Rhiannon Navin's Blog

That’s what they say, right? Well, this couldn’t be any less true when it comes to actual book covers. The cover of a book is so important and it can be a piece of art in its own right. I knew this as a reader—some book covers grabbed my attention right away and I couldn’t walk past the shelf without picking it up to find out more.

One of the most exciting parts of the publishing process for me has been seeing all the different countries’ covers being created. Each one is so unique, bringing to life each culture’s unique take on my book. The U.S. covers focus on the “feelings pages,” and I think the bright, bold colors really pop and stand out on the shelf. Recently, I was blown away by the Japanese cover—a beautiful artist’s rendition of Zach in his hideout.

The paperback cover is an adaptation of the UK paperback and I love it. I think it captures Zach’s thoughts perfectly. Tossed into this impossible situation in which he’s forced to deal with so many conflicting emotions on his own, Zach instinctively gravitates towards art and reading as ways to make sense of what’s going on around and inside him:

“Our art teacher, Mrs. R, said art is always about expressing your feelings and it’s a good way to deal with your feelings. Thinking about what Mrs. R said made me decide to do that, too: make art to deal with my feelings….maybe I could pick one color for all the opposite feelings that were inside me and paint a lot of pieces of paper with only one feeling-color, and then the feelings would be separate and not all mixed up together, and that would make it easier to think about them.”

I want to tell you about one of my favorite book-related experiences: an English major class at a German high school chose Only Child (!) as their focus during their last semester. The teacher was in constant contact with me, sharing the students’ work and reactions to the story. One (very early) morning a coupe of weeks ago, I got to Skype with the class and answer their many interesting questions. It was so interesting to get the thoughts and feedback of such young readers.

As part of their classwork, each student created their own book cover and they blew me away. Below are a few that I particularly loved.

At the very beginning of my road towards publication, I would occasionally allow myself to daydream. I imagined dedicating one whole shelf in our sunroom/library to all of Only Child’s foreign editions. And now my dream is coming true! Check out all the different covers on my website and feel free to judge—which one’s your favorite? Which one reflects your interpretation of the story best?

I received a huge Mother’s Day surprise that I can’t stop smiling about. Oh, the breakfast made by the 8-year olds (OK, Nutella on toast, but still, made with love!) and beautiful homemade cards and pictures made me smile, too, of course, as did the heart-shaped pillow hand sewn by my twelve-year old, which mysteriously features the letters “M” and “F”…”

But one other, unexpected, discovery helped made my day special: I am very honored to be included on this list of  “15 Incredibly Important Books About Motherhood,” especially in the company of so many of my writer idols (Maya Angelou!! Only Child is mentioned in the same breath as one of her works! Pinch me, please!)

Only Child has received attention for its topical subject matter—a story about a school shooting, published eight days before the shooting in Parkland, Florida!—and reviewers have discussed the way I explored different themes—loss, grief, healing—from a unique perspective, that of six-year old Zach. But I haven’t yet spoken much about the fact that Only Child was also very much intended to be a story about parenthood, and specifically, motherhood.

The character of Melissa, my little protagonist’s mom, was one of the most interesting, and by far most difficult, for me to write. Motherhood is challenging and often so hard, even under the best of circumstances. But when your family is confronted with such unimaginable tragedy, as Melissa is in my story, how do you manage as a mother? How can you continue to be a mother? How do you survive?

While writing Only Child, I felt Melissa’s profound grief deeply, almost like it was my own. I’m very fortunate that I’ve never had to endure the loss of a child (and I am now knocking on every wooden surface around me that I will never have to,) but putting myself in Melissa’s shoes and experiencing her journey gave me a very real, devastating taste of every mother’s worst nightmare. I’ll be honest—I often didn't agree with the way Melissa acted. I was disappointed in her sometimes, even mad at her. But what I came to learn while writing Only Child is how all-consuming grief can be. Grief is not sensible, it doesn’t manifest itself in the same way for everyone; it is raw and messy and sometimes ugly.

 I ended up finding a lot of myself in Melissa. I still like to think that I would act differently if ever in her situation. That I would be able to comfort and support those around me who are also grieving, especially my children, sooner than Melissa. But who knows what I would be capable of—or not capable of—if grief ever turned me inside out, completely. I hope I never have to find out…

A question I am asked often is, How long have you been writing? The honest answer: For about two years, since all of a sudden this random story idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. I picked up a pen and wrote the first scene of Only Child in one sitting, scribbling furiously in one of my kids’ school notebooks because it was the only paper around. It sounds cliché when I say, the story just poured out of me and it was all I could do to try and keep up. It was exhilarating and consuming—a creative outlet this full-time stay-at-home mom desperately needed, but never considered. But cliché or not, that’s how it was…until it wasn’t.

Because then self-doubt crept in and took over and paralyzed me. Was I wasting my time? I knew nothing about writing, how could I expect to just sit down and write an entire novel? I realized I needed a sounding board, a support system, to help me figure out if and how to carry on. As I considered my options (Should I participate in a creative writing class, where I would be one of many and share my work in a group setting? Or find a writer’s group; a smaller, more self-driven crowd, but, still a crowd? Neither of those options appealed to this “hermit crab” new writer,) luck would have it that I happened upon a Facebook thread of writers recommending writing coaches. And from those recommendations, I picked one immediately.

Her name is Allison, she lives in Dubai (!) and she calls herself the “Unkind Editor.” She seemed to be exactly the kind of person who would give it to me straight. No sugarcoating. I sent off a reading sample and asked, Should I keep going or should I file this under “nice effort, but don’t quit your day job”? Allison wrote back right away: Keep going. And with that I had found my support system in the form of the kindest unkind editor imaginable. She would help guide me through the entire process of writing my book, from piecing together a first draft all the way to querying agents and learning about the publishing process.

People sometimes seem taken aback when I tell them I’ve been working with a coach. The looks on their faces seem to say, “Oh, you needed to work with a coach? She helped you write the book?” If you think a writing coach will do the work for you—think again. But what he or she will do is help you figure out a way for you to get your work done, to reach your goals. I learned quickly that signing on with a coach is a big commitment. It adds an extra layer of accountability. I think that every writer faces different challenges. Some have trouble staying focused or disciplined. Many might need to move past other obstacles that are getting in the way of their success. Good coaches can help you identify your roadblocks and help you tackle them. They will teach you strategies to coach yourself through difficult times. They will create action steps towards specific goals, offer a fresh perspective, and help you get “unstuck.” Because you will be stuck, many times.

For me, being disciplined about my writing was never the issue. I instantly fell in love with writing and wanted to do it all the time. One of my challenges was making writing a priority in my life. Allison helped me develop a game plan to do that. “Write down a list of five things the kids can start doing on their own to free up more time for you to write,” she would say. “Think about how you can rearrange your schedule to make time for writing. Your writing is worth it, you’re entitled to this time.” The other challenge I faced was my continued self-doubt. Allison cheered me on and she helped me find confidence in myself and in my ability to accomplish what I had set out to do—tell this story that had me in its grip and that meant to much to me. I looked forward to seeing my unkind editor’s smiling face on Skype, all the way from Dubai. And you can bet I had done my homework done before signing on.

The pub day of ONLY CHILD is almost here! Pinch me, please, someone. Because I can’t believe this is actually happening. I get to share this story that I found—or I should say, that found me—with all of you. It feels like the due date of my fourth child is right around the corner, except that most of the “labor” is already behind me (yay.)  And boy, some labor that was. A year-long, give or take, labor of love, definitely, but with its share of blood, sweat, and tears. Well, no actual blood. But tears! So, so many tears.

When my twins were born, I had three kids under the age of four. So really, it takes a lot to throw me off my game in the baby- or kid-department. But this is different. This is my firstborn book baby and I have ALL the feels of an about-to-be first-time mother. The happy, proud anticipation is making it hard for me to sit still—one definite advantage of book baby vs. real baby: walking around is not super uncomfortable. Also, no heartburn. I can’t wait to meet it (well, I’ve met it, obviously, but not, say, on the shelf of Barnes & Noble) and I can’t wait to show it off to my friends and the WHOLE WORLD. And I am so very nervous and anxious.

Because, you know that saying, “a face only a mother could love…?” Sometimes I wake up in a sweat and I picture someone—a reader or a reviewer—looking at my baby and having the same reaction Elaine and Jerry had in the “Ugly Baby” episode of Seinfeld. Where they walk up to Carol’s baby’s crib and lovingly gaze at the baby only to instantly retreat in horror at his ugliness. “Isn’t he gorgeous?” Carol squawks in that squawky voice of hers and next we see Elaine and Jerry outside on the back deck doubled over in disgust and Jerry proclaims, “Was it just me or was that the ugliest baby you have ever seen?” And then no one wants the baby at the dinner table because it’s so ugly and…

OK, deep breath.

Not everyone is going to like my baby. And that’s OK. But some will. Many already do. I certainly hope you will. 

Last month, the Penguin Random House library marketing team put together an incredible event at the Penguin Random House headquarters. They hosted over one hundred librarians from the tri-state area and invited four authors to introduce their book to them. I was so honored to be chosen as one of the authors and beyond excited to get the chance to tell the librarians a little bit about me and my book, Only Child.

But as excited I was to have this opportunity to speak directly to the librarians (librarians are my idols!)—I was NERVOUS, too. Because when I say public speaking and I don’t mesh, I’m making the biggest understatement of the year (2017, that is.) And this event was taking me and tossing me right into the deepest of deep ends of the public speaking phobia pool. “You know what they say,” my oldest son said to me the morning of the event (as I tried to make myself look presentable while getting three kids bundled into coats, hats, and gloves, and out the door with something that qualifies as an acceptable lunch,) “Picture them naked.”

When I arrived at the Penguin Random House event space, I and the other authors were led to a table at the front of the room, facing the audience. I was seated next to Amy Bloom (awkward fan moment…) and looked for a few friendly faces in the audience I could focus on while giving my speech. That was actually the easiest part of the whole morning because all the faces were friendly and smiled encouragingly. Really, if you have to take the plunge, starting in front of an audience of librarians is the way to go.

Camille Perri and Lauren Hilgers were up before me and introduced their books “When Katie Met Cassidy” and “Patriot Number One” (I scored signed advance copies and can’t wait to dive in) and then it was my turn. Sweaty, shaky knees, a somewhat malfunctioning microphone…but I made it through. It was actually fun, a little bit. And when Amy went up after me, crushing her speech of course, I was proud of myself. I took the plunge, I jumped straight into the deep end; and while I didn’t perform the perfect, graceful backstroke, I didn’t drown either. And I totally forgot to imaginary-undress my audience.

If you want to see my inaugural plunge, you can watch the video here (that is Carole Baron, my wonderful editor and friend, introducing me at the beginning.) 

One of my Facebook friends shared an article from the HuffPost about the funniest wildlife photos of 2017 and hey, that sounds right up my alley and who couldn’t use a good laugh in the middle of all this…you know. So of course I jump right in and the very first picture is hilarious and also, it’s basically a picture of me during the holiday season:

I’m the owl on the left there, barely holding on, looking altogether not even a little bit graceful, while the other owls sit calm, cool, and collected. This is me; literally every day, every minute of every day, leading up to the holidays. Trying to keep it together, trying to get it all done, and let’s just say—not winning.

One example was the Girl Scout meeting I took my daughter to a couple of days ago. We were early actually, but not because I was so well organized, but because I thought it was much later than it actually was so we were rushing out the door like the house was on fire, and do we have the gift basket I volunteered to put together for the Me and My Guy Dance which is not until February by the way, but it was due two weeks ago, and no, I didn’t iron the new patches onto your Brownies vest yet, so you should definitely have a major meltdown because of that. We get to the Girl Scout house too early and no one else is there yet, so we sit in the car and wait and I begin to worry because I left the boys home alone with the new puppy who will most certainly poop on the rug before I make it back there because I’m the only one who ever takes him outside. And we sit, and we sit, and then I realize—there is no Girl Scout meeting today because today is Tuesday and Girl Scout meetings are on Mondays (every other Monday to be exact  as an extra evil plan to throw me off my game.)

Now if this was an isolated incident, I could still pretend like I’m on top of my life and the holiday preparations. But it’s not. And I’m not nearly done with my Christmas shopping, the Christmas cards are still sitting on my counter (hey, at least I ordered cards this year!) and what about the tips for the UPS guy and the school bus monitor and the gift for the piano teacher’s ninety-three-year old mom who knitted the kids scarfs last year and…

I was beginning to feel like my usual method of storing all of my to do items in this amazing hub called my brain wasn’t really cutting it anymore, so I wrote an actual to do list. And then I remembered why I don’t do that because it ended up being three pages long and that’s just a really scary, intimidating thing to look at. And I’m sure I forgot several items, so the last item on the list is: “try to remember the other stuff” (right below the second-to-last item, “spend some time thinking about why you have to volunteer for freaking EVERYTHING”)

Somehow the other moms around me look like the other two owls. They don’t seem stressed. They didn’t show up on a Tuesday for the Girl Scout meeting, they probably even wear matching socks. Or maybe they’re just much better at pretend-you’re-keeping-it-together. Either way, maybe I should stop looking at funny animal pictures and tackle that to do list. Although I did save that hilarious-looking video of the Great Danes trying to sit on peoples’ laps, so I’ll just watch that one real quick and then I’ll get cracking on those gingerbread boys and girls I volunteered to cut out for the holiday craft in my daughter’s classroom next week.

Happy Holidays everyone! 

Below is a picture of my younger son’s final Christmas wish list. This is not the original list; that was about seventeen versions ago. Writing the list was serious business. Brow creased in concentration, my son wrote and rewrote, revised and crumpled up papers—until he was ready to hand it over to our house elf, Sam, to deliver it to Santa. Now, if you look closely at his list, five out of eight of his must-have-or-this-Christmas-will-be-the-worst-one-ever-items are Nerf products.

And that’s because he is obsessed with all things Nerf, as are all the other boys in our neighborhood. Nerf has taken over my house. And my yard. And my driveway. THE BULLETS ARE EVERYWHERE. There hasn’t been a load of laundry in the last few weeks that hasn’t produced at least a couple of shiny, clean Nerf bullets. Fierce Nerf battles break out in our neighborhood on an almost daily basis. Straight off the bus, the boys arrive with their gear: Nerf Modulus Tri-Strikes, Nerf N-Strike Elite HyperFire Blasters, Nerf N-Strike Elite Strongarm Blasters. After some extensive war strategy planning, the kids form two teams and then they swarm the immediate or sometimes not so immediate vicinity of the army camp, AKA my house. There is yelling, there is screaming (and the occasional crying, surprisingly rare though,) and a relentless hail of blue bullets. Occasionally, my daughter will participate, reluctantly, if she doesn’t have anything else to do, but for the most part she watches the boys flail around in their “tactical” bullet vests (with bullet storage to enable quick reload capability) and rolls her eyes at them.

 You can probably imagine that this toy gun obsession presents one big, fat dilemma for me. Up until a few months ago, I stood firm: There will be no toy guns in my house. Running around and pretending to shoot other people is not how we play in this house. And then I caved. I didn’t just give in; I made a conscious decision that went against everything I believe in. I scoured the Internet for articles that would prove that I was doing the right thing by refusing my son’s pleas to let him join the gun-wielding troupe of boys outside. And it turns out—not necessarily.

This is one of many articles I read and really found useful. It makes the case for why this kind of play is normal, and maybe even important, especially for boys:

http://www.slate.com/articles/life/the_kids/2015/07/should_you_let_your_kids_play_with_toy_guns_yes_but_keep_them_away_from.html

The article cites studies that indicate that when kids incorporate violence into their pretend play, they may learn how to control real violent impulses and regulate their emotions. The way they play can be interesting and important to observe. If their play is creative and imaginative, it can be beneficial for their development and growth. But if their play seems suspicious and rings a warning bell somewhere inside you, it may expose helpful clues that your child has impulse-control or aggression issues.

My own convictions and (strong) hesitations aside—it didn’t seem like a development I would have been able to nip in the butt either way. In a pinch, sticks, wooden spoons, and even bananas (what?) will be turned into imaginary guns. And I realized that the bigger a deal I made out of not wanting toy guns in my house, the more my son really, really wanted them. He was going to his friends’ houses to play with Nerf guns there, instead of here. So far, their playing seems to be innocent. The good guys “take care” of the bad guys. The good guys always win. My son and his friends are incredibly creative in the way they use their guns. They play out whole narratives, they collaborate and strategize. They set up elaborate forts and repurpose all kinds of vital household items into shooting targets and shields.

And so, even though every fiber of my being revolts against it, I let my son run around my back yard, his Nerf N-Strike Modulus ECS-10 Blaster at the ready and wearing his protective safety glasses (that’s one battle that I DID win.) Somehow I have a feeling that Santa is an adamant pacifist though and will be focusing more on the Legos (of any kind) than toy guns and ammunition. One new gun, maybe. And more bullets. There are never enough bullets. 

Yesterday, you returned from a weekend away with your dad and on your way home, you saw images on the airport television that scared you. “Did you hear about the shooting?” was the first thing you asked me when you walked in the door. Your dad was right behind you, apologetic: “It was all over the TVs at the airport, there was no way I could keep it from him.” Of course there was no way to keep it from you. Pictures of the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history are going to be everywhere, for a while. And tomorrow, at your school, everyone will be talking about it.

You looked at me for answers and later on, I could see you hiding on the stairs because you knew your dad and I were discussing the shooting and you were hoping to overhear us saying something, anything, that would answer some of your questions. The problem is, I don’t have any answers. And I don’t know how to explain to you how such a horrific thing could have possibly happened, again. I have no words that will reassure you and comfort you. I feel completely helpless.

For Christmas last year, I gave you a special present—tickets to your very first concert. That was a big deal. A huge milestone. Your whole life people are going to ask you: “What was the first concert you went to?” And you will say, “21 Pilots, and I went with my mom.” I will always remember what an amazing time we had together (not just because the band was actually much better than some of the other “noise” you listen to sometimes. Wow, I sound old, don’t I?) I loved watching you dance, sing, and just being your carefree, goofy ten-year-old self—positively thrilled to see your favorite band perform.

Two days ago, in Las Vegas, hundreds of concert-goers were killed or hurt when a gunman opened fire on them from the window of his hotel room. There were kids at that concert. They were there with their parents, who, just like me, loved watching their children enjoy music, enjoy life.       

I’m so very sad that you, at eleven years old, had to see some of the pictures of this shooting. I’m sad that your dad and I couldn’t shield you from this and that we are raising you in a world where we hear about yet another guy going rogue with a gun on an almost daily basis. And now my beautiful memory of our concert is tainted. Because now I think back on that night and I can picture so clearly how easily you could have gotten hurt if there had been a shooting there, that night.

I can’t look you in the eye and promise that I can keep you safe. One day, if and when you have your own children, you will understand that that is the worst feeling in the world. But I can promise you this: Your mother will try to work towards a better, safer world for you. I will not (only) feel sad and scared, but I will try to do my part, however insignificant or useless my contribution may seem at the time. I hope that one day when you’re older and you look back, you won’t have to ask, “What did my mother do to help?” I hope you will remember how much I tried to stand up for what I think is right.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And soon the memories of this awful, tragic shooting will begin to fade. And soon you will ask to see another concert. 21 Pilots are so passé, I know, but there will be another band you will love and you will ask me to take you to see them live. And I will hesitate. I’ll be terrified, actually. But I will take you anyway, just like I still send you to school, even though I can’t be sure anymore that you will be safe there, either. Because we can’t hide and live in fear. But what we can do is our part, every single one of us, to make a better world. I will. And this is my promise to you, my son.

There are those long hours in the middle of the night, four to six am preferably, where my brain is on fire and I have so many brilliant, earth-shatteringly profound thoughts that I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep. I simply HAVE to get up and write them down so they don’t slip away into the black hole of the five-minute snooze I might succumb to before a short person comes marching into the bedroom demanding his or her morning snuggle and we’re UP.

When the kids are off on the bus, I can’t wait to re-read all the brilliance I jotted down so feverishly during my bout of creative insomnia and then I’m like, girl, that’s…not nearly as good as you remembered it to be.  So the middle of the night is kind of out for idea-generation. Just sitting at the desk and waiting for the great ideas to slap me in the face isn’t happening either. That just leads to a chorus of cricket-chirping in my brain and a crippling grip of panic in my chest.

So what does work for me, at least sometimes, to get the creative juices flowing? Two words. Half marathons and showers (OK, three words then. Listen, it’s five am as I’m writing this.)

It definitely is not a coincidence that I ran four half marathons in the year I wrote ONLY CHILD. There is a direct correlation between running and writing for me. Running centers me and frees my brain for some serious, meditative state-like thinking. Not during the first couple of miles because then my legs feel like lead and my lungs burn and oh, I should have peed one more time before I left the house. But then the magical endorphin-thing happens and ideas start popping all over the place. I wrestled to come up with the perfect title for my book and I remember the exact spot on the trail, in the middle of the woods, where I stopped abruptly with a revelation. ONLY CHILD. THAT’S a great title.   

And speaking of the flowing of creative “juices”…all that running leads to lots of showering. And showers are the next best thing to running when it comes to zoning out and thinking deeply. Somehow maybe the warm water loosens me up or shaving my legs triggers increased brain function, I don’t know what it is, but it’s working. Plus, let’s be honest, it’s just a good place to hide from the kids. They won’t come near me because they’re afraid I’ll make them come in and use soap.

I make a really good meatloaf. It’s moist and tasty (I know at least half of you just got the willies when they read the word moist. Moist meatloaf. Shudder) But seriously, it’s good. I add my “secret sauce” to it (no, I’m not telling you my recipe, it’s a SECRET, I want to remain the best meatloaf-maker in the universe.) By the way, did you know that in Germany we call a meatloaf a “fake rabbit?” My kids get a real kick out of that one; how I ever managed to convince them to eat it is a mind-boggling miracle though.

ANYWAY, why am I telling you about my amazing meatloaf? Because before I discovered writing, my meatloaf was my only claim to fame. OK, maybe not the only one, my chicken and wine sauce is pretty darn good, too. My kids (and my neighbors’ kids) call me the best cooker in the world. Which I am most definitely not.

You know those start-of-the school-year projects kids have to do every.single.year? The “tell us about yourself and your family” poster or essay? Well, when my kids described me, they mentioned my good cooking and, ahem, one or two essays might have mentioned that I like wine. That killed me though. “My dad works in a really big office and he’s the boss of everyone. My mom is a good cooker and likes to drink wine.” I used to be more than that, I wanted to yell at them, I used to be the boss of people, too, before I became a meatloaf-maker and the boss of you short people!!

Don’t get me wrong - I made a conscious decision to be home with my children. I want to be present, I want to cook good meals for them. I consider myself extremely fortunate that our family is able to afford the luxury of a stay-at-home parent. But every time someone asked, “So, what do you do all day?” I died a little bit on the inside.

Until, UNTIL, writing came along and rescued me. I can’t bring myself yet to answer people with a sassy: “I’m a writer, that’s what I do all day.” But I smile, feeling content and fulfilled.

P.S.: I made that meatloaf tonight. The glaze turned out perfect, sweet and sticky, with just the right hint of mustard-y kick.