Turns out, we all do.

Those of us who love to read and write already know this instinctively. But two recent articles provide scientific evidence that reading is measurably good for us. And not just informational reading, but fiction.

An article in the Science section of The Guardian reports that a study at Emory University found "reading a good book may cause heightened connectivity in the brain and neurological changes that persist in a similar way to muscle memory." These neurological changes persisted, as measured by brain scans taken for five days after students finished reading a page-turner novel. Not only does reading an engaging piece of fiction transport us imaginatively, but it improves our brain functioning!

I can't tell you how much I love this.

In October Science published an article titled "Reading Literary Fiction Improves Theory of Mind," which they define as "understanding others' mental states" and identify as "a crucial skill that enables the complex social relationships that characterize human societies." In other words, reading literary fiction develops empathy. Anyone think the world could use more of that?

Then I came across the poem "Hospital Writing Workshop" by Rafael Campo (thanks to Poem-A-Day on Poets.org). Because both my daughters work directly in the trenches of the medical system, and because of the incursion of cancer into my household this past year, this poem hit home more than many. Campo, a practicing physician, writes in his note about the poem, "I have witnessed first hand the power of writing poetry in abetting healing -- poetry is able to name when the diagnosis eludes us, it calls us into community when symptoms makes (sic) us feel isolated or alone or even silenced, it engenders empathy when the doctor would distance himself -- it even allows us to transcend our mortality by creating something that endures on the page long after we're gone."

Healing, empathy (again), community, transcendence -- all resulting from words put together in writing and reading.

So the next time someone brings up the subject of why reading and writing matter, consider forgoing the usual arguments about literacy as an essential foundation for successful democracy and economic prosperity; or success in school; or even improved reading scores. Explain that reading and writing are necessary for brain development, empathy, healing, community, and transcendence. In short, for living -- and dying -- well.

Christmases Past: The Best and Worst

I’ve often wondered why two of my nine books are about Christmas, a high percentage considering the number of topics to write about or even the number of holidays in a year. Just the other day it hit me: one was inspired by my best Christmas ever and the other, by my worst!

The ideas for both came directly out of life events. My best Christmas ever was in 1987, just a week after my second daughter was born. Presents and much of the usual Christmas folderol (which I dearly love) fell by the wayside as I basked (groggily – she wasn’t a sleeper) in the glow of tending my new baby. Waiting for Noël started with those emotions, a mix of joy and gratitude and contentment that gradually took on larger meaning.

When Posey Peeked at Christmas, published many years later, is about my worst Christmas ever. That was the year I peeked, not just at one or two presents, but at every single gift under the tree with my name on it. I don’t know which year it was. Ironically, I don’t even remember the presents. What stuck with me is an awful feeling of overwhelming dismay, as it dawned on me that surprises are half the fun – and sharing, the other. That Christmas I learned the hard way that relationships and process are more important than things.

In both cases, it was the emotions that not only lasted, but motivated me to write. As writers, we often fuss over plot and characterization, voice and metaphor, details of word choice and syntax and even grammar. But isn’t it the emotions that truly drive us onward, propelling us into and through a story?

Wasting My Talents?

As well as being a writer, I am a librarian. Last week school started around here, always a frenetic time for school librarians. But off and on, when I’ve had a moment to think, I’ve been considering something a neighbor recently said.


We were chatting at our local Farmers Market. When I mentioned that I was preparing to go back to work, she said, “You’re wasting your talents.”


The librarian side of my brain did a jaw-drop. The writer side did, too.


I’ve always had this professional split-personality situation. Even when I’m writing, part of me thinks like a librarian. When I’m working as a librarian, I’m also thinking – and using my abilities -- as a writer.


I consider both professions to be honorable and high callings with plenty of room for overlap. In my work as a school librarian, I get to read new books as well as classics in a variety of genres and formats. I also get to hear unvarnished reactions to these books, straight from the mouths of their young readers. Together we read stories, write stories, tell stories, share poetry, and seek out interesting (and reliable) information.


Am I wasting my talents? Come on in to my library when the kids are there. Observe them absorbed in a story we’re reading aloud. Witness their excitement at finding a new book by an author they love or about a subject they can’t get enough of. Listen to students insist that their friends Look at this! Watch them drag a buddy by the shirtsleeve to recommend a great book they’ve discovered. (Occasionally it’s even one of mine.)


These moments don’t just happen. I facilitate the serendipity by choosing good books, promoting them, and matching them with my students’ interests. I don’t make kids read; I make them want to read. (Okay, I do make them learn the Dewey Decimal System.)

Raven, Little Red, and Pinocchio enjoy
 a good book.

In my book (any of them), sharing my love for reading, literature, and learning is never a waste of my time and talents. It’s a joy.