Saturday I attended a ceremony honoring two fellow New Hampshire children’s book authors. The Elizabeth Yates Award, named for the author of the Newbery-winning Amos Fortune: Free Man, is unique, I think, because it recognizes not only authors but also according to the Concord NH Public Library: “illustrators, storytellers, teachers, librarians, or others involved in encouraging reading.” As an example of how open-ended this definition is, in 2009 the winners were two dogs—or their owners, actually—who volunteered each week to come to the library and patiently listen to youngsters read aloud.
This year there were two honorees as David Elliott (author of Bull and others) was a Covid-delayed recipient. Deborah Bruss (Book! Book! Book! and others) was this year’s winner. The speeches were great. I love learning about other peoples’ journeys into the writing world. The accolades were certainly deserved. But the thing that most impressed me was what the actual award entailed. There were framed citations of course but, even better, each winner is given $500 to choose any books they would like to donate to the Concord library’s children’s room. I wondered, do the winning authors choose old favorites? New releases? Fiction? Non-fiction? I thought: What a great way to continue to promote the love of reading!
Years ago, I was asked to give a speech at a local middle school. The students had written books and entered them in a school-wide contest. That night, after my speech, the winners would be announced. Writing is not an easy thing, but it is a worthwhile pursuit. I wanted all the writers in the audience to know that they were all, in every sense, winners. So, I told them the story of my first award.
In the early 1990’s, New Hampshire launched a state-wide writers’ organization. Shortly thereafter, the New Hampshire Writers and Publishers Project organized its first awards ceremony honoring recent books by local authors. I was surprised and honored to be presented the award for Outstanding Children’s Book. The award came with a beautifully inscribed crystal trophy. A few weeks later, the makers of the trophy contacted me. They’d found an error. Would I like to return it for a replacement? I confess I’d never noticed an error. I couldn’t imagine what they were talking about. Here’s a picture. Maybe you can decipher it before I point out the flaw:
Yup. Hampshire was missing its “h.” I told the students I decided to keep my flawed award. That humbling mistake didn’t matter to me. I’d already received my award months before: my published book. Everyone, I told the kids in the audience, had already won. After all we don’t write for awards, we write because we have stories to tell and information to share.
My award? I think it’s a hoot. It sits on my shelf—right there!
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