We approached New York, guided by a GPS and car horns. This was to be the last leg of my tour but was already proving to be the most animated.

Central Park

People watching in Central Park lived up to expectations. I was elated to see fur coats, horn rimmed sunglasses and ladies schlepping Pomeranians in handbags. One lady in particular stood out; she was quite elderly with a shock of white hair and was wearing an orange quilted parka over orange pants. She gave the impression of a single scoop vanilla cone. Accompanying her was large dog, also orange coloured, but I’m sure he was natural. I had noticed them both on several occasions during my walk and wondered whether her delightfully boisterous dog was a little deaf … never mind. Then we came face to face on the path when her dog promptly sat on my foot and looked up at me with the face of a seal waiting for a fish. We fell into conversation and I pointed to the very long queue outside the American Museum of Natural History, where we had planned to spend the day.

Now, when a stranger offers to take you to a secret way into a museum, do you go? The answer is always ‘Hell Yes’. If your significant other is making ‘that’ face he or she makes, it is still ‘Hell Yes’. I’ve had much more experience following strangers, ‘so this is my area of expertise, pumpkin!’

The lady in orange gestured for us to follow and I marched briskly alongside with my disbeliever in tow, through the park entrance and over the avenue. We passed by the tail of the long queue and went down the flank of the building to the planetarium entrance. If we went in here, the lady explained, we could buy tickets to the museum and go on through–no queue. In fact it was virtually empty.

We waved goodbye, bought our tickets and with a sense of personal victory began the marathon of the Natural History Museum.

Meeting My Agent

I had previously communicated with my agent by email and phone but now I was to meet in person.

I intended arriving bearing a gift and even considered a beautiful iris in a pot, but then I thought the better of it. I was still getting used to the subway.

I eventually stood at entrance of her apartment building explaining myself to the doorman when it dawned on me, that I’ve never known someone whose apartment had a doorman.

I suppose there is always some apprehension at a first business meeting, but this was different. There was cheese on the table and art on the wall that Ronnie had herself painted so this would definitely go well. If only there weren’t so many topics and so short a time.

Ronnie and Me.

After a very pleasant dinner with Ronnie and her husband, we said our goodbyes and strolled down Central Park Avenue. It was late and the sidewalk was empty but for a handful of French speaking people deep in their coats and hats. We found our way down onto the subway platform. It was a typical tiled wall cavern, which seemed to have changed very little since built. Only the tiles were softened by some layers of paint and residue.

As we stood waiting, the arched stairwell began to fill with noise of a large group who began to file down. It was the French speakers we had seen earlier. They looked up and down the platform and then formed a loose circle around a bearded man who held his hand up. Complete silence followed… and then they began to sing. It was a French folk song, complex and beautiful. They had obviously rehearsed a lot and full of confidence they sang. Some smiled, some strolled a little around the perimeter of the group, one lady faced us as she sang, enjoying our stupefied faces.
A faint rumble began to intrude, announcing a train’s imminent arrival. Hearing this, the bearded conductor quickened the pace, and then some more, so that the song drew to a complete and sudden close just as the train pulled in. We clapped quite wildly as they bundled on the train … and then … that was it, an empty station with just the two of us. I’ve tried quite hard to remember the tune but can’t, of course. C’est la vie, but what an incredible thing to have witnessed.

Bank Street Book Store

The day before my story time, I stopped in to meet the staff at Bank Street Book Store. It was a good thing I did, as I got to see the amazing Alva read to a group of children. By read, I mean take a book and put on a one woman stage show; she read, she sang, she acted her way, she even managed to play the tambourine, all with aplomb which ended in a smothering of hugs and smiles. I could now see why story time is over subscribed at Bank Street.

Alva was to introduce my own story time reading the following day, and I was very much looking forward to that. Then on the day I duly showed up with books and art gear ready only to find that Alva could not make it. My moment of anxiety at replacing her soon evaporated as Andy the shop proprietor took story time instead. While he may not have some of Alva’s moves, he boomed that story out. I can still repeat some of the lines. There is fabulous energy created when a book is read aloud and performed as these folks do twice a week, year in year out.

It was a lovely group of parents, nannies and children present that day and I have to say I was glad of the opportunity to be in a store whose focus is solely children’s books. The staff engage in a unique creative way with the kids and proffer expert advice to the grownups. I just loved this store and highly recommend a visit should you be in the neighborhood.

The Publisher

I arrived good and early for my meeting at Random House, so that I could sit down to fidget. It turned out to be a most wonderful place to wait for an appointment.

The bookshelves flanking the foyer are set into the walls, crammed with original copies of many classics.

It created an odd atmosphere when I walked up to the shelves and looked at the books through the glass. There was that immediate impulse and shock of recognition, ‘Hey, that’s my old book!’ … set in a space so modern and sparse, impressive and very public. I found myself pointing animatedly at cover images I had not seen since childhood. It was eerie, like seeing items from your household in a museum; strange and out of context. The memory attached to books is so personal after all.

I was however here to meet Frances Gilbert the editor of Rose and the Wish Thing. Soon I was sitting in her office – Random House New York. My book was sitting on top of her desk which I am certain she positioned as a courtesy, but I wanted to pretend it lived there … if only for this meeting. We talked at length about industry stuff; paper stock, Bologna Book Fair and so forth. How much would you have to pay for such an audience I thought. I sat there asking questions and trying to sound knowledgeable (and not get caught out) when Frances invited me to draw on the illustrator’s wall. Now this is my element … drawing on office walls.

There I stood, illustrating among works of some of the great illustrators and me taking up as much New York real estate as I could manage.

After I was done doodling, we spent a couple of hours in conversation about books, and the telling of stories. The one that sticks in my mind was of our shared experience, migrant childhood.

As for Frances, I’ll quote from her Facebook Page, because it is both eloquent and flattering.

Amazing Art

When you visit a major venue like the Museum of Modern Art for the first time, you come away with many impressions and a few surprises. I had not expected to see the very famous Frida Kahlo. It was tiny, but the frame was an extraordinary choice and made the painting a jewel in a jagged red and mirrored glass setting. I loved that. But I was perplexed at not finding a Calder sculpture, you know, one of those big steel things with the mobiles on top.

But this is New York and as fate would have it, I was walking our host’s dogs past Gramercy Park one morning when I noticed some familiar shapes in primary colours suspended over the trees. In the middle of the park was a Calder which I now hurried towards only to be met by a pair of tall locked gates. I was rattling these in the hope of getting in when a couple appeared on the other side. They explained that this was a private park, which they had snuck into and now couldn’t get out. We laughed at one another through the bars and I walked on leaving the couple to their fate. A Calder locked in a private paradise … or perhaps an artistic spider’s web?

Barnes and Noble Princeton

It was not looking promising for my last official engagement of the trip as I sat in the Barnes and Noble, Princeton car park watching the cold teeming rain. Inside folks were milling about, with the usual cluster in the coffee shop. There we sat down and had a fairly indecently large slice of cheesecake.

Story time was announced over the PA, and then from somewhere among the seemingly endless maze of bookshelves on the shop floor, a group of parents and children emerged much to my relief. It was pretty much as Stevie our store guide had described it, ‘they would come in – on the dot.’ We had the benefit of a dedicated part of the store, child size stools, pencils and colouring paper. We had a reading and then quite a bit of free drawing time on the easel.

I noticed once again as on every other occasion, people really are very keen to get their children involved with books. It was a heartening experience. I wanted to visit a variety of stores and museums on this trip but in truth had reservations about how motivated the major chains would be. But here the size of Barnes and Noble was of no issue as it functioned as a hub for the community and we all had a wonderfully fun time.

Best of all was a spontaneous hug from a very small girl who seemed to have enjoyed the drawing session, a lot. Colour me happy.

Last Paragraph

There are many aspects to a creative pursuit. The filters of editing, publishing, sales, marketing, reviews, bookstores etc, etc must all be heeded, trusted and fought with as well.

It is often a fraught journey, so on a personal note I would like to acknowledge my hosts in Manhattan, Amanda, Ross and Alex. Having you in my corner was, as always, invaluable.

The view from my Manhattan bedroom window… and my other host in New York – Lucy.

Lastly for this journey I would like to add that I will be eternally indebted to Sheila, John and Joshua of the Children’s Writer’s Guild for publishing my ramblings here.