​When The Curious Life of Cecilia Payne was being considered for publication, an editor asked what it was about Cecilia that had drawn me to her story. The first things that came to mind were the ways I feel akin to Cecilia: she was sometimes shy and socially awkward, a voracious reader, and broadly curious. I also spoke about my admiration for her self-confidence—never blustery or showy but rooted in careful and diligent work. But the moment in Cecilia’s life that touched me most was when that self-confidence faltered.

Almost Certainly Not Real?

As a twenty-four-year-old graduate student in an almost exclusively male field, Cecilia Payne was a bit of an outsider when she made a discovery that contradicted what astronomers had long believed about the composition of stars. Through her analysis of starlight, she concluded that stars are made almost entirely of gases (especially hydrogen and helium). While this might not be startling to us (thanks to Cecilia), at the time it was so shockingly unexpected it seemed impossible. 
​
When he read a draft of her thesis, Professor Henry Norris Russell of Princeton urged Cecilia to be more cautious about the implications of her work. Why? Did he doubt her methods? Was he worried that she was leaping to extreme conclusions that might damage her career? Was he clinging to an older theory because it was familiar? Or could he not imagine that a young female student had discovered something that established (male) scholars had missed? 
​
Cowed by doubts, Cecilia inserted a single phrase in her thesis, conceding that the abundance of hydrogen and helium in the stars indicated by her research was “almost certainly not real.” Of course, it was real, and within a few years Norris himself realized it. 

Scientists are Human Too
What moves me about this story is not the misjudgments people make, but what happens next. Henry Norris Russell and his colleagues likely let prejudice cloud their perceptions of Cecilia and her work. But when further study proved them wrong, they admitted it and gave credit where it was due. Cecilia made an error too, in backing down when she was sure she was right. She later used that experience as a cautionary tale for her students, urging them to stick to what they know to be true, provided they have done their homework!

In her moment of vulnerability and self-doubt, Cecilia Payne feels so real. I can relate to her as a human, not just admire her as a scientist. She shows us what it looks like to fall down and get up again, to overcome internal obstacles as well as external ones. And some of her colleagues show us what it looks like to be wrong and acknowledge your mistakes. 

Truth Matters
Over the years it has taken this book to reach publication, something else about Cecilia has stood out for me: her confidence that the cosmos can be understood through the tools and methods of science. 

The Curious Life of Cecilia Payne celebrates science as a communal endeavour. Although Cecilia had remarkable insight and abilities, her work depended on others, including the so-called Harvard Computers (a group of women at the Harvard Observatory) and scientists around the world. Now more than ever, it’s important for children to see science not as solitary and competitive, but collaborative. It’s how humans work together to comprehend our universe. 
​
Cecilia Payne was a seeker after truth. She trusted that the scientific method—peers working together to hypothesize, experiment, rigorously check and confirm results—can lead us to it. That stars are made of hydrogen and helium is not a matter of opinion; it is an objective, demonstrable fact. In these days when so many people inhabit their own bubbles and truth is whatever is shouted loudest from the biggest platform, it clears the mind to make the tough climb with Cecilia to the mountaintop, glimpsing what she saw. 

​Every writer has that one book. The one that no matter how many times you reworked and revised and revisited, it never quite came together and eventually, you put it aside.
 
For me, that book was Vampire Jam Sandwich.
 
Way back in 2011, I decided to start actually chasing my dream of becoming a published author. I spent months and months and months polishing up my story along with the illustrations while also researching the whole querying process. 
 
In the summer of 2012, I finally thought I was ready. I sent out my first query email…
 
And received my first rejection three minutes later.

It was a pretty succinct no. And comedically fast. Disheartening for sure, and definitely eye-opening, but I figured it was like the first pancake and maybe the next one would be better.
 
Reader, it was not. Neither were the next fifty (or so, I might have stopped counting) that I sent out. Some of the rejections were nicer than others, but at the end of the day, they were still a no.
 
It was at that point where I had to face facts. Vampire Jam Sandwich wasn’t going anywhere. I thought I’d prepared myself for the possibility—read all of the blogs about how long it took someone to finally break through, gave myself pep talks about how it might not work out, and understood that the odds weren’t good.
 
Understanding is never the same as experiencing though. 
 
I wrestled with the decision for a long time before actually deciding to put the story aside. I knew it wasn’t working, but I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. Rather than continuing to poke at it with a pencil and hope it would somehow miraculously improve, I took the advice that everyone gives and started a new project.
 
Vampire Jam Sandwich was officially trunked.
 
I hadn’t quit, I was still writing, but in the moment, it still felt like giving up. Here was this idea that I loved and that I’d poured so much creative energy and effort into and I was going to just let it go? I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to have a chance of moving forward. It was a tough line to walk, one of being realistic about where I was at, but also believing in myself and maintaining hope that things would go my way at some point.
 
And they did! I wrote a middle grade novel, Howard Wallace, P.I., that became my debut book in 2016 and I published seven more books after that.
 
But throughout the years, Vampire Jam Sandwich always stayed, lurking in the back of my mind. It was an idea that part of me was sure still had legs. I’d take it out every so often and read it over—trying to see a new angle that I could tackle it from. Trying to figure out the way to make it work. 
 
It wasn’t until 2022 that I finally figured it out. I rewrote the entire book. The only things from the original that remained were a vampire named Terrence and the Vampire Jam Sandwich itself. This new attempt was the right one. The book was published in 2025 by Tundra Books and illustrated by the amazing Nici Gregory. It was an amazing full circle moment that for awhile there, I never thought I’d get.

Interior illustration by Nici Gregory from Vampire Jam Sandwich

I’m sharing this story because it’s a good reminder that, like the title says, letting go doesn’t mean giving up. Sometimes a story needs space while you grow as a writer. The skills that you have now are only going to improve and that story that you’ve been fighting with could be amazing if you take a break and come back to it later with more finely honed technique.
 
Sometimes that break is a whole decade and that’s still okay! 😂
 
As you’re heading toward the end of the year and reflecting on what you’ve done and where you want to go—just remember to be kind to yourself if you’re not where you want to be. Keep learning and growing and you’ll always be a better writer than you were the day before. 
 
One day, you’ll be the writer who can take on the book that you thought was unfixable and trust me, it’s worth the wait.


Casey Lyall lives in Southwestern Ontario where she also works at her local library as a branch assistant. When she’s not writing, Casey loves to bake, doodle, and learn extremely groan-worthy jokes to tell her friends.

www.caseylyall.com

Hi, I’m Cynthia Mackey, friends call me Cindy, and I’m from Victoria, B.C. I manage a small nature preschool where we take children outdoors on local trails. I love writing for children too. I’m pleased to share my first traditionally published picture book with you,
IF A BUMBLEBEE LANDS ON YOUR TOE.

This book came about after I started wondering about questions like, why are we so afraid of bees? What other things are people afraid of and how do people and animals respond when they are afraid? What if we could learn to love bees and become more curious about them? How can we be brave in the face of fear?

Interior illustration by Vikki Zhang from If a Bumblebee Lands on Your Toe

I had been thinking about all these questions when, in the early spring of 2021, I was out on a picnic with my nature preschool class and a bumblebee landed on one of the children. His response was surprisingly calm. I helped the bee crawl off of his ankle and onto a leaf. Some of the children wanted to see the bumblebee. They were curious about it. That experience inspired me to write a poem. That poem grew into a book with the bumblebee as a metaphor for anything that can cause us fear and anxiety. 
 
With numbers of bumblebees declining in the world, our interdependence hangs in balance. The bumblebee felt to me like the perfect metaphor for our fears, especially the unexpected ones. Here are the words from one of my favourite spreads in the book.
 
If a bumblebee lands on your toe...
Breathe,
Slo-owwww-ly,
Like a garden snail
Inching under a daisy on a rainy day.
 
I was fortunate that Luyang Xue at Yeehoo Press, connected with my submission and could imagine the manuscript as a book. And illustrator, Vikki Zhang had an incredibly imaginative way of bringing new elements of magic and wonder to the story, inviting readers to a performance filled with high wire artists, birds, animals, ballet dancers, and more! I hope that the book will give readers a chance to wonder more about the natural world, and feel empowered by all the things that we have in common with creatures great and small, in every corner of the world, no matter where you live.

If you’re looking to purchase the book, it is available wherever books are sold. Though Yeehoo Press initially published it in May, it has since closed its children’s book department in the US. Picnic Heist has taken over the title and Raincoast Book Group looks after distribution. I’m grateful to all three organizations for their role in helping get the book into the hands of readers, as well as to Janet Bruins at Picnic Heist for her enthusiasm for our book! 


For more information about Cynthia, visit her website at www.booksbycindy.com

Jenn:  My name is Jenn Moudahi, and I’m delighted to be here with author Megan Clendenan, chatting about her new picture book Just in Case: Saving Seeds in the Svalbard Global Seed Vault. If you read last week’s blog post, you’ll know that she and I recently celebrated a double book launch together, which was a blast! Check out these fun celebratory cakes with our book covers on them :)

​No cake today, unfortunately, but there’s lots of other delicious tidbits in this interview about Megan’s writing process and her beautiful book. 
 
Jenn: Hey Megan, let’s dive in. Your story is both captivating and very informative, which is a perfect combination! What inspired you to write this book?
 
Megan: When I first learned about the Svalbard Global Seed Vault from a podcast, I was astounded that someone built a vault in a mountain to protect our seeds! Even though I have grown many vegetables since I was a child, I never gave much thought to the security of seeds or crop biodiversity. But after hearing about the vault, I was inspired to learn more about why we need to save seeds. The more I learned, the more in awe I am about how many people save seeds for our future: farmers, gardeners, scientists, and so many more. I wanted to share this amazing story with young readers.
 
Jenn: I’m so glad that you wrote it! It’s an incredible topic that I really enjoyed learning about. What do you hope readers will take away from this book?
 
Megan: I hope that readers come away with a greater understanding of the significance of our food supply and how connected we all are to seeds. I also hope to share with readers the power of cooperation and collaboration. The seed vault brings together many countries and is an example of people working together to protect seeds for the future, for the greater good. I hope this creates a sense of optimism and hope, even in the face of climate change. Finally, I’d like readers to see they can also take action. They can choose to plant a seed, to try a new food, or to learn more about seeds and food security. 
 
Jenn: All so important! I love that this book has so many layers, and I'm imagining the conversations that it’s going to spark. I’m curious about the writing process to get here—what was the most challenging part of writing or researching your book?
 
Megan: When I wrote JUST IN CASE, the most challenging part was crafting the words to explain why it’s important to save seeds. There was a lot of complex science about climate change, seed varieties, and farming practices to parse out in only a few pages. I wanted the story to be exciting for readers and set the stage for the importance of building the seed safe. That was a big challenge! I wrote those few pages many, many times before I landed on a version I felt worked. 
 
Jenn: That’s a lot of things to balance. I’d say you nailed it! Tell me more about writing nonfiction… How is writing a nonfiction story both similar to and different from writing a fiction story? 
 
Megan: Writing non-fiction means every aspect of the text must be true and verifiable with quality sources. I researched and read a massive amount of information before I began writing, and I had the story fact-checked by an expert. However, even though everything is true, you can still use fiction techniques when crafting non-fiction to create a compelling story. For JUST IN CASE, I structured the manuscript with a narrative arc with descriptive scenes and rising action, such as the first blast, construction, and the seeds journeying across the world. I was thrilled when I saw illustrator Brittany Cicchese’s beautiful art that follows a family as they plant, grow, and save seeds. Her visual storytelling enhanced the book immeasurably. I hope that readers enjoy seeing the story unfold.
 
Jenn: Thank you for sharing all this and for all your work spent getting this book out into the world. Readers, Just in Caseis available now, go check it out!
​

Megan Clendenan is an award-winning children’ book author and freelance writer. She has worked for nonprofit organizations focused on environmental law, women’s empowerment, mental health, and urban food security. She loves writing books for children that explore the connections between history, society, and the environment. Megan lives with her family and two fuzzy orange cats near Vancouver, BC.  Learn more at meganclendenan.com

Jenn Moudahi is a Métis author, clinical counselor, and mom. Stories are a common thread in her life—she writes them as an author, listens to them as a counsellor, escapes into them as a reader, and allows too many at bedtime as a mom. Jenn lives in British Columbia, Canada with her husband, two kids, and a meowvelous cat. Learn more at jennmoudahi.com
​

Megan: My name is Megan Clendenan, and today I’m excited to interview author Jenn Moudahi to chat about her brand new debut picture book, Charlotte’s New Moccasins! I recently had the pleasure of meeting Jenn in person at a book launch event we did together. And of course, I had the chance to read her wonderful book! It was great to chat with her about the inspiration behind her book and what’s coming up next for her book-wise. ​

No one expected to spend Christmas 2013 in the dark. But on the evening of December 21st—the longest night of the year—a fierce winter storm battered Ontario, Quebec, and the eastern US. Trees and power lines bowed and broke under the weight of ice and soon millions of people were shivering in the dark. My family was among them. 
​
My children have good memories of those days. Things that I perceived as stressful and inconvenient—like rushing to empty the fridge of perishable foods and pack them into bins so they could be dragged out to the deck—they regarded as an adventure. They loved the novelty of being bundled up in outdoor clothes inside, lighting dozens of candles on the dining room table, stirring porridge on the camp stove, snuggling on the couch and reading aloud from The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder (my attempt at providing a bit of perspective on our situation). There was magic in going for walks (once we were sure there were no wires down), listening to the tinkle and crunch of ice, and exclaiming over the berries and twigs that sparkled in their crystal coats. 

There was disappointment too. Grandma and Grandpa were stuck thousands of kilometers away, oatmeal was no replacement for turkey and mashed potatoes, and for the first time in my memory there was no church service on Christmas Eve. The night was too silent without beloved carols and the joyful peal of handbells. 
​
As often happens, the crisis brought out the best in many people. Neighbours ventured out to check on those who lived alone; those with chainsaws and generators helped clear branches, charge cellphones, and make coffee. The lucky few with woodburning fireplaces turned their homes into warming stations. 

​When I was little I was scared of the dark. Like many children, I imagined shapeless creatures lurking in my closet or under the bed, waiting to grab me by the ankles when I climbed out to go to the washroom. I hated descending alone to the shadowy basement with its oil burning furnace that sometimes whooshed to life unexpectedly with a fiery gasp and made me jump. Whenever I came home after dark from my friend’s house down the street, I raced from one streetlight to the next, pausing to catch my breath and take brief comfort in each puddle of amber light before plunging once again into the dark. 
​
Only twice in my childhood do I remember being pleasantly surprised by darkness. The first was when my parents and I went to visit a friend who lived in a farmhouse outside Shelburne, Nova Scotia. I had never been in such a dark place and was frightened at first. But then I noticed something. At home in the city, with its streetlights and illuminated buildings, and even my cheery nightlight, darkness felt like an enemy—something we tried to push away. But here, in the country, darkness simply was. In fact, in the old lamplit kitchen and in the pitch-black bedroom where I snuggled down to sleep under the piles of quilts, the dark felt friendly. 

​Another summer, on an island in a lake in the Laurentians, once again I met the dark as a friend. At the cottage where I was staying with my friend and her family, there was no running water or electricity. But there were odd-shaped candles everywhere, which we ritually lit every evening; there was a huge stone fireplace where we curled up and read aloud; there was a porch swing where we sat and watched bats swoop at dusk. There were no phones or watches or even a clock. We simply took our cues from the coming and going of the sun. Apart from the night I tried to run to the outhouse without a flashlight, tripped on a tree root and broke my toe, I found myself loving the dark. I slept better—and longer—than when I was at home, forcibly extending day into nighttime hours. Bedtime felt cozier and talks with my friend closer and deeper. 

As I have grown older I have learned more about the essential role of darkness in ecosystems and the health of living things. I have read about the real dangers of light pollution. And I have continued to experience for myself the beauty, consolation, and coziness of the dark. 

One year during Advent, a season usually devoted to singing the praises of light, I spent an afternoon lying on the couch, felled by a migraine. Since even a sliver of light stabbed at my brain, I drew the curtains, covered my eyes with a towel, and curled up with my sympathetic cat. Unable to read or watch a movie, I began to compose a poem naming all the things I loved about the dark, starting with the fact that it didn’t hurt my head.
​
When I finally felt better, I wrote the poem down and, just for fun, sent it to Jennifer Stokes, Editorial Director at Owlkids Books. Jennifer suggested I try expanding the text to show how other living things (besides people) benefit from darkness too. As I did more background reading, my amazement grew and the little poem became a book: Who Needs the Dark? The Many Ways Living Things Depend on Darkness (Owlkids, 2025). 

Illustrator Risa Hugo rose to the challenge of depicting not only darkness in the natural world, but also some rather abstract concepts, like how the brain solves problems as you sleep! Risa has done a spectacular job, sprinkling the book with surprises, and creating spreads ranging from intimate to breathtaking.
​
My biggest hope for this book is that it will help children who are scared of the dark get to know it in a different way: as a friend who helps us rest and heal, create and shine, dream and wonder. This book is an invitation to go out and explore; as with most things, the best way to get to know the dark is to meet it in person. 

Today, author Karen Krossing joins Picture Books, Eh! to discuss her new book My Street Remembers with Anishinaabe artist Cathie Jamieson. ​

Cover for My Street Remembers, by Karen Krossing and Cathie Jamison

What is this book about?

My Street Remembers peels back the history of one city street in North America to reveal the greater story of the land on which we live.

The story begins 14,000 years ago, when mammoths roamed the icefields, and the First Peoples followed their trail. Historically accurate illustrations show the lives of their descendants over thousands of years as they hunted and gathered food, built homes, and celebrated together, until the 1600s, when Europeans arrived with settlers in their wake.

In lyrical text, the street remembers agreements to live in peace, the efforts of the British to take the land with unfair treaties, and the conflict and suffering that followed. The street recalls its naming, paving, and the waves of immigrants who called it home. Illustrations of recent times depict Canada’s apology to Indigenous Peoples and efforts toward Truth and Reconciliation, including a march with a banner that reads: Every Child Matters.

It's a picture book that asks readers of all ages: What does your street remember?

Interior illustration by Cathie Jamison from My Street Remembers

​Why did you write this book?

My inspiration for this book was simply “place.” I wanted to write the collective story of the movement of life across the land over a vast period. I began writing with an awareness of my heritage as a White settler of this land. From family stories, I knew my ancestors came from Scotland hundreds of years ago. I also knew they benefitted from treaties and laws that harmed Indigenous Peoples, and I’ve had advantages because of my ancestry. It was an uncomfortable place to write from.

Researching, writing, and collaborating on this book was an act of reconciliation for me. A way to reach out a hand to Indigenous Peoples as traditional inhabitants of this land and community partners of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It was also a journey of deepening my relationship with place and my collective community. 
 
What do you want readers to take away from this book?

I hope readers will explore Cathie Jamieson’s rich, detailed illustrations. They are dense with history and relationships, and readers can notice who has lived on this street over time, the changing tools and technology, the changing plants and animals, and the changing homes and other buildings.

I also hope readers will accept the invitation to deepen their relationship with the land where they live. What stories does their street hold?

Perhaps readers might spend some time noticing the street where they live and their sense of connection to it. They might use resources such as Native-Land.ca and Whose Land to learn more about the land where they live. They might explore the Treaty Lands and Traditional Territories of their street.
​
The land that became our streets settles on us as we settle on it. When we deepen our relationship with place, we understand ourselves—and others—better.

What are you working on next?

I have two upcoming picture books in early 2026. One Cosmic Rock: The Asteroid That Changed Our World with illustrator Julia Vasileva tells the nonfiction story of the asteroid responsible for the dinosaurs’ extinction 66 million years ago. It celebrates the resilience of life on Earth and the evolution of the diverse life-forms thriving today.
The Cloud That Stuck with illustrator Dorothy Leung tells a fictional story about Tansy, who can’t shake the raincloud hanging over her head no matter what she tries. Until, with a little help from her friends, she discovers that, although weather is beyond her control, she can find ways to thrive in spite of the darkest storm.
​
Want more information?
​
You can listen to a CBC Radio interview with Karen talking about My Street Remembers. You can also learn more about Karen and her books by visiting karenkrossing.com.

​Publishing is a long game, especially when it comes to picture books. It takes at least two years from the time a publisher accepts a manuscript to the day the book appears on shelves. Then there’s the time spent writing the story in the first place. Sometimes the words flow and other times it takes years for a manuscript to gel. No instant gratification in this industry. But when a story grabs  your heart, it’s well worth the wait.
 
That was the case with my latest picture book The Dog Who Saved the Bees. I wrote my first draft of the manuscript in 2018 and then revised it at least 27 times before it was published by Sleeping Bear Press on August 1, 2025. It was a seven-year journey that started well before I had an agent and to be honest, well before I truly knew what I was doing. But I did know it was a good story, and I was determined to share it.

The Dog Who Saved the Bees is the true account of Cybil Preston, chief apiary inspector for the Maryland Department of Agriculture, and her rescue dog Mack. Cybil is responsible for certifying commercial beehives free of disease before they ship across the United States to pollinate crops. Without these honey bees, people wouldn’t have foods like almonds, apples, and strawberries on their tables. But if even one diseased hive leaves Maryland, it could decimate local bee populations at its destination. So, Cybil’s job is essential. However, there are too many hives for Cybil and her team to inspect on their own. To lighten the load, Cybil uses scent detection dogs.

Cybil’s first sniffer dog was a Labrador retriever named Mack. Before Cybil rescued him, Mack lived alone in a family’s garage. He was unruly and untrained, but Cybil couldn’t bear to leave him there. So she took him home and started working with him. At first, Mack wouldn’t listen and couldn’t focus. But Cybil wouldn’t give up. Thanks to her hard work and perseverance, Mack eventually became the only certified foulbrood detection dog in the United States. And the work he does is so important, Cybil and Mack were awarded the Customer Service Heroes Award by the governor of Maryland.
 
I first met Cybil in the summer of 2018 when I interviewed her for an American Kennel Club article. From that initial conversation, I was hooked. Although I was unagented and still learning my children’s writing craft, I asked Cybil if I could tell her story to kids. She graciously accepted and I started writing.
 
The first few versions of the story read like a magazine article instead of a picture book. Later drafts ballooned to over 1,700 words. I even worked on a version for middle grade readers. I revised and rewrote and invited as much feedback as I possibly could. And the manuscript got tighter and more engaging. Eventually, I queried agents and submitted the story to editors through webinar and conference opportunities. One editor even took the story to acquisitions, but it didn’t make it through. And still I kept revising. Just like Cybil, I wouldn’t give up.

Interior spread from The Dog Who Saved the Bees illustrated by David Hohn

Finally, in February 2023, after my amazing critique partners helped me to polish the manuscript one last time, my agent sent it out on submission. And by April, we had an offer from Sleeping Bear Press. I was overjoyed! All the hard work and perseverance had paid off. Then when I saw David Hohn’s brilliant illustrations, I cried. It was better than I had ever imagined. Cybil and Mack’s journey was finally going to be on bookshelves. Nothing came quickly with The Dog Who Saved the Bees, but telling this story was well worth the wait. I hope it grabs your heart as much as it grabbed mine.
 
  
Stephanie Gibeault is an award-winning author of children’s picture books and middle grade nonfiction. As a former biologist with a Master of Science in animal behavior, Stephanie used to spend her time grunting with gorillas and stinking like marmoset monkeys. Years later, being a certified professional dog trainer meant being covered in fur and drool. Now she spends her days just outside of Toronto, Canada, sharing her love of dogs and other animals through her writing. For more information, please visit stephaniegibeault.com.
 
Social Media Handles:
Instagram: @stephanie_gibeault
Bluesky: @stephaniegibeault.bsky.social