Profiles and Perspectives

Profiles and Perspectives

Barbara OConnor

Keeping It Real: How Realistic Does Realistic Fiction for Children Need to Be?

write realistic fiction for children, imagined stories that are grounded in reality. And naturally, since I am the one writing the story, its grounded in my reality, drawn from my own life experiences: the people Ive known, the places Ive lived, the conversations Ive heard. My writing voice draws heavily on authenticity. But writing for children requires setting some limits on reality. After 25 years and 15 books, I still find myself trying to strike a balance between carefree, uncensored, authentic, realistic writing and age-appropriate writing. Complicating that balancing act is the fact that what seems ageappropriate to me might not seem so to everyone. Childrens writers know that in order to reach their intended audience, their books must first pass through the hands of parents, teachers, librarians, and other adults, all of whom have their own ideas about age-appropriateness and the limits of reality in childrens books. Although I love being so immersed in my writing that I dont even think about setting limits, there comes a time when I have to step back and examine my work with a discerning eye. I must ask myself, Is this too real for my intended audience? I ask this question most often when examining five story elements: dialogue, character, family relationships, economic class, and endings.

That question provides the perfect opportunity to talk to children about authenticity of dialogue in realistic fiction. A good example of a Southern expression that confuses children unfamiliar with Southern dialect is the phrase like to, as in I like to died. The expression means, nearly, i.e., I nearly died. Children sometimes think this is an error. They love to write to me and point it out. Two fifth graders from New Jersey once wrote: We are reading your book How to Steal a Dog and we are enjoying your book so far! Our favorite part so far is Mookie who is living in the back of the vacant house. We are writing because two things have caught our eye and we wanted to know if they were on purpose. The first one occurs on page 116 and says, It like to broke my heart to look at it. Should it be It broke my heart to look at it? On page 117 it says, I like to swallowed my gum when he said that. Should it say, I almost swallowed my gum when he said that? And a 10-year-old girl once wrote to me: I would like to point out a mistake in How to Steal a Dog, Chapter 10, 9th line, where you wrote, He like to went crazy. Letters like that serve as a reminder that each of our realities is different. Should I omit these phrases so as not to confuse readers? Of course not. Besides, my characters are real people to me. They wouldnt allow me to change the way they talk. Children in the South will hear those characters as being children like themselves, and they can relate. Children in other parts of the country might find the wording odd, so they notice it, perhaps even question itand then they learn. Childrens authors also need an ear for dialogue that is tuned to children, i.e., the way real children speak. The charismatic character of Elvis
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DIALOGUE
Nothing brings a character to life more than dialogue. Nothing makes a character more real. Since my books are set in the South and I grew up in the South, my characters speak the way I hear them speaking in my head. Children in other parts of the country are sometimes puzzled by Southern expressions. When visiting schools in New England, where I live now, Im often asked what a particular phrase means or why I use bad grammar in my books. I cant count the number of times Ive been asked why my book Me and Rupert Goody isnt called Rupert Goody and I.

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in The Small Adventure of Popeye and Elvis can hurl an insult the likes of which the ever-obedient Popeye has never heard. I cant imagine there is a child in the world who isnt at least a tiny bit thrilled to read about someone calling his brother a hog-stinkin sack of nothin, a toejam tattletale, and a bug-brain booger breath. Are those phrases good models for well-mannered children? Certainly not. Do we want students in the classroom tossing those insults across the aisle? No way. But will children have fun reading them? You bet. Those words may be naughty, but they bring a character to life and just might hook a young reader by the sheer fun of them. My realistic fiction is not intended to teach manners And that brings us to the subject of profanity. When I was a new, nave writer, my selfcensorship was all but nonexistent. I wrote freely, with little thought about the consequences of mild profanity in a childrens book. But I also never used profanity simply for the sake of using it. I wrote the way my characters would speak in the real world. Since then, I confess to writing more guardedly. Maybe Ive simply moved away from characters who say nothing worse than bug-brain booger breath. But with more experience under my belt, Im certain the little censor imp on my shoulder is keeping an eye out for words that might cause a parent to raise an eyebrow or could create an awkward read-aloud moment in a classroom. Ive learned that in this area, I need to set more limits on the reality of my dialogue. But Im blessed to have an editor who cautions me about censoring myself too much. Theres a scene in Moonpie and Ivy when Ruby, the main characters mother, is arguing with her sister, Ivy. Ruby hollers, Mind your own damn business. I had reservations about including that profanity. I actually deleted it at one point. But my editor reminded me that that is exactly the way Ruby would speak. It was realistic and true to the character. I made the judgment call to leave it in and have never regretted it.
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In my more recent books, Ive learned how to create the illusion of profanity by mentioning that a character uses a cuss word, but not actually writing the word. A good compromise, I think. Such a ploy allows me to keep my character real within the boundaries of age-appropriate reading. For instance, in The Small Adventure of Popeye and Elvis, the children have formed the Spit and Swear Club: Then the boy let loose with a string of the most amazing and wonderful swearwords, and all the other kids did the same until the air was filled with the swearingest words Popeye had ever heard. He had always thought his uncle Dooley was pretty good at swearing, but these kids made Dooley look like a harp-strumming angel.

CHARACTERS
Nobody is perfect. And if they were, nobody would like them. A realistic character should have a flaw or two, like human beings do. And the truth is, children often like the most flawed characters the best. Greetings from Nowhere is a multiple viewpoint story, with four main characters. When I take a poll with children during school visits, the most popular character, by far, is Kirby Tanner. I know the reason why: Kirby is naughty: Kirby Tanner snatched a package of red licorice off the shelf beside the cash register and jammed it into his pocket. Kirby is hyper: . . . hopping around, splashing muddy water, fiddling with his yo-yo, tossing gravel into the road. Kirby is rude to his mother: He reached into the backseat, grabbed his mothers purse, and hurled it in her direction. It hit the ground and burst open sending lipstick and pens and gum skidding out into the middle of the road. Kirby is interesting. But Kirby is made more real by balance, by giving him good qualities that make him likeable and make his naughty side more understandable and forgivable. The reader sees his good heart when he writes letters to an elderly woman back home who treats him kindly, always asking about her old dog, Barney. And the reader sees that he has a conscience in his increasing guilt over keeping Lorettas poodle dog pin that he found in the grass by the flagpole:

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And the whole time, that poodle dog pin burned, burned, burned in his pocket. And like the reader, the other characters see the good in Kirby, too, especially Aggie: I mean, besides being a dern good weeder and a champion yo-yo-er, youre a fine young man, she said. For a flicker of a minute, Kirby felt like he was in the wrong life. Like somehow he had gotten plucked out of Kirby Tanners life and plopped right down into somebody elses. Somebody who didnt have to steal and lie to make people notice him. Somebody who was a fine young man. I think children love Kirby because he seems just like the kid who sits next to them in school. And, by the storys end, they realize that Kirby really is a fine young man. Perhaps understanding Kirby will help them understand that sometimesnaughty kid who sits next to them in school. Another popular, but flawed, character is Georgina in How to Steal a Dog: so full of anger toward her mother; so impatient with her brother, Toby; so distrustful of good-hearted Mookie; and making poor choices right and left. She makes no effort to hide her feelings: Maybe I better get out of the whole dern world, [my mother] said, and sounded so mean. She swiped at tears and wiped her nose with her hand. Maybe I better just disappear off the face of the earth. Poof! Like that. She snapped her fingers. Wouldnt that be nice? I felt words bubbling up inside me till they came busting out. Yeah! I hollered. That would be nice. Thats pretty harsh. But it is realistic. Georgina is expressing her feelings like a real child would, not a perfect child. But to help readers understand her, I give them a peek inside her troubled heart: Mama draped her arm around my shoulder and I laid my head against her and wanted to be a baby againa baby that just cries and then gets taken care of and thats all there is to a day. Her anger, impatience, distrust, and poor choices are tempered by the revelations of her inner
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thoughts. If I hadnt added snatches of thoughts that soften the readers hearts a bit, Georgina would not have been as realistic and most certainly not as likeable. Also like a real child, Georgina has a conscience and is torn between knowing shes done the wrong thing and yet wanting to get herself and her family out of their predicament: As I read my list of rules over again, I felt myself splitting right in two. Half of me was thinking, Georgina, dont do this. Stealing a dog is just plain wrong. The other half of me was thinking, Georgina, youre in a bad fix and you got to do whatever it takes to get yourself out of it. Her feelings are ones that almost all children can relate to, and by admitting those feelings to the reader, Georgina becomes more real. I recently received the following letter from a student: I can make a text-to-self connection from this book. I knew how Georgina felt when she gave back the dog feeling guilty. I remember when I was younger and stole a key chain from someone and giving it back feeling bad. This connection helps me relate to the book because I knew how Georgina felt right at that moment. Guilty, bad, and angry at herself. Sometimes, like real people, my characters forget to control their behavior. Heres Bird in Fame and Glory in Freedom, Georgia, when Harlem missed the word cantaloupe while practicing for the spelling bee: Im sorry to say that when he missed that word, I couldnt help but bask in the thrill of it, jumping up and hollering, Wrong! Thats wrong! You got it wrong! Notice that she says Im sorry to say. She knows her actions are not very nice. She knows she has been unkind to Harlem. She is not perfect, and it is her imperfection that

Profiles and Perspectives

Profiles and Perspectives

endears her to the reader. But I have set limits on her imperfection. I want the reader to like her despite her behavior. So along with her sometimes inappropriate behavior, I gave her feelings that most children can understand: Seems like nothing comes easy for me except getting hollered at, laughed at, or lied to by all them hateful kids at school. Bird is about as real as I can make a character. She emotes so many universal feelings: I ran over to Miss Delphines, my backpack bumping so hard against me it like to knocked me over. When I got there, she was pushing Pops wheelchair out onto the porch. It might be too cool out here for him she said. She pulled his food-stained bathrobe closed and tucked a blanket over his lap. Pops head bounced on his neck like a rag dolls. A string of drool dripped out of his mouth and landed on his hand. Miss Delphine whipped a tissue out of her pocket and wiped it off. Takes a good heart to do that, I thought . . . . I tried to picture my own daddy in a wheelchair, and then I worried that my heart wasnt nearly so good as Miss Delphines. I wrote that when my father was in a nursing home. Day after day, I watched those nurses taking care of sick and dying elderly patients and felt a wave of guilt that I could probably never do that. I worried that my heart wasnt as good as theirs. By drawing on my own emotions, I hope Ive created a character whose less-than-perfect behavior makes her real enough for readers to identify with and understand. Sometimes, like real children, my characters disobey their elders. In my forthcoming novel, The Fantastic Secret of Owen Jester (Fall 2010), the main character, Owen, and his friends disobey their parents: Owen was not allowed to go down to the train tracks. Travis and Stumpy were not allowed to go down to the train tracks.
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Owen and Travis and Stumpy went down to the train tracks every day. Had Owen not disobeyed, he would never have discovered his fantastic secret. And once he discovers his fantastic secret, he must go down to the pond behind his grandfathers house for some good old-fashioned fun, despite the warnings of his grandfathers curmudgeonly housekeeper, Earlene: Youre not going out on that rotten ole dock, are you? Earlene asked again. When Owen evades the question: You listen to me, Owen Jester, she said Im in no mood to be fishing three drowned boys out of that snake-infested pond. But Owen doesnt listen to Earlene. As soon as she is out of sight, he dashes straight to that snake-infested pond. Not only does his disobedience contribute to a romping good time, but it makes him realand makes his story much more fun.

FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS
Just as people in real life are not perfect, families in real life are not perfect. They argue. They say things they shouldnt say. They annoy one another. They are unkind to one another. They make mistakes. Parents arent always loving and responsible. Siblings sometimes fight. Many of my books have characters in dysfunctional families. There are parents who dont love each other. There are mothers who arent very good at being mothers. There are parents who abandon their children. Willow, in Greetings from Nowhere, is a sad, frail little girl who longs for her mother, who has left: Willow had an almost perfect life. She had her own room with a silky white bedspread. She had a collection of little china horses. And she had a friend named Maggie who loved to play with her china horses and was always very careful. What she didnt have was two parents who loved each other. Which is why her life was only almost perfect.

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Georgina, in How to Steal a Dog, says: Mothers are supposed to take care of their kids, I said. Not let them sleep in creepy old houses and wash up in the bathroom at McDonalds. In Moonpie and Ivy, Pearl writes a postcard to her mother: Dear Mama: I hate you. Love, Pearl Pearls mother, Ruby, is self-absorbed, emotionally abusive, and oblivious to the needs of her daughter. But despite the words Pearl writes on that postcard, she does not hate her mother. Pearl loves her mother because she is her mother. When writing that story, I had to put my adult feelings aside and write realistically from the perspective of a child. For instance, in one scene, Pearl tells her Aunt Ivy about an incident with her mother: She tried to make me steal a ham one time. Put that ham in your backpack, Pearlie May, she said. No, I wont, I said. She kept on and on and I kept saying no and then I laid on the floor and cried. I still remember that cold floor with sticky stuff on it. So she walked right out of that store and got in the car and I ran out after her and she locked the door and wouldnt let me in. I beat on the window and she rolled it down just a tiny little crack and said, Go away, little girl. You aint mine. And I said, Yes I am, and she said, I cant see you. Youre invisible and I been invisible ever since. Pearls mother is cruel. There are cruel people in this world. Some children have them for parents. Should children not read about cruel parents in a childrens book? Will it harm them to know such parents exist? Will it hurt them if they, too, have a cruel parent and so can relate to that experience in a book? I think not. I think such reality in a childrens book might open eyes and, thus, the door to tolerance and empathy.
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I once visited a school where teachers had chosen one of my books to read to their students prior to my visit. When I arrived, the principal told me that one teacher had some objections to reading Me and Rupert Goody to her fourth-grade class. This didnt surprise me. Some adults object to the biracial relationship and illegitimate child in the story. But I was surprised when the principal explained that what the teacher objected to was the child abuse in the story. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about. My surprise must have shown on my face, because she went on to point out the following scene: It beats me how come the Good Lord plunked me down in the middle of a family like mineall wild and unpredictable. My brothers are all the time saying the reason our family is named Helton is cause theres always a ton of hell going on. Mama slaps them silly when they say that, leaving her red handprint on their cheeks. I have known the sting of such a slap. And I know that I am not alone. Many children know the reality of that sting. Should children not know that such things happen? Should children never read about these harsh realities? Should children only read about happy, kind, loving families who would never dream of slapping one another? Obviously, I think that such realities should not be swept under the rug in childrens literature. I think that for children who have never had such experiences, reading about them will, perhaps, make them more empathetic to those who face the harsh realities of life on a daily basis. And children who have had such experiences may find some degree of comfort in knowing they are not aloneand that, like my characters, they can rise above their situations. Just a few weeks after that school incident, I had an interesting experience that I wished I could have shared with that principal: During a presentation to a group of third graders at another school, we were brainstorming ways that a writer could show the feeling of anger instead of telling that a character is angry. One boy wasnt quite grasping the concept of show, dont tell, so I asked him how people behave when they are angry. Do they yell? Do they slam doors? Do they storm out of the room? That child looked at me and said, When I splash water out of the bathtub, my mother slaps me. [Note: Actually, that boy added, Before she went to therapy . . . . True story.]

Profiles and Perspectives

Profiles and Perspectives

Some mothers slap their children. Not writing about it in a childrens book does not make that less of a reality. Me and Rupert Goody is about love and tolerance and acceptance of others, not about abuse. Jennalees abusive household is simply the realistic backdrop I chose to put her in to help ground her in reality, but not one I chose to focus on.

of the store. Got my stuff right out on the dresser and dont nobody take it. Even got my own bed. My ton-of-hell house is so filled up with kids that if I dont grab the daybed behind the kitchen, I get stuck with a creaky old cot or a lumpy bed that smells like pee, thanks to my sister Ruth. Imagine that. An eleven-year-old sleeping with a bedwettin baby. Whether children live in mansions or shacks, they share some universal feelings: wanting to fit in, wanting to be loved, wanting to be treated respectfully. They want friends and loving families and a place to put their stuff where nobody can take it and maybe even to have a small adventure once in a while. Those are the realities I write about.

ECONOMIC CLASS
I write about ordinary folks. They work in diners and dry cleaners and insurance agencies. They own general stores and little motels in the mountains or collect cans on the side of the road. Sometimes they sleep the day away in rusty trailers in the backyard. They live in apartments over tattoo parlors and in shiny silver motor homes. They live in ramshackle houses on dirt roads with dogs sleeping under the porch. Sometimes they live in cars. Im not reluctant to write about difficult economic situations in the lives of children. Why? Because those difficulties are a reality for many children and I write realistic fiction. But those difficulties are not the focus of my stories. My focus is on the characters who overcome hardships or learn about tolerance, make meaningful relationships, or simply have small adventures. But more important than that, my focus is on characters who have real feelings that are universal and that children can understand. Heres Georgina in How to Steal a Dog: I twirled my spaghetti around and around on my fork and listened to the girls at our table going on and on about some movie theyd all seen. Then Luanne piped in and said how she had just loved that movie, too. I kept on twirling my spaghetti and feeling more and more like I didnt want to be there at that lunch table. I wanted to float right up through the ceiling and out into the blue sky. I didnt belong there with those girls. I hadnt seen that movie. I couldnt buy those bracelets they all wore. They had been over at the mall while Id been washing my underwear in the bathroom sink at Walgreens. Whether or not a child has lived in a car, she will certainly understand that feeling. Heres Jennalee in Me and Rupert Goody: Sometimes I pretend like I live there with Uncle Beau. Like I got my own little room back
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ENDINGS
I dont like to tie my stories up in a tidy bow. Its important to me that they end realistically. While my characters do grow and learn and change, and while I like to leave my readers with a sense of hope with regard to the story, I try to end my books the way I think the real world might end them. But Ill also confess that it sometimes takes a good editor to steer me in the right direction when I end my stories too realistically. Nothing shines the light of realism on Georgina in How to Steal a Dog more than the ending. I turned and hurried back up the road. But the farther I got from Carmellas house, the heavier my feet felt. By the time I got to the corner, they felt like cement bricks, slowing me down until I couldnt take another step. Whats wrong with you, Georgina? I said to myself. Dont stop now. Get on outta here before somebody sees you. But I guess my heart was taking over my feet, making me stop. Making me turn around. Making me walk on back to Carmellas. Confession time: In the original draft of that book, Georgina did not go back and fess up to her wrongdoing. She did what I think a real kid would do. She simply returned the stolen dog to his yard, closed the gate, and hightailed it out of there. I still believe that that response is probably the most realistic. But its also an unsatisfying ending.

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Characters in childrens books should change for the better, grow emotionally, and learn from their experiences. Once again, I was saved by my editor, who recognized this right away and suggested that Georgina should own up to her wrongdoing. This slight departure from reality made for a much more satisfying story and left Georgina a more likeable character. Here is the original ending of Moonpie and Ivy: Then she lifted the shoebox and dumped the postcards out the window. They fluttered in the wind like butterflies, then drifted slowly to the ground, leaving a colorful trail on the dark road behind her. I loved that ending. I could just see those postcards fluttering in the wind like that. But, thankfully, my editor could not. She convinced me that Pearl would not throw those postcards away. She needed them. But more important than that, Pearl needs hope for a brighter future. Couldnt I give her a little hope? She suggested that Pearls aunt, Ivy, give her a slip of paper with her phone number on it in case she needed help in the future. That suggestion stayed within the realm of reality, yet saved that book from a hopeless ending of doom and gloom. But perhaps what is most interesting about the ending of Moonpie and Ivy is that I never even considered that Pearls mother, Ruby, would not come back and reclaim her daughter. Adults tell me often that they didnt want her to come back and that Pearl should have stayed with her Aunt Ivy. But children always tell me that they thought it was right that Ruby came back and that Pearl returned to her because she is her mother. They understand that children usually love their parents despite their imperfections and wrongdoing. I can safely say that literally every review of that book comments about the ending. At first, that surprised me, since I felt the story ended the way it would have ended in real life. But what was even more interesting to me was the difference in reactions between adults and children. Here are some of the comments from adults who reviewed Moonpie and Ivy: OConnor provides no magically happy ending for Moonpie and Ivy, but it is a hopeful one.
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What I most admire here is the authors courage with the plot, particularly the ending . . . . . . . the ending was very brave, tinted with hope but with the weight of reality hanging heavy within. I admire that [she] didnt tie it up with any pretty ribbons. What stands out for me in those comments is that adult reviewers call me brave. But why? For telling a realistic story? For staying true to the characters and taking them in the direction they needed to go, even if it wasnt the direction the reader might have wanted them to go? I suppose if I had made a conscious decision with regard to the ending, I might consider myself a little brave, but the truth is that I didnt give it a second thought. It never occurred to me to end that story any other way. Now here is a sample of reviews from children: I hope you all have a chance to read it because I thought it was great even though at the end its very sad. At the end I love it! The ending, although not happily-ever-after style, left me feeling good. Notice that children do not call me brave. Children recognize that the story ends the way it should end, i.e., realistically, even though its sad. So, how real does realistic fiction for children need to be? I suppose I will always be asking myself when to set limits on the reality of my stories. But I also know that I will always write as authentically as possible in order to show readers the places Ive been, the characters I breathe life into, and the families Ive known. This might involve some hard times, some lousy parents, or some naughty words, but Im just keeping it real. Books Referenced
(by Barbara OConnor; all published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux/Frances Foster Books) Fame and Glory in Freedom, Georgia (2003) The Fantastic Secret of Owen Jester (Fall, 2010) Greetings from Nowhere (2008) How to Steal a Dog (2007) Me and Rupert Goody (1999) Moonpie and Ivy (2001) The Small Adventure of Popeye and Elvis (2009) Barbara OConnor is an award-winning author of 14 novels and biographies for children. She lives in Duxbury, Massachusetts.

Profiles and Perspectives

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