Rebranding future books under a new imprint

The past three years have been devoted to work on The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill. First writing it, then rewriting … and rewriting … and editing … and rewriting … and editing … and …

You get the picture.

But there has been more going on behind the scenes than just novel writing. In between rounds of editing and revising, I had to make an important decision about the next step: Do I pitch the manuscript to an agent in pursuit of traditional publishing, or do I continue on my path of independent publishing?

Even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer deep down. I was already making plans to hire an artist for cover art, and renewing my Adobe Creative Cloud subscription for layout, and mentally logging design elements I liked in other middle grade novels. I began planning a release date and jotting marketing campaign notes on slips of paper that I later misplaced.

As much as I love the writing process as an author, I equally love — or dare I say, moreso love? — the production process of designing and crafting a book. That is just as much an art as writing, and one I find immensely satisfying.

My first foray into independent publishing was with Sarah & Katy and the Imagination Blankets, which I published through CreateSpace. As I waded into the self-publishing industry for the first time, I didn’t immediately register my own imprint. However, for Sarah & Katy and the Book of Blank, I created JSB Independent Books.

Why I’m changing the name

JSB Independent Books was a brand that didn’t have a lot of thought or meaning behind it — I simply created it so the publisher wouldn’t be listed as CreateSpace, which serves only as the print-on-demand service and not as the publisher or copyright holder. The name of the imprint was derived from my initials — Julie Stroebel Barichello.

When I made the choice to continue independent publishing with The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill, I decided it was also time to seriously consider branding a new personal imprint for future projects. While JSB Independent Books wasn’t a terrible banner to fly over my work, it also wasn’t strong. I discovered my typewriter key logo looked uncomfortably similar to Little, Brown and Company’s logo. The initials JSB also aren’t unique in the literary world. A Chicago-based author and illustrator publishes under the name JSB. Then there’s author James Scott Bell, who writes books on writing and has a page on his website named JSB’s Books on Writing. There’s author J.S.B. Morse. And let’s not overlook the wholesale book dealer JSB Books LLC in Arkansas.

The market feels a little congested with fellow JSBs. That led to several weeks of searching for an idea for a new imprint name. One that reflected myself as a writer and my work.

Inspiration for the new imprint

As a middle grade author, I searched my mental archive of my own middle grade years, searching for a piece of inspiration. Something that summarized my grade school and junior high life. What element of my youth could be a unique publishing name? What could encapsulate who I am as a writer? What was I interested in back then? Who was I back then?

The answer to that last question is remarkably obvious. I was a Stroebel.

That one word — that past identity — took root in my mind. Even though there are several authors with the surname Stroebel (and the alternative spelling Strobel), a quick Google search didn’t find any publishing companies with a similar name. And Stroebel summarizes so much my childhood self. There were other Julies in my school, but the only Stroebels were my sisters and me. I took pride in being called by my surname and the derivative nickname Strobes.

I’ve also taken care to incorporate Stroebel into my writing career — as a young writer, I imagined seeing Julie Stroebel on the cover of a book. Hence the reason why I have a mouthful of an author name; I wanted to honor both my maiden and married surnames, so I used them both as my author identity for the Sarah & Katy books.

My earliest identity as a writer is now the inspiration of my newly formed imprint: Stroebel Independent Books.

Q. Will Stroebel stay in your author name?

I’m still trying to decide on that one. While I like the consistency of keeping the same author name I used for the Sarah & Katy books, the name Julie Stroebel Barichello is a mouthful for young readers. I’ve considered moving forward with separating Stroebel as my publishing branding and Barichello as my author name.

Beyond the name

Once I settled on a name for my imprint, I had another element to consider: a logo.

The visual aspect was harder to pin down than a name. What sort of image would illustrate the name Stroebel? Even though the product I’m selling is a book, I didn’t necessarily want to incorporate a book into my logo. So I wracked my brain for a visual element that could tie into being a Stroebel.

It took a while for the next lightning bolt of inspiration to zap my brain.

One of the reasons I was determined to incorporate Stroebel into my publishing life is to carry forward my family’s legacy. With three daughters, my dad’s line of the Stroebel surname ends at his branch of the family tree. So even though I’m legally a Barichello these days, I would keep the name alive for one more generation in our branch.

It occurred to me as I focused on the Stroebel part of my identity that I was overlooking my mom’s side of the family. Just as I parted with Stroebel to become a Barichello, she parted with Haislip to become a Stroebel.

But I’m equal parts Stroebel and Haislip blood. So I started hunting for ways to incorporate Haislip into my publishing branding.

Thankfully, Haislip offers a bit more pleasing visual element than Stroebel. The only definition I could find for the Stroebel surname was “person with bushy or bristly hair; son of Strubo.” That doesn’t inspire elegant logo art. But Haislip — meaning “dwellers of hazel valley”– offered an idea: a hazel leaf.

Thus, I introduce my new imprint name and logo.

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An update from La Casa Barichello

For the past six months (give or take a few weeks), I’ve been mostly silent on the blog and social media.

I haven’t been ignoring them, per se. There’s been a voice nagging in the back of my mind at least once a week: “You need to refresh your content. You need to connect with people.”

Then my inner hermit replies, “Welllll, I’ll just finish reading this book … or whole stack of books … before I log online.”

My pepper plants are a metaphor for my online presence … shriveled by neglect.

The good news is, my inner hermit helped me reach my Goodreads goal last year. The bad news is, I let my sites go a little dry. Sort of like every plant I’ve ever tried to nurture in my house. The bell peppers in my container garden can attest to that.

That doesn’t mean it hasn’t been a productive six months. Even though I haven’t done much writing online, there’s been a lot of progress offline.

Two complete drafts of The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill have gone through edits. A third read-through is underway, then the manuscript will be handed off to beta readers. A projected release of August 2019 is in the works. I’ve been exploring printing options, and I’m excited at the prospect of releasing Dempsey as my first hardcover novel.

Also, the ever-incredible Hannah Jones is collaborating with me again and provided stellar artwork for the cover. A cover reveal is on the horizon.

And, as always, my faithful writing companion keeps me company when my hermit mode activates. Webster does a good job at silently judging me and reminding me I should be writing. So you can thank him when the next book comes out.

Webster says, “It’s time to be writing.”

The Laura Ingalls Wilder Award name change is OK … and so is liking her books

This past weekend, the Association for Library Service to Children made a change to a major children’s award.

“Little House on the Prairie” author Laura Ingalls Wilder has long been the namesake of the Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, which earned its name after it was first presented to her in 1954 to honor outstanding children’s literature in the United States.

More than six decades later, the award will henceforth be known as the Children’s Literature Legacy Award.

The reason for the name change is stereotypical and racist depictions of Native American and black individuals in Wilder’s series, which the ALSC has previously said is not “consistent with the intention of the award named for her.”

The change has sparked a variety of reaction among children’s literature readers and writers. A sampling of voices from the Twitterverse give a micro-glimpse of how folks are feeling:


You get the idea.

I think there are two angles to this issue that are important to keep in mind:

  1. Renaming the award is OK. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging a societal shift in values and updating symbols of those values (in this case, the name of the award) to reflect the modern conscience. The name change isn’t about disrespecting Laura Ingalls Wilder; it’s about respecting indigenous and black Americans.
  2. It’s also OK to still read and appreciate the “Little House” books. They are a reflection of the attitudes of their time and of our history — positive and negative elements alike. There’s no hiding from or sanitizing the distasteful parts of our history; there’s just a responsibility upon parents, teachers, and librarians to impress context upon young readers and guide them in discerning shifting values.

The Association for Library Service to Children isn’t stripping Wilder of her award — she remains the first recipient. Instead, it’s making an effort to give the award a name that is more inclusive and reflective of its current values. Wilder remains among the ranks of honored writers, and her contributions to children’s literature are not being disavowed.

Wilder is part of the American literary legacy. At the core of the issue is that her body of work is no longer reflective of all of the values of children’s literature, so the association opted for a name more specific to the goals of the award.

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What if life skills weren’t electives?

I walked around my brick foundation today, poking my fingers through the gaps in the mortar. My heart weighed heavy in my chest, my stomach twisting and threatening to squeeze the tamales I had for lunch back up my throat.

It was clear the foundation hasn’t been repaired in years. My fingers found spots where they could reach almost all the way through to the basement. My nail could scrape away the aged mortar.

My mind looped over the same thought, over and over: Where will we find the money for this big of a project?


I Googled episodes of “This Old House” to learn how to tuckpoint. The process looks relatively manageable, albeit time consuming: Scrape away the old mortar about 1 inch deep. Apply new mortar.

Except there are rules. Like: Don’t use mortar harder than your bricks, because the bricks need to be able to expand and contract with the temperature.

How do I know how hard my bricks are? I wondered. How do I know how hard the mortar is?

The fantasy of being a Google-taught do-it-yourselfer on this project faded quickly. A foundation is too important to risk ruining. So I called Dad, the ever-present expert and giver of advice, to plan my next steps in taking out a loan and finding the right contractor to do the work.

WHEN I WAS in high school, there were plenty of life skills and trades classes. Home economics, early child development, wood shop, agriculture, building trades, architectural drawing, computer-aided drafting, electronics, auto shop …

My husband’s high school 25 miles away had additional trades education, such as welding.

All of those were electives, though. Between English, math, and science requirements, I filled my elective slots with art, theater, creative writing, and foreign language.

I don’t regret any of those courses. Nor do I regret my college courses in sociology, philosophy, foreign language, communication, photography … but I do regret not working in a few other skills.

At 15 years old, it’s hard to visualize life 15 years down the road. When I was choosing classes for my sophomore year of high school, I wanted to sign up for the things I was interested in right now. Like art and writing. I had no interest in getting greasy in the auto shop or dusty in the wood shop or sweaty in the building trades class.

At 31 years old, I sure wish I’d replaced one art class here with basic auto shop there, and maybe swapped out a semester of theater with a semester of home economics. (Try as I might, I still can’t figure out to thread my sewing machine.)

There were two life skills classes that weren’t electives: computer skills and consumer economics. In computer skills, we learned typing, resume building, and writing cover letters. In consumer economics, we learned the basics of balancing a checkbook and basic money management.

Both classes trained in skills I’ve used daily post-high school.

But there are a lot of other skills — like changing my oil — that I didn’t learn. And I wish I had.

GROWING UP, Dad did all the maintenance around the house. He is an Eric of All Trades, Master of Most. Building a shed, rewiring the house, pouring concrete patios, foundation repair, tree trimming, sump pump installation, car oil changes and tire repair … you name it. He did it, no Google instructions required.

I never worried about learning to repair things myself. In the back of my mind, I simply accepted that there’s always someone around home to do it.

Except in my generation, that’s not typically the case. Now that I’m no longer living with my parents and head a household with my husband, who’s around to do those big and oh-so-necessary projects?

Our house is an ode to literature and music. Every room in the house — kitchen included — has books. There’s a magazine rack in the living room and a newspaper stand upstairs in the office with back issues of our most coveted periodicals. Our entertainment room — which is quickly becoming my husband’s “cave” — is home to his prized turntable, sound system, and vinyl collection.

We’re both journalists and writers. We can apply AP style with a vengeance, but balancing on a ladder or wielding a hammer for much more than hanging a frame on the wall is beyond our skill set.

Master Fleet, a maintenance provider for semitractors and trailers, cited a survey in which 61 percent of millennials said they “really didn’t know much about the skilled trades, or that they didn’t care much for the jobs the skilled trades represent.”

That number also aligns with a 2016 NBC News report that 60 percent of people (not just millennials in this case) aren’t confident they know how to change a tire. The report also included insight into the basic car knowledge of younger generations: Most Gen Xers and millennials aren’t skilled in driving manual transmissions, adding coolant, or changing oil, either. (Guilty as charged on all counts … although I’ve watched Dad rotate my tires often enough that I think I could fumble my way through changing a tire.)

That’s not to imply that all younger adults are useless. I know plenty of competent folks my age who learned trades in high school electives or from older-generation family members. They are, however, in the minority among my network.

IN MY RURAL Illinois farming area, there’s been a trend of trades classes downsizing or consolidating into cooperatives with other school districts.

The elimination of in-house offerings at the schools frequently is cited for one reason: declining enrollment. It’s more cost-effective for schools to consolidate and pool resources. In my county, one example is an Area Career Center, which is open to students from nine public  high schools and one private school.

A 2014 U.S. News report states:

A lack of qualified teachers, restricted school budgets, high operational costs and an increase in the number of academic core requirements students are required to complete for graduation have influenced career-tech education’s enrollment decline.

“There’s less room for electives and career and technical education is an elective,” [said James Stone, director of the National Research Center for Career and Technical Education].

The report also notes demand is increasing for trade openings even as school training decreases.

That report is four years old, but still relevant today. The Fort Worth Star-Telegram reported as recently as last month that the Dallas-Forth Worth area is 20,000 workers short in the construction trades. Not only would high school-level career and technical education programs help the average Joe (or average Julie) do simple home maintenance, but it would also make high school graduates career-ready for entry level trades positions.

So if a school’s role is to lay the groundwork for students to be competent, contributing members of society … isn’t basic construction and maintenance education a life skill set that should be taught?

Except, according to Forbes, the aim high school curricula around the United States focuses on college prep, not life prep. So unless a student is going to a trade school, career and technical courses don’t have a place in college prep.

I don’t regret my undergraduate education — after all, it was on the student newspaper where I learned the skills needed for my career. And I don’t regret my college prep courses in high school, such as AP English. I also don’t think it would have hurt my high school career to have one more required class: Before you graduate enroll in one life skills class.

The choice of class can be left open-ended based on the school’s offerings. If the school has 10 course options, have a student pick one. Maybe even go hog wild and require two. That still gives students some autonomy to choose courses suited to their interests, but also gives them an extra applicable skill set.

At 16 years old, I probably would have opted for home economics and learned the basics in sewing, cooking, baking, and household management. But if that class got too full, maybe I would’ve been inspired to take auto shop and learned the basics of oil changes, checking tire pressure, changing a tire, and simple repairs. At the very least, I’d know the names of car parts and what they do.

SO HOW MUCH skills training is — or should be — the responsibility of the school versus the responsibility of the parent?

For schools — particularly those that are underfunded in cash-strapped Illinois — I feel the burden of administrators. How do they stretch fewer dollars to expand costly programs like building trades?

The fact is, most taxpayers cringe at the idea of property taxes going up to fund more school programs. The school funding system is broken, and that’s too big of an issue for me to tackle in this space.

The problem is, for the next generation, many of the parents won’t have those technical skill sets to pass on to their children. My husband is brilliant, but when it comes to good ol’-fashioned barn raisings (or, in our family’s case, gazebo building), he’s designated to hold up the roof or pick up fallen nails. He’s not the guy wielding the power tools. And while I mock-flex my muscles and feel proud after changing a dryer belt, I won’t be any use to our future children in terms of wiring the house or tuckpointing the foundation.

There’s always a case to be made that people should just go to the experts and pay for these services. After all, I work in a newsroom, and readers pay for my product to learn the news rather than going to city council and school board meetings to learn about it themselves. Why not just go to a licensed repairman to have your home and car fixed?

To that I’d say: There will always be a dozen skills a person won’t know how to do. In that case, pay someone else to do it. Besides, one high school course does not an expert make. A semester of auto shop won’t be enough to teach a person how to replace a transmission, but it can teach basic and emergency car maintenance. A building trades class won’t teach how to tuckpoint a foundation, but it can teach how to fix a leaky spot on the roof. A wood shop class won’t teach how to build a house from top to bottom, but it can teach how to build a nice dog house.

Just like high school math and physics doesn’t teach us to be rocket scientists, there will still be a need to call and pay professionals for the big stuff. But it would be nice to have the little skills to mend and patch.

And if students find they love a trade, they can go on to trade school or an apprenticeship. High school would be the first step toward a future career, which should be its purpose anyway.

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REVIEW: A Literary Tea Party cookbook

I was walking through the newsroom where I work two weeks ago when a reporter waved me to his desk.

“I know you like literary things,” he said. “Have you heard about this new cookbook that’s coming out?”

He gestured to his screen, where there was a cover image of “A Literary Tea Party” by Alison Walsh. He was writing a preview about the book’s June 5 release and interviewing the author.

Literary tea party

The preview article my newspaper published moved across my desk last week during the evening production shift, and I had the chance to read more about it. “A Literary Tea Party” takes inspiration from foods in classic literature — such as the Turkish delight in the Chronicles of Narnia and “Bread and Butter Flies” from Alice in Wonderland — and turns them into recipes that any do-it-yourselfer can put on the table.

I’m a dabbler at cooking and baking — I love homemade meals, but I would be stretching the truth to say I cook at home more than twice a week. It’s a lucky week when I put homemade meals or treats on the table three to four times.

Even so, I knew I had to have this book.

One Amazon order later, it showed up my doorstep on Saturday. Unfortunately, it arrived after I pulled a loaf of spiced banana bread out of the oven. (There goes half my homemade quota for the week.) We had four extremely overripe bananas in the fruit basket that needed to be used, so I Frankenstein’ed a surprisingly tasty recipe from a handful I found online. When the book turned up on my doorstep later that afternoon, it turns out there was a banana bread recipe inside — Beorn’s Honey Nut Banana Bread, inspired by “The Hobbit.”

I was more than a little disappointed at the timing. If only I could’ve tested a recipe the first day!

From a literary standpoint (and especially a kid lit standpoint), the choice of literary links in this book is Turkishly delightful. Titles and series represented include:

  • The Chronicles of Narnia
  • The Borrowers
  • James and the Giant Peach
  • Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
  • The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
  • Redwall
  • King Arthur
  • The Phantom of the Opera
  • Little Women
  • Winnie-the-Pooh
  • Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot mysteries
  • Anne of Green Gables
  • Sherlock Holmes
  • White Fang
  • The Hobbit
  • A Little Princess
  • The Secret Garden
  • Romeo and Juliet
  • Treasure Island
  • Peter Pan
  • A Christmas Carol
  • The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
  • The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Parents, teachers, librarians, and lovers of kid lit, do you see the number of children’s titles on that list? There are even more kid-friendly titles if you’re a believer in sharing Illustrated Classics with the kiddos. (Be a believer in sharing Illustrated Classics … they’re an amazing introduction to classic literature at a young age.)

Even better, almost all of the titles on the list have multiple recipes associated with them. That makes it easy to build a themed party. Want to host a mystery-themed book club meeting or movie night? Serve up Sherlock’s Steak Sandwiches with an Agatha Christie-inspired Delicious Death Chocolate Cake for dessert.

Or how about an Alice in Wonderland birthday party for your curiouser and curiouser young reader? Bread and Butterflies and Stuffed Button Mushrooms make good finger foods, and you can stick some birthday candles in the Queen of Hearts’ Painted Rose Cupcakes.

Each recipe includes either a passage from its related book or an explanation of the recipes link to its literature.

As the title suggests, the theme of the book revolves around a tea party. Naturally, that means a hefty portion of the recipes are tea recipes, and it’s supplemented by a decently lengthy list of savory bites and desserts. As I initially fanned through the pages, I was disappointed at the long list of tea recipes for the simple reason that I’m not a tea drinker. I haven’t found a blend yet that doesn’t make me feel like


I’m tempted to try the Anne of Green Gables-inspired Raspberry Cordial Tea, though. And honestly, I’m easily won over by names like Second Star to the Right tea, so I’m willing to give a few recipes a try.

But Walsh must have anticipated picky drinkers like me (and may even have had young tastebuds in mind), because she included a list of five tea alternatives:

  • Autumn Harvest Cider (Redwall)
  • Hundred Acre Hot Chocolate (Winnie-the-Pooh)
  • London Fog Lattes (Sherlock Holmes)
  • Raspberry Cordial (Anne of Green Gables)
  • White Witch Hot Chocolate (The Chronicles of Narnia)

The range of offerings is good, from buns and breads to cookies and eclairs, to cake and cupcakes, to doughnuts and eclairs. There’s something for multiple skill levels inside.

20180611_025222Now, I have no doubt when I try some of these recipes, mine will look like spectacular Pinterest fails. After all, I can’t make it through a loaf of simple banana bread without texting Mom to ask how long I have to let it cool before adding the icing. (Spoiler: I didn’t let it cool enough and the icing melted down the sides. Although it looked nice after, so I pretended I meant to do that.) When I try to make something technical like these Cyclone Cookies (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz), I’m sure Paul Hollywood and Mary Berry would be appalled at my spiral and layers. But Walsh makes her recipes clear and accessible to baking beginners like me, so there’s hope.

I’ll post photos and updates as I disappear into Narnia … er, my kitchen … later this week and test a few of the recipes. (And even better … taste-test them!) I’ll also post what the recipe is supposed to look like, since I don’t want to do Alison Walsh the disservice of representing her recipes solely by my (lack of) culinary skills.

My initial review: If you love books and like food, get this cookbook. I’m not much of a host, but I’m already plotting a bookish get-together for fellow readers and writers that will revolve around these recipes. I hope she releases another volume in the future with even more literary references.

In the meantime, for more literary and pop culture recipes not included in the book, you can follow Alison Walsh on her blog, Alison’s Wonderland Recipes.

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A book’s surprise literary connection to home

It’s no surprise that Richard Peck is connected to the house my husband and I bought last year.

(At least, it isn’t if you caught my story of a visit from one of the home’s former occupants and my recent ode to Richard Peck.)

I learned in August 2017 that the family from whom we bought our house hosted acclaimed children’s and young adult author Richard Peck, thus christening the guest room as the Peck Room forever after. Because of Peck’s influence on my own reading and writing life, my husband and I carried on the tradition. A plaque outside the bedroom door — gifted to us from the home’s decades-long former family — hangs there today.

Peck Room

You can see from the date that Peck stayed here Oct. 5-6, 2004, during a round of visits to Streator schools and our gorgeous Carnegie library.

That was nearly 14 years ago. Sadly, a week ago today, I read the announcement on Peck’s Facebook page that the 84-year-old author died on May 23 after living with cancer.

20544019_683420473705_927578940396919256_oIn his honor, I decided last week to search my shelves for one of his books I hadn’t yet read. Last summer, during the annual Riverfest used book sale in downtown Ottawa, I stumbled on a copy of “Fair Weather,” a gently worn copy that had been removed from circulation at Streator High School’s library and donated to the sale. (It’s the pale blue spine, eighth from the bottom, just under “Water for Elephants.”)

The title wasn’t even on my radar when I stumbled upon it at the book sale last year. I added it to my stack merely for the sake of the author’s name — I’ve never been let down yet by a Richard Peck book, and like the others, this one didn’t disappoint.

In fact, it came with a bonus surprise.

When I opened to the title page, I found Peck’s blue-inked penmanship:


The note reads, “For Streator H.S. readers – Richard Peck Oct. 6, ’04”

This book was signed for the local high school during Peck’s two-day stay at my home.

I never had the opportunity to meet Richard Peck, and his visit to Streator only accounted for two days out of his 84-year life. But I am endlessly overjoyed every time his visit ripples into my life.

20180531_174513.jpgThis book — particular this specific copy of this book — felt like the appropriate farewell to a beloved writer. It was a fitting conclusion to my brief, distant connection to Peck.

But there will always be a bond between writer and reader when a book is in hand. Every time I crack the well-loved spine of “A Long Way From Chicago,” the divide is closed, because he’ll be right here in the home he visited for two days in 2004, telling me a story.


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Thank you for the stories, Richard Peck

I met Richard Peck through Grandma Dowdel.

She’s not my grandmother. In fact, she’s his. Not in the way you might expect, though.

Grandma Dowdel is a character in Richard Peck’s novels “A Long Way From Chicago,” “A Year Down Yonder,” and “A Season of Gifts.”

I first met Grandma Dowdel when my Aunt Robin — a children’s librarian — gifted “A Long Way From Chicago” to my parents, sisters, and I. The fearless, confident, mischief-making old woman won me over from the first pages. Her spirit of mischief has stuck with me for well over a decade, and I’ve revisited those books numerous times to meet her again.

Grandma Dowdel’s spirit of mischief has heavily influenced all of the Molehill children in my next novel, “The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill.” I keep a copy of Peck’s books close at hand in my writing room.

Peck’s influence on my life as both a reader and a writer made the news of his death this week particularly saddening to me.


Richard Peck has another small influence on my home. When we purchased our house last year, we learned from the previous owners — one of them an English teacher and longtime supporter of the local library — that Peck stayed in their home during his visit to Streator in 2004.

They were honored and overjoyed by having Peck as a guest — so much so that they displayed a plaque in the house and dubbed the guest room as the Peck Room.

They were generous enough to pass the plaque on to us, and it is proudly displayed outside the bedroom door.

Peck Room

After my parents learned of Peck’s connection to my new home, my family became especially devoted fans. Although it’s a small connection, our love of his books made it feel like a bond. One of the housewarming gifts from my parents was Peck’s only picture book, “Monster Night at Grandma’s House.”

Over a 45-year writing career, Peck produced 43 books — nearly a book a year, and the majority of those for children and young adults.

He gave us an extraordinary gift in his stories and writing. I’ll miss seeing his name on newly released titles. But I’m grateful for the literary legacy he left behind.

Thank for the stories, Mr. Peck. Your pen may rest now, as may you.

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