Here’s the latest GEORGE the flybot news:

Book three in the chapter books series debuts July 8, 2025! And yes, I’m very happy and excited about seeing my little flybot journey to his next adventure, this time to the sweeping hills of Colorado’s Black Canyon to search for minted dimes from 1907. If he finds the dimes, they will go on display along with a traveling museum exhibition that will be featured in many parts of the world!

GEORGE wants to complete another successful mission and make his boss, Darcy Luna at Fly on the Wall Inc., happy for a job well-done, but as GEORGE befriends two organic bees, Tallulah Belle and Clancy, who cannot fly after dark, GEORGE discovers that his race to find the minted dimes is also a race against the setting sun.

And guess what? Book three can be preordered now! Yay!

To prepare for the summertime debut of book three, I designed and made little “Ask Me About GEORGE” buttons and T-shirts I can wear and share at the ALA (American Library Association) conference on June 26-29, in Philadelphia.

Aren’t they cute?

In other Georgie news: I was invited to be a speaker on Thursday, May 27th for the School Library Journal’s Day of Dialog spring conference. I’m very honored, and a little nervous too, but if anyone would like to attend the conference, it’s free and easy to sign-up, and I’d love to see you there!

And last but not least, book four is coming out this year too! This time, GEORGE’s mission takes him to Cocos Island, Costa Rica, where he’s looking for lost pirate’s treasure! Plus, on this mission, GEORGE might get into trouble with his boss, who knows about one of his past personal missions. Will she shut down his programming?

I just found out that book four can be preordered now too! It’s coming out October 7, 2025.

So, right now, that’s all the Georgie news I have. I just finished the final draft of book five, and my editors, Rachel, Kathy, and the team at PIP (Phoenix International Publication) Kids are working on getting me notes for book six.

As I sit in my office, a blanket over my lap, staring at a computer screen, listening to birds sing outside my window, and writing on a book deadline, I can officially call myself a professional writer. Not long ago, well, actually over a decade ago, before even starting this blog, I was just a youngling writer wading through rejection letters, an array of critiques and feedback, and a lot of hope.

My hope, back then, was to publish stories in children’s magazines. I also wrote short middle grade novels, and had a chapter book series idea that I pitched to Fiewel & Friends. It was about a dinosaur named FlowerMiss, who took children on adventures in the brim of her straw hat. Back then, in the olden days, I submitted sample chapters with my cover letter in snail mail, with a self-addressed stamped envelope. A year later, Jean Fiewel wrote me a personal note. It didn’t even come in my original self-addressed stamped envelope, but on their dime and on their letterhead. She said they enjoyed the sample chapters and considered the pitch, but it just wasn’t right for them at the moment. It was a rejection. But I was thrilled! I had received a personal note from a notable editor and publisher.

At that point, before Indie publishing was a thing, my mom and I published a little picture book together. I wrote a short article about our personal journey, and an editor, Leon Ograski, from The Writers’ Journal, offered to publish the story and paid me $25. I was officially a published author! 

Eventually, a few of my other short stories were published in Hopscotch, Fun for Kidz, and Highlights. But even then, I didn’t consider myself a professional writer.

At last, after querying agents for a few years, I received an offer of representation and a contract from a literary agent who would sub a non-fiction picture book I had been working on for a while. I was elated because I knew my stories would reach a wider range of editors and publishers.

For a brief moment, I felt like a professional writer, but when my agent couldn’t sell the book, unfortunately, my mind reset to thinking that this writing thing was just a hobby, and I shouldn’t take it too seriously.

After a few years, my agent and I parted ways, but on friendly and kind terms, where we both liked and respected each other. About that same time, I had sent a résumé to a small press publishing company that wrote educational books. They reached out and offered me a contract to write a short chapter book on spec. Their outline for the book was very detailed, and it involved significant research, but I felt I was up to the task, and was happy to accept their payment of $400 for 1250 words. This was the most I had ever been paid to write.

After that, I became engrossed in writing a middle grade novel based on a newspaper article I found in my mom‘s scrapbook, featuring a terrible car crash my family was involved in and experienced in the 1970s. The book, Little Miss Wanderling was/is the book of my heart, as well as its sister novel, Ella on the Corner of Cranberry Street.

To my surprise and delight, I was offered agent representation a second time for my first novel. My new agent subbed the novel to about 10 editors, major publishers from the big five or six, I can’t remember what the number is now, but several requested the full manuscript. And I received a rewrite and resubmit (R&R) from one editor.

Though right before the pandemic hit, sadly, my agent and I parted ways. I felt nothing but great respect for my agent, and thought she was a lovely person, but we did not have the same editorial vision, and it was a hindrance more than a help.

Now that the pandemic was in full swing, I made a goal to take some writing courses, specifically novel writing classes from UCLA extension, and receive a certificate in creative writing. My instructor, Robert Eversz, and small class size of seven, which had to be approved by the instructor before taking the course, were amazing in every way. They taught me how to craft a story in a compelling way, and how to think like a writer. They taught me so much about what my expectations are regarding my writing and publishing goals. Plus, they were just fun to work with!

So, this leads me to today where I sit in my room with a book deadline looming over me. Maybe, I’m writing this blog post because I’m procrastinating, or maybe this is just a good way to clear my mind for the story to take shape.

But in April 2023, when I was offered a four book contract from Phoenix International Publications (PIP Kids), in my mind, that’s the day I became a professional writer. The first two books in the GEORGE THE FLYBOT series debuted about five months ago, and books 3 and 4 will be released in July and October of this year (2025). Right now, I am writing book 5, and love where this story is going. This tiny robotic fly, with his amazing tech and gadgetry, and discovery of humanity, and all that it means to be alive, has captured my heart as well. I love this character, and I’m excited to share him with all of you. I won’t say what I’m being paid, but it’s more than $400 like my last book, and it includes royalties.

Many authors say they never get to the point where they’ve earned out their advance and start receiving royalties. But I have a feeling, that in time, Georgie, my little flybot, is going to take off and jet into the hearts of many, many readers. And it’s not all about the royalties, it’s about the young readers, who will be inspired. That’s always who it was about.

So yes, I can say it out loud: I am a professional writer. And you know, I believe I was one all along.

Time to dust off the pages of this blog and bring it back to life! I started this blog in 2012. Now, after a long journey and many amazing adventures, I have a new one to tell you about. As you can see from the title, I have become a flower because I’ve blossomed. Blossomed to become, once again, a published author, but this time with a four-book-contract. (I would have put a million exclamation points after that last sentence, but there are so many exclamation points to come, I don’t want to bog you down and tire you out with exclamation points! Ok, just one more. 🙂 )

G eo

E nginnering

O ffice of

R obotics at

G adabout

E nterprises

Along with his boss, Darcy Luna, from Fly on the Wall Inc,, GEORGE’s first mission is in the Himalayas to find a lost camera from 1924. If he finds the camera, it will change history.

The best part of writing GEORGE’s character is exploring his understanding of how humans think and feel. And when he comes across an ethical dilemma in book one, the stakes raise even higher.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VRCLKd2cd-8

At first, when I pitched the idea via email to Susie Brooke from PIP Kids (Phoenix International Publications) in June of 2022, I had low expectations. Most agents had ignored or dismissed the idea, and I felt a little weary. My flower petals were awfully droopy.

But the next day Susie emailed me back, saying that they were very interested, and after corresponding for months, in the fall of that year, when she was promoted to Publisher, she handed me over to Kathy Broderick, Senior Executive Editor. After sample chapters and more chats, I signed my contract in April of 2023.

PIP Kids has five imprints, but GEORGE the Flybot series is published under Sunbird Books. PIP is a licensed publisher for Disney and Nickelodeon, and over the last few years they have been expanding their list with original content. GEORGE is their first CB series. I truly do feel honored. Truly, truly.

This is the beginning of my story. There’s so much more that has happened, so much more, but I will post in small increments and give you little bits of my amazing journey and adventure.

Book one of GEORGE the Flybot is my sixth published piece since I have began this long writing journey. And I feel so grateful. I really do! (Had to add one more exclamation. It deserves to be there. 🙂 )

So, when I told Grandpa Charlie that we had tickets to fly to London, he insisted I make a reservation at Harrods for afternoon tea … the most expensive one they served, and it would be a treat from him.

We ordered the champagne tea with unlimited tea sandwiches, which included a live concert on a white grand piano, by a very distinguished fellow wearing a tuxedo. From that moment on, Grandpa Charlie and I shared a love of afternoon tea.

Now, whenever I start a new writing project, especially in springtime, when tiny sprigs of new buds begin to bloom (at least here in California where we’re getting a lot of rain), I think about Grandpa Charlie, who always cheered my writing projects, and shared a pot of tea with me to celebrate.

With several projects in the works, three middle grade novels, picture books, a chapter book series proposal, and several new ideas, I started out trying to get an agent. I’ve been agented before, and enjoyed working with both of my agents. They were nice people who tried to do their jobs the best way they knew how, and I appreciated their advocacy and support.

Since my last agent and I parted ways at the eve of the pandemic, and I’ve been querying for the last 2 1/2 years, I’ve noticed that agent’s responses have become less personal. And although I have received dozens of requests over the years, and have corresponded with some amazing and dedicated agents, it seems as though the majority are searching for specific types of manuscripts, popular or trendy tropes that my stories don’t reflect. These agents are saturated with materials, wading neck-deep in clever, witty, creatively unique ideas from writers all over the world, who are talented and gifted creators. Most agents are people who love books too, and they are doing the best they can.

But sometimes, as a writer querying my stories, and although most rejections sink into a dark hole where I tell myself it’s to be expected, there are times when one rejection, for one reason or another, just hurts.

For example, recently, after writing a thoughtful and personal letter to an agent, letting her know that she was the only agent considering this particular proposal, and the book had an editor’s interest, and then the agent sent back a cold form rejection … I wanted to cry. Normally, I’m fine, but sometimes there’s that one that breaks you.

What I’m saying is … in the big picture of agent searching, I’ve concluded that getting an agent isn’t the end all and be all to publication. If you’re not interested in becoming a famous author, and all you care about is getting your stories out there, submitting manuscripts on your own, meeting editors at conferences, through contests or Twitter events, there are plenty of writers who can attest to the value of going that route instead.

Because I have an R&R with two agents for one of my middle grade manuscripts (the other is entered in a contest), and another agent is considering another manuscript, well, for now, I still hold out hope of receiving an agent offer, but if they don’t pan through, there are other options.

We’ll see what happens, but just in case, I’m grateful there are still opportunities out there that won’t require an agent. I still have options, which means there’s still hope.

The last several months I have been taking writing courses, and an intensive workshop through UCLA extension. It’s been an amazing experience, and I feel honored to be a part of it.

When I submitted my application and full manuscript for the workshop, I was aware, and just to note that the course is taught and instructed by Robert Eversz, author of the Nina Zero novels, screenwriter, and co-founder of the Prague Summer Program for writers, in any case, I was fully aware that admission was highly selective with only 7 students chosen for the winter and spring semesters, so I didn’t expect to get into the class. But to my surprise and delight, I did.

Now that I have been in the workshop for several months, now that I’m in the groove of reading my fellow writers manuscripts, and revising my own as we go along the way, I have grown as a reader and a writer. I’ve blossomed, and in the name of cheesy similes, like a rosebud whose petals are open for the first time and slanted toward the sunlight, I’m basking in my newly found voice, skill, and methodology, which has changed the way I see my characters and write my stories.

I’m still in the thick of it, so I will update in this blog along the way. Several agents have been kind enough to wait until the end of the course to see my revised manuscript(s). So I have something to work toward, which is better than the alternative. Before this course I was in a rut, but now I’m riding, or should I say, writing along at full speed.

Over these last few months, while sitting on my little plaid chair, a throw pillow on my lap, tucked away from all the people in my life, the world keeps spinning, moving, doing. And I watch. I watch the TV screen numb and sad wishing things were different.

My last blog post was about my search for representation and the right literary agent for my book(s), and today on October 23rd, this is still the case. But over these months as the pandemic rages on, a few things have happened in my writing world too.

After my last post on May 8th, an email popped up in my inbox with some good news (on the same day I posted), a much needed ray of light. My editor, Joelle Dujardin, at Highlights magazine sent a final major edit for me to review GRANDPOP’S OCEAN, which was set for publication for their November issue. The edits were beautifully done, and I loved how it turned out. The email expressed how much they loved the piece, how the end gave them goose bumps, and how excited they were to publish it.

Just two days ago, in the mail, I received my copies of the November issue with GRANDPOP’S OCEAN featured on pages 20 and 21. It’s so pretty. I couldn’t help it, all I could do was cry.

In late August, early September, another email from a small press publisher invited me to do a revision on one of my books. The editor said the editorial process was for the intention of acquisitions and making an offer on the book. I worked hard on the revisions, but by late September the editor came back and said they still weren’t connecting. Oh, well. A disappointment, but I was still grateful for the chance.

This month I’ve completed my third novel, an upper middle grade book set in 1959 based on my parent’s lives growing up in Brooklyn. I’ve been querying for three weeks. I’ve received a handful of requests, but so many rejections. Most of the rejections have been forms, but this go-around a few agents have been writing small encouraging notes too. The few agents who are still considering the book are good agents. It’d be wonderful to work with any one of them, but I have a list of publishers and editors prepared just in case the agent route doesn’t come to fruition this time.

While the world keeps spinning, moving, doing, and as Covid 19 confirmed cases have been rising, the death rate climbing, my perspective on the pursuit of publication is balanced with a renewed sense of profound gratitude for the good things I DO have instead of the things I don’t.

Once upon a time, there was a small princess who loved big words. In actuality (and the princess knew that this mysterious word actuality actually meant “the state of really existing rather than being imagined,” which to her sounded extraordinarily beautiful), and so, in actuality, she loved small words too. She loved words so much that each day she would eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She consumed them in a greedy, hungrily way. And soon, the princess was not so small anymore. In fact, she was growing quite round and plump. Beyond the castle walls, where the peasants and serfs lived in tiny wooden cottages, whispering rumors began to circulate about the princess’ health. “She’s plumped up a bit hasn’t she?” said one woman washing by the pond. “Plumped up? I wouldn’t say, plumped up. She’s more like the size of a very large and sturdy cow,” replied her husband, who was trying to be nice.

And as the princess grew in size, her personal seamstress busily sewed larger and larger skirts and shirts and dresses. The hum of the sewing machine whirled late into the night as the seamstress pulled her hair in frustration, up to her ears in alterations. The local newspaper put out front-page headlines: “STORE SHELVES WIPED CLEAN. Fabric shortages have hit the land!” But despite all this, the princess could not stop consuming, devouring words.

At last, the princess sat on her throne, filled and contented with so many spectacular and beautiful words stuffed deep down inside that she felt peace. Never had she been so happy. She said, “Never have I been so happy. Today, I decree that these gorgeous, amazing words that I have tucked inside my soul, will be shared with 100 various suitors from across the kingdom. I will arrange the best of the best of my word compositions to be presented to them, and the suitor who is worthy of my words will become my prince.”

At once, the entire kingdom became a stir with the news. “The princess is to be married. A suitor worthy of her words will become the prince. Who will this suitor be?”

In a flower field beside the castle walls, the princess sat on a hand carved marble throne, lilies and daffodils and wild roses waving in a breeze. A long scroll of her most cherished words, hand copied by her most trusted scribes, lay out on a long white marble table that matched her marble throne, for the parade of suitors to appraise.

Ten suitors approached the throne, each of them replying similarly. “I’m sorry to inform you, but your words do not suit my needs.”

The princess began to perspire. “Really? These are the finest words in the land. The best of the best. Ok, fine. Be gone with you.”

Twenty more suitors approached the throne. “Thank you for reaching out, but unfortunately I already have similar words in my kingdom. If you have any other words to share, I’d be happy to take a look at them.”

The princess took off her crown and wiped her forehead. “Are you certain? You really have all of these magnificent and irresistible words in your kingdom. Every one of them? Ok, fine. Be gone with you.”

The next 20 suitors said, “I’ve examined your words with great interest, but in this current market, I’m not certain these words will bode well in our land. Have a nice day.”

With a great flourish, the princess heaved over the side of the throne. After vomiting her lunch, she sat up. Speaking to her favorite scribe, she said, “Gather the scroll. We must reevaluate. We must rearrange my beautiful words. We must make them more appetizing.”

“Yes, yes, my princess,” said the scribe.

And with that, the scroll of clean, fine parchment was re-written with even more eloquent and stunning words. Words that were so astounding, the princess wept all night.

Though the following morning, while sitting on her marble throne, the princess was stunned to hear 20 more suitors say, “Due to the volume of words I receive, I only respond to words I am interested in. If you don’t hear from me within six to eight weeks, rest assured I’m not interested in your words. I’m sure another suitor will feel differently.”

The princess saw the flower field spinning. To steady herself, she grasped the arm of her throne. “But these words are worthy of tears. Filled with the light of a thousand suns.” And with that, she stood up from her throne to make a grand announcement. “The remaining 30 suitors are dismissed! I will NOT marry. Thank you for coming.”

And so, that night in her bed chamber, the princess cried into her pillow. Her lady’s maid approached, saying softly, “Don’t despair, my sweet princess. It only takes one. Just one suitor must be worthy of your words. Don’t give up.”

Through teary eyes, the princess looked up at her. “You think so?”

“Yes, I truly do.”

The princess stood beside her bed, tossing the pillow on a chair. “Call my scribes. Let the remaining suitors know I have changed my mind. In two days, I will present the truest words of my heart, the words of my soul. I will bare them all.”

Two days later, sitting on her marble throne amongst the wildflowers, the princess listened as 20 of the remaining suitors said, “I’ve really enjoyed these words. They are beautiful.” The princess exhaled in relief, whispering under her breath, “Ok, now we’re getting somewhere.” The suitors went on, “But unfortunately, I’m not feeling them in my gut the way I’d like to have. Please know this is subjective. We are extremely sorry to disappoint you, but we wish you the very best of luck.”

The princess clutched her chest in dismay as 10 suitors spoke up, “We love your words. May we take them back to our kingdom to look at them further?” Through her severe disappointment, the princess anchored her hope on, “We love your words,” and they carried her through the long days and nights to come.

 

 

 

 

 

HOMESCHOOLING SCIENCE ACTIVITY (based on my book, Medical Technology Inspired by Nature):

All across the globe, animals are inspiring scientists to invent amazing new technologies. To start your science activity for this week’s lesson, first . . .

• Go online to find a photo of an animal called a gecko.
• Did you find the photo? Look at this unique and tiny creature.
• Did you know that the gecko has sticky feet?
• Their feet have tiny hairs. These sticky hairs help the gecko to cling to surfaces.
• They can climb very steep walls.
• They can even walk on the ceiling without toppling to the ground!
• Are you amazed? You should be.

Next, you will learn about the unbelievable medical technology that is based on the gecko.

• Scientists invented a new medical tape based on the gecko.
• The tape can help people who have been injured.
• It can bond a cut on the skin.
• It can seal deep wounds.

Now, think about what you’ve learned about the gecko. Think about the medical technology that the gecko has inspired. See if you can answer these multiple choice questions:

• What is on the gecko’s feet that help them stick to surfaces?

A.   Tiny little wings.

B.   Tiny hairs.

C.   Tiny feathers.

• What medical technology was invented inspired by the gecko?

A.   A new type of sponge.

B.   A new type of mask.

C.   A new type of medical tape.

• What does the surgical tape do to help patients?

A.   It can bond a cut on the skin and seal deep wounds.

B.   It can erase years of unsightly wrinkles.

C.   It can help those with poor singing voices.

Good job!

[Homeschooling teachers . . . Here are the answers to the questions: B, C, and A. Note that next week’s lessons will be more challenging.]

Please join me for next week’s activity: Inspired by the Sandcastle Worm.

 

 

Here’s the thing: I have a flower petal problem. I know. What a problem, huh? But like many things in life, it’s all in the way one views it.

My home in Southern California doesn’t have a garage. It has a carport. Above the carport blooms a thick vine of thorny red flowers. The vine grows down a white trellis where it becomes part of a large flowery bush. These flowers grow everywhere. Strip malls, gas stations, in patches of land between busy streets. They are called Bougainvillea.

Everyday, like falling snow, dry wilted petals drift onto my driveway. Hundreds of crunchy red petals scatter my lawn and carport. Everyday, we trek flower petals into the house. They stick to the bottom of our shoes. They float with an afternoon breeze landing in our trees. They line our garden, sticking to other flowers in our flowerbed. I sweep them up or blow them away and they return the following day. Day after day, flower petals. Never ending flower petals.

And so, what am I trying to say? In reality, flower petals are lovely. These flowers have been called “flower machines that explode in color.” To passerby, they are a delight to look at in hues of pink, purple and red. Sometimes they are white or bright orange. But when they cause me to work or end up in unlikely places, they’re not so delightful.

My point being, the words in my stories are like these flower petals. Sometimes they are a delight, lovely to look at. And sometimes they’re a nuisance, a bothersome mess that gives me grief.

Words or flower petals, or whatever else life offers, good or bad, we can choose to view them as positive or negative. In my case, if I’m being honest with myself, whenever I find a flower petal stuck to the bottom of my shoe or peel one off my entryway floor, I often think, “There are worse things in life than a flower petal stuck to my shoe.” And there really are.

I am a writer. Nothing will ever change that. And so I think: there are worse things in life. There are worse things in life than being rejected over and over. And over again.

Some days feel like there isn’t. But there really are. So I say as I flick a flower petal off my sweater sleeve.