October 15, 2018
Getting ready for a blog tour is a bit like packing for a road trip. Make a list. Check things off. But instead of “toothbrush” and “phone charger” the list goes something like this:
Video featuring wicked cute dog? Check. Three top 10 lists? Check. Questions about dinosaurs, writing process and fifth graders, all answered? Check.
Many thanks to JeanBookNerd for hosting the tour. Come check it out! There’ll be 10 stops in 10 days between October 15 and October 26, with 10 chances to win a copy of Finchosaurus!
October 4, 2018
Join me at JeanBookNerd from October 15-26 for my blog tour. There will be questions, there will be answers, and there will be giveaways!
August 14, 2018
The Kirkus review of Finchosaurus is in and I share it here with gratitude and a big YIPPEE.
“A 10-year-old wannabe paleontologist finds his life transformed after unearthing a buried message… An amusing, empowering tale that should appeal especially to middle schoolers with abundant energy.” — Kirkus Review
Read the full review
April 28, 2018
Funnest. Not really a word, I know. But that’s the word to describe the moment an author sees how an artist illustrated their book. Thank you, Amy Preveza, for creating this cover! And thank you, Betsy Bird, for unveiling it!
Finchosaurus will be published in October by Islandport Press but you can reserve a copy now from IndieBound, Barnes & Noble or Amazon.
February 22, 2018
photo by Cynthia Farr-Weinfeld
What would you do if you unearthed a note with the single word HELP on it?
If you’re Finch Martin, whose dream is to uncover a dinosaur fossil and name a new species after himself, you don’t stop digging until you get to the bottom of the story.
“Finchosaurus,” my newest middle-grade novel, will be published by Islandport Press in October 2018.
January 25, 2018
Photo: Steve Weigle drives the bookmobile for Portland Public Library.
I read a book I loved and looked up the author. Big mistake. What? He was born a year after me and he’s published 50 books! Then I remembered: quantity wasn’t the important thing. I recalled what Nancy Werlin said in an interview with Cynthia Leitich Smith:
There’s a sort of fable I tell myself. I imagine that a single reader has picked up one of my books for free at the city dump. The book has lost its cover and front matter, so that there’s no sign of my name anywhere. The reader reads the book. The reader loves the book—for a while, it’s her favorite and her friend. She never knows who I am, and I never know about her. And let’s suppose further that this is the only reader there ever is, for that book. Let’s say that nobody else ever liked it. But for this one reader, for whatever reason, this was the book. In terms of my purpose in the world, this has to be enough.
I love that—the idea that if even one reader loved your book, that’s enough. And I’m lucky, because my books have been that book for some kids. The book. And I actually know about it, thanks to their grown-ups. One friend told me my first book was her granddaughter’s favorite, the one that helped her discover she liked reading. Another friend said my second book was his daughters’ go-to read-aloud.
And Steve Weigle, my coworker at Portland Public Library, told me about the boy on the bookmobile. Over and over, the boy climbs up the big steps of the bookmobile and asks for my third book, “The Waffler.” He’s already read it. But he wants to read it again.
Do I wish my books were best-sellers? Sure! But what if that wasn’t a choice? What if the only choice was between not being a writer, and writing a book that only one kid would read? But it would the book for that kid. Would I choose to do all that work for a single reader? One boy on a bookmobile?
In a single heartbeat.
April 8, 2015
Thirty-odd hands waved in the air. They were the hands of Mr. Custeau’s and Ms. Butcher’s fourth-grade class at Hall Elementary, answering my question, “how many of you have seen a toddler crying at the top of their lungs?” Everybody. Next question: “how many have seen a grown-up doing the same thing?” No hands. Because somewhere along the way, we learn not to cry in public.
I write for young readers in-between the wailing toddler and the keeping-it-together adult, for seven to eleven-year-olds who feel deeply that sometimes life just isn’t fair! Because I remember how that felt. If you’ve ever felt that way, too, my books are for you.