It was a weekday during the school year long ago. My two girls were at school, so my then three-year-old son, David, and I ran some errands together, including heading to the thrift store to see what bargains we could find.
David, not wanting to be subjected to the indignity of riding in the cart like a baby, stayed at my side while I flipped through the racks of children’s clothing. It went on like this for a while. Several minutes, I suppose. But at one point I paused my clothes-flipping and looked down to check on my son.
He wasn’t there.
I tried not to panic. I had two older children, after all, and it wasn’t the first time that I had glanced toward one of them only to find them not standing where they had been a moment before.
So I did a quick search. Seconds passed. I whirled around. Called his name. Checked the nearby aisles. My heart began racing as I imagined him having run out the door (or worse). I was about to go get help when I heard a quiet giggle from inside a circular rack of discount dresses.
I shoved the hanging garments aside to find him there, grinning like a wicked little gremlin. It was a beautiful sight, and I was so happy to have found him that I barely scolded him. Though I did let him know that he was not to do that again.
I’ve often reminded him of the day he scared the heck out of me in the middle of the thrift store.
Years later, when I was writing Mari in the Margins, it was this memory that inspired a specific scene in the story, in which Mari’s younger sister Susana briefly disappears during a family visit to the thrift store. Here’s the poem that describe’s Mari’s reaction:
My heart skips as my hands flip through the rack forth and back I duck down, peer around. Feet pound. Susana? Under the racks, between the stacks, along the floor under the doors Where can she be? I call a plea: Answer me, SUSANA! A giggly squeal soon reveals a hiding spot. The little snot! From behind a chair I see her stare. Come out from there, Susana.
Life experiences, no matter how extraordinary or mundane, are a treasure trove of resources for the writer’s brain.
Whether I’m writing a story firmly rooted in my own world or a fantasy set on a far-off planet, I can tap into my past to remember how it feels to be lost, grieving, or feeling unwanted, and connect with my readers through shared human experiences. Even when my characters aren’t human. Even when I’m writing something that feels completely removed from reality. Because I’m not writing for aliens or dogs or fairy tale creatures. I’m writing for my fellow humans.
As an adult writing for children, I can tap into my childhood (and in some cases, grown-up) memories to connect with them on an even more specific level. The memory of my son tricking me into thinking he was lost not only allows me to relive that moment of panic, but also gives me a glimpse into the pure, innocent, childish delight of playing a trick on your parents. Even more important, though, are my own childhood memories. Like getting lost, being bitten by a dog, making a friend on the first day of school. For the thrift store scene in Mari in the Margins, even though it was inspired by an adult memory, it was also influenced by my experiences as a young girl with a much younger (often annoying) sister. I know that if I want to write stories that will resonate with children, I need to allow the little girl who experienced those things in on the process.
The grown-up me can do the editing.
Some good books about getting lost or separated
Two Tough Trucks Get Lost! by Corey Rosen Schwartz and me, illustrated by Hilary Leung (picture book)
Where’d My Jo Go? by Jill Esbaum, illustrated by Scott Brundage (picture book)
Little Ewe by Laura Sassi, illustrated by Tommy Doyle (picture book)
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate Dicamillo, illustrated by Bagram Ibatoulline (middle grade)
The Distance Between Lost and Found by Kathryn Holmes (young adult)
To learn more about Mari in the Margins, a middle grade novel in verse (and doodles), published by
, check out the trailer:
I am so glad your little wanderer turned up safe and sound! I worked in retail for many years and our protocol for a missing child was called “Code Adam.” We wore headsets and if we heard those words we would immediately go to every entrance and exit. People were detailed to check the restrooms and someone would get the child’s name and description from the parents. After we were sure that no creepy person could leave with the child other associates would comb the store for the child. The first place we would always check would be under the circular clothing racks. The missing child was often found perfectly safe playing under a circle rack. I’m glad to say that despite a number of Code Adam alerts, our store never failed to locate the absent child within a very short time.