Lit for Kids

by introspekdt123

ok, ok, ok, I have some admitting to do. It would only be fair to start here, I love and when I say love,I do mean LOVE like sunshine on a fall day with cider and donuts, love children’s literature. So much so that it has become a dream to see my name plastered on the cover of one of the most colorful picture books unimagined all the while it magically flies off the shelf and amidst a child’s gleaming eyes. Repeatedly. I really do love those things.

Just recently I discovered Ezra Jack Keats, an all-time legend in the children’s book arena. He was incredibly revered and has a lengthy vitae to prove it. His work is timeless and for a writer, a good writer, that is the outstanding goal to be and remain essential.

Even as I have “discovered” Mr. Keats I have also other highly notable artist in the children’s literature forum. Eva Bunting is another and her works are equally doting and inspiring. My recent read was “Smoky Night” and when I say the book was momentous it was that and integral. Ms. Bunting does an incogitable job of sharing a child’s mind in the face of tragedy. From her thorough explanations of why chaos is inviting for some to what must be done to watch it blow over, this story offers a hearty dose of wisdom to adults and children alike.

These are just two examples. I have hundreds. Most stemming from my childhood, others from the times I shared with my older two suns and most recently the joy I am sharing with my soon to be 9 month old. All in all, children’s literature was invented by the child inside adults and oppositely so. That’s my take and I am sticking to it. I can’t help but indulge.