In my teens, I was active in the civil rights movement, though I lacked the courage to go to Mississippi in 1964. I did join picket lines, march in New York and Washington, and participate in other assorted and now forgotten (by me—it’s a memory thing) protests. Needless to say, I have never stopped caring.
Here’s something that makes me slightly nuts—in fact, it’s become such a pet peeve that I rattle on incessantly at writers’ conferences/retreats and annoy even myself. Why is there no picture book about Rosa Parks that tells the complete and true story? Read More