It’s a funny thing.
You’re past the age where peers make fun of you for reading “kid” books. Now you walk into the children’s section, 23, and you scan the shelves. What looks good today?
A ten year old girl gives you the strangest look. You are not a Mom.
And yet you scan the books. I know, I know.
The librarian looks over at you, a charming smile masking her complete confusion. “Can I help you find something?” she says.
Ah. A single phrase covering manifold subtexts. What are you doing here? Are you lost? Did someone send you here for an assignment? Because… you know… adults don’t read Middle Grade.
On the contrary. You read Middle Grade like popping peanuts.
And you just smile. Because right now it sounds too pretentious, like an air-head wannabe. Oh, yeah! I’m going to be a bestselling MG author soon! You don’t use those words with librarians. You save them for the magical day when you’re on their shelves.
“I’m a novelist.”
We write this stuff.