When you’ve had friends like the late Sadie and Bessie Delany, with whom I created the 1993 oral history Having Our Say: The Delany Sisters’ First 100 Years, you find that you see life in a different way. The daughters of a man born into slavery and a mother who was mixed race and born Read More
Amy's Blog, "Born to Write"
"Streetcar to Justice" Was Inspired by Friendship with the Delany Sisters
January 22, 2018
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How an Old, Abandoned House Led Me to My New Book Topic
November 18, 2017
Every book has a “back story,” or the-story-behind-the-story of how the book came about.
My new book, Streetcar to Justice, has an especially good one. I learned of the topic thanks to an old, abandoned Victorian house.
From 1987 to 1996 my husband and I lived in Ossining, New York, a village on the Hudson River about Read More
My new book, Streetcar to Justice, has an especially good one. I learned of the topic thanks to an old, abandoned Victorian house.
From 1987 to 1996 my husband and I lived in Ossining, New York, a village on the Hudson River about Read More
Why Middle-grade?
October 23, 2017
My tenth book, Streetcar to Justice: How Elizabeth Jennings Won the Right to Ride in New York, will be my first for middle-grade readers. Other than one picture book back in 2003, all of my books have been for adults (although, interestingly, they are appropriate for YA - young adults - and have won awards in that category.)
Why middle-grade for Streetcar to Justice? Because it’s the right audience. Read More
Why middle-grade for Streetcar to Justice? Because it’s the right audience. Read More
Making Room in My Heart
August 23, 2017
I had to say goodbye to my little canine writing companion recently. She was (we think) eleven and a half years old. Her name was Dot, and she was a tiny Boston Terrier.
If you’ve ever had a pet, you know the pain I am feeling. I miss her so.
Dot had a
On Memorial Day, a World War II Dad’s Legacy: Never Take a Day for Granted
May 28, 2017
My dad always had a strange reaction to Memorial Day Weekend, or so it seemed to me as a little girl. Yes, it was the beginning of summer and we celebrated (if that is the right word) with hamburgers on the grill and root beer floats.
But I realized from an early age that the so-called “holiday” was a time when my dad, a World War Two Army veteran and normally a very upbeat person, was also quietly grieving.