2 Favorite Children's Books: The Little Red Caboose" and "The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover"

I’ve been querying literary agents for my fantasy novel People Without Names, and while most agents ask for just a query letter OR a query letter + the first 5 pages, one literary agent asked for several more things like naming a favorite book from my childhood.

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Now, you would think I could recall this instantly if it was a favorite.

You would think, “This is easy! You’re a writer. You read books. You’ve been reading since you were kid. NOW WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BOOK FROM CHILDHOOD?”

You would think.

It took a few weeks to come up with an answer.

At first, I thought I just had a hard time remembering my childhood. But I think I had a hard time wanting to remember my childhood. Thing is: it’s not like children’s books are traumatic for me. Maybe it’s more like I’ve practiced selectively remembering parts of my childhood that I feel are safe — and so there are other parts I haven’t practiced remembering that may or may not be traumatic. This is all a theory, and whether the theory is correct doesn’t actually matter to me. I just thought you should know.

So, getting back to how I answered the literary agent.

Favorite book of my childhood?

It’s an even split between

The Little Red Caboose (by Marian Potter and illustrated by Tibor Gergely)

and

The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover (by Jon Stone and illustrated by Michael Smollin)

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The first book was read to me often as a bedtime story, because I asked my father a lot. When I think of it now, it makes me appreciate how my father read to me after working a long shift at the hospital. And those days, he definitely did. I remember not seeing him much.

And so I appreciate my mother for raising me and my brother and the endless tasks that go with maintaining a house and little human beings.

The story of The Little Red Caboose escapes me. I vaguely remember that he wasn’t viewed as powerful as the locomotive but that he does save the day — to the surprise of everybody and himself. I did some Internet searching and found that the protagonist contributes to the solution by being himself, not more, not less.

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The second book — The Monster at the End of This Book: Starring Lovable, Furry Old Grover — I remember reading by myself. Even back then, I was amazed by the high concept of this meta, self-referential book in which I, the reader, had an active role in determining whether Grover and I would face the monster at the end of the book.

Every mischievous turn of the page was delightful and funny. This book was really ahead of its time and demonstrated that children's books could innovate and disrupt established form — as we expect fine art to do.

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No idea how my these 2 children’s books will impact my query to the literary agent.

I just know I told the truth to the best of my abilities.

That’s all anyone can do.

What speaks to you is already next to you

Messages — for our career, our writing, our life, our everything — are everywhere. On concrete. On metal. On street corners. The choice we face every moment: am I willing to pay attention?

My mindfulness teacher, Deborah Eden Tull, says that giving ourselves the gift of our full attention is the subtlest form of self-love. Below are messages I stopped to pay attention to a few weeks ago in Mar Vista, West Los Angeles. I invite you to take the time to stop and notice what’s already around you — speaking to you.

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"I didn't know bunnies made mac and cheese."

So said the supermarket cashier after I claimed my night was “all right.” She had just scanned five boxes of Annie’s Shells & White Cheddar, each with a rabbit poking out of the brand logo. I smiled genuinely — I did appreciate her joke — and writing this now, I appreciate her fresh perspective and her attempt to bring some light to me.

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This cosmic playground offers up kindness and compassion to see and receive…when we’re ready to see and receive them. You and I have wireless connectivity to a source of lightness — even in the darkest moods. And yes, that WiFi signal can feel nonexistent during those times, but you can feel a hint of it in areas where it’s stronger. And when you’re ready (at your own pace, not anyone else’s), you can keep following it. You might just discover that rabbits make macaroni and cheese.

“And these are the winning game pieces” was the last thing “Suzy R.” (according to my receipt) said handing me the blue pieces for Monopoly, played every year by grocery store shoppers like myself. Walking out of Pavilions as a winner, I produced my second smile in an hour.

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