Guest blogger and First Book supporter Mindy Klasky is the author of six fantasy novels, including the award-winning, best-selling The Glasswrights’ Apprentice and numerous short stories. Her latest trilogy, The Jane Madison Series, chronicles a love-struck D.C. librarian who discovers she’s a witch. Visit www.mindyklasky.com to learn more about Mindy’s work and her support of First Book.
I remember all sorts of things about school. I remember stomping through puddles on rainy days, so that our socks got wet enough that we were allowed to go barefoot for the rest of the day. I remember elaborate games that we played during recess, involving imaginary horses, pirates, and the occasional masked superhero. I remember birthday parties and other special celebrations, where we kids devoured cupcakes and juice and ran around on sugar highs.
But most of all, I remember my teachers.
I remember Mrs. Robinson, an ancient woman (she might have been all of 50!) who welcomed me to kindergarten. Within a week of class, she had me reading, sounding out the words in our giant “textbook.” (I can still picture her finger under the “m”, which was drawn to look like two little mouse bodies next to each other. I can see her pointing to the “g”, which was shaped into a girl (her ponytail formed the curlicue at the top of the letter in the formal typeface.)
I remember Mrs. Nesbitt, who first asked us to keep a journal, in second grade. She told us that she wanted us to write every day – something, anything. She promised that she would never read the pages; she would just check to see if we had held up our end of the bargain. I wrote my first poems in those journals, and I started any number of short stories.
I remember Mrs. Dolan, who insisted that we were old enough to read The Hobbit in fifth grade, despite parents who thought that the class was over-reaching. That book led me on to The Lord of the Rings, and my love of the fantasy genre.
I remember Mr. Foxworth, in seventh grade, who guided us through Frankenstein. My eyes were truly opened to symbolism, to themes in writing. (I also learned that a movie is never a substitute for a
book.)
I remember Mrs. Vaux, my twelfth grade creative writing teacher, who said that she knew I’d be writing in the future. At the time, I didn’t appreciate the certainty behind her words. I didn’t realize that she was balancing a dozen misfits in her class, finding time to reach out to each of us in a unique way, in a manner that gave us confidence to continue the projects that we began.
There were other teachers, too – men and women who taught me proper grammar, who made sure that I knew the basic canon of American and English literature. Because of those teachers, I became an English major, and ultimately a librarian. Because of those teachers, I became a novelist.
Did any of your teachers reach out to you, when you were in school?
Can you trace who you are today to any specific educator?
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