Stumbling Forward
When I end up in conversation with aspiring authors, an unspoken implication is often woven into the questions they ask. In essence: “You must have followed some kind of plan. How did you come up with your plan?” Time after time, the news I’m forced to report back from the frontier is that—for me, at least—there is no plan, and never has been. What there has been, is a series of instances of wanting to write something and share it with an audience, and then stumbling forward from there like a blind elephant with a trick knee.
Sure, I’ve learned a few things along the way about self-publishing, knowledge that I’m glad to share. But I rarely have more than a vague notion of what I might write next, and even when I think I do, both the circumstances I find myself in and the work itself have a way of taking those decisions out of my hands (as the introduction to The Remembering admits, “This isn’t the book I meant to write, but apparently it’s the one I was meant to write”).
The previous three posts traced the threads of the “stumbling forward” process that led to the book we’re here to unveil. To recap:
1. My mother wrote 17 children’s books—which is a big reason why I couldn’t imagine myself ever writing one.
2. While experiencing a series of losses—two parents and three cats in five years—I became more acutely aware of the way writing helps me to process grief.
3. After completing a first draft of a children’s book starring the aforementioned three cats, intended as a gift for our grandchildren, I got stuck, because I didn’t have a clue how to go about identifying and approaching an illustrator for the project. Enter kismet, in the form of a talented friend of many years who is both a graphic designer and a visual artist, and who, within a few weeks of my getting stuck, announced on social media her new ambition to become—no, seriously—an illustrator of children’s books.
Writing that last paragraph makes me want to go buy a lottery ticket. But anyway.
Without further adieu, I’m truly delighted to present The Adventures of Lucca & Tirah: Into the Great Wood, a 28-page full-color illustrated storybook for early readers (ages 6-9), with story and text by me and beautiful illustrations and layout by my friend and collaborator Angela Caldwell. Here is the book’s official description:
“Rumbly tumbly” black cat Lucca and curious, nimble grey tabby Tirah live with their humans in a house on the edge of town, next to a forest that the cats have named The Great Wood. When Lucca spies an intruder in their yard, they investigate and discover there are creatures in the Great Wood besides mice and birds. When they encounter a wild cat who hunts for food and sleeps in the trees, they learn an important lesson about how someone can be very different from them and yet also very much the same.
The Adventures of Lucca & Tirah began as a way to immortalize our three departed feline family members by making them the lead characters in a story designed to entertain our grandchildren, who grew up playing with the cats and getting to know their distinct, memorable personalities. The book took on a fresh dimension as the story itself came together—a gentle tale about fear of the unknown and the challenges of making friends, that’s also an allegory about prejudice.
One final thought. If the format of the title and subtitle suggest to you that this book could potentially be the first in a series—that is, for once, by design rather than by accident. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all these years of stumbling forward, it’s to always be open to the possibilities.
For now, though, I hope you, and any young readers you may know, will enjoy The Adventures of Lucca & Tirah: Into the Great Wood!
Kent Glenzer
Yeats, I think, had one of the most succinct (and acerbic) bits of advice to young wanna-be writers. Something like, "Great writers write because they have to, not because they want to." Always has stuck with me.