It was one of my heroes, Carl Jung, someone whose philosophy has inspired my life, who said: The world will ask you who you are, and if you don't know, the world will tell you. I want every 17 year old to understand this.

*I am a New Yorker. Sometimes you just know where you belong . . . you know with your heart, and in New York City there are millions and millions of people living in relative peace--it is anonymity, and it is community, all in one, and it is beautiful . . . 

*I am an editor, a literary agent, and the owner of Pippin Properties, Inc. Words and pictures are at the core of who I am, and after being an editor at HarperCollins for several years, there were a few book projects I loved that didn’t make it through the acquisitions process. Out of frustration, and out of passion, I opened the doors at Pippin Properties, Inc. in 1998, a boutique literary agency, now located in Bryant Park. It was born from a longing to see stories I loved in print.

Little did I know that Pippin would grow and flourish and become home to some of the crown jewels of the publishing world. 

*People sometimes ask me what to do in their lives or careers, and I answer them with this: Find where you feel completely yourself, where you feel welcome, and the rest will follow. I promise you this.

*I am a writer. Working intimately with so many extraordinarily talented authors and artists helped me understand that I’m an artist too, and so in some ways it’s not that surprising that I started writing books. My first middle-grade novel, Matylda, Bright and Tender, came out in 2017 as did Come with Me (a picture book illustrated by my Belgian friend Pascal Lemaitre). In 2019, my second collaboration with Pascal, Listen, was published, and I am so excited to keep on writing my own books and bringing books I love into the world at Pippin. Look for What the World Could Make, again illustrated by Pascal Lemaitre, on May 4, 2021, available for preorder here.

*I am a poet, and I am making a commitment to working on my craft, a commitment I’ve failed on for awhile now. There are mixed views on the meaning of poetry, for me: it heals. And it is beautiful and reduces the truths of life to their essence. It is an exercise in discipline, bravery, passion, and honesty.

*I am a Democrat. And a fierce advocate for a more equitable world for all. I am doing all I can to become an antiracist. Growing up where I did, I didn’t understand what this meant. Jason Reynolds’ adaptation of Ibram X. Kendi’s STAMPED FROM THE BEGINNING helped me, and I will be grateful to them and their book for as long as I am here and beyond. And I will always continue making efforts toward a better, more fair world.

*I am a mom of three amazing kids, and I’d do anything for them, unless I feel it would hurt them.

*Love is not finite. & there is no end to the amount of love we can give, for things and people and causes that matter.

*I take care of things I love, including my 30 year old Ming Aurelia plant and her 15 year old daughter. I learned by paying attention that they like to be watered every 17 days. Five bottles of water for the mama, and three for the kid. People and plants thrive when they receive what they need.

*I am a dog lover, and am willing to get up in the middle of the night if my dog (Dario) needs me. (Although I prefer sleeping late.) The ashes of my last dog, Zora Rider, will be with me till I am not. I lost her in COVID, and had to say goodbye via ZOOM. That was devastating, and she didn’t know what was happening / didn’t understand the computer screen. My heart will forever go out to people who had to say goodbye to loved ones, virtually or not, during the terrible Pandemic . . . what a horrible horrible way to begin to process the grief, the grief of losing someone, or something, the grief of the world.

And that said, I still have hope.

*I like certain routines, like my planking, nine minutes a day. Planking has bookended my days, every day, for six and a half years now, minus about five times when I made up for missing with 18 minutes the next day. And a couple times when I did 27 minutes on the third day. While discipline is important, so is the ability to break away from routine sometimes. It is freeing.

*I am unconventional. Some people say I’m a unicorn.

*I am curious. But not nosy.

*I love my family and my friends. And I love passing on traditions too, as much as I love recreating them. I love legacy, old and new.

*That said, I’ve learned that sometimes it’s important to love from a distance, in order to preserve one’s strength.

*I will fight, with dragon power, for a more just and loving world, using all the tools in my arsenal. I will not back down.

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“In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.”

—Albert Camus

from What the World Could Make

It’s been a while since I could find a moment to concentrate and post some words here . . . but this past weekend, with the terrible news of #RBG’s passing, I kept thinking about how time keeps moving faster and faster—and what do I want to say and do with the time I have?

To my surprise, I was able to sit at my writing desk and focus, really focus, for the first time in many, many months.

And that shift coincides with something that landed in my inbox late last week—the jacket for my new collaboration with Pascal Lemaitre, What the World Could Make. When I wrote the book in late 2018—I needed the words for myself. But now, I can see that there’s a place for these words in this world, right now . . . because it’s important to remember that even in the darkest of times, beauty & hope still exist if we look for it, both in nature and in our connections as humans here together, season by season.

There is a lot more to say about the story behind this story of Rabbit and Bunny, but for now, I’m so happy to share with you with this gorgeous jacket, created by the amazing designer, Jen Keenan. Our publisher is Roaring Brook Press, and What the World Could Make will come out on May 4, 2021. If you’d like to preorder, please do so here!

Last July, right around my birthday, as I was settling into a new life that includes spending half my time in New York City again, I took one of my shirts to a dry cleaner on 72nd Street. It was the first time I’d brought anything to a dry cleaner in NYC in sixteen years. It was one of my favorite shirts, a shirt I’d worn to Book Expo and to dinner with T. J. Shay and to a Society of Illustrators party. It was a shirt that made me feel a little bit chic. I dropped it off, along with a jump suit a close friend of mine had given me for my birthday—the jumpsuit was just a little big around the top and I needed it tailored. When I left the dry cleaner/ tailor, I looked at my receipt and the shirt wasn’t listed. I thought to go back, but was already on my way with other errands and I believed that the lovely lady who had taken care of me wouldn’t forget.

A week later, I went back to pick up my stuff and there was no record of the shirt. I told the man behind the counter that the shirt had to be in the store somewhere. He started yelling at me, and I yelled at him, because the shirt was more than a shirt to me—it was a symbol of the warmth of friends and the comradery of the publishing world, it was a symbol of what makes me happy . I realized quickly that I had no leverage, no receipt, and I began to let go of the shirt, right in that moment, because I had no proof and it was his word against mine and he owned the shop. I considered the fact that I had worn it at least two dozen times, and I could see that I’d be okay without it, it was still just a shirt.

I let it go. And I never went back to that dry cleaner again . . .

. . . until last Thursday night.

I received a phone call in the afternoon, and it was the lady from the dry cleaner who had tailored the jump suit, asking me why I hadn’t picked up my shirt. She told me that she’d had it for four months. I told her about the man who insisted he had never seen it and that he didn’t have it.

She told me she would be there till 7 and I should come get it. So I stopped there after work and came face to face with the man who had screamed at me about the shirt four months prior.

He used his long extension hook to pull the shirt down. I looked him in the eyes and I asked him if he was sorry.

He looked at me and said, “yes.”

I said, “I forgive you.”

On November 25 I will ask forgiveness of myself and of the world once again. It will be the 39th anniversary of the fatal collision I was in as a 17 year old. The accident that informed my life, where I drove through a stop sign and killed another person, severely injured her husband. I will remember this day by sitting quietly and contemplating what it means to forgive, to forgive oneself, to forgive friends, to forgive strangers . . . forgiveness.

I have begun working on a book about this subject, with someone I love who has her own story of forgiveness. We like to listen to Trevor Hall’s song FORGIVE, in which he says, “And let all of your mistakes become all of your greatest gifts.”

Whatever it is that you regret, whatever accidents have happened, whatever mistakes you’ve made . . . forgive yourself, and maybe something beautiful will come from it.

With much love,

Holly

LISTEN will be out in the world tomorrow, September 3!

VERDICT: Readers of all ages will love this poetic, gentle book about understanding and appreciating the universe for both its individual components and how they are intertwined with one another.–Mary Lanni, formerly of Denver Public Library, School Library Journal

Here are some events Pascal and I are doing to celebrate—mostly in New York and Maplewood, NJ—

all are welcome!

Sometimes I feel like the luckiest person in the world, because I love what I do as a literary agent and founder of Pippin Properties, Inc., and as a writer, and as a mom of three fierce kids. I talked about “writing for your life” years ago, in a NaNoWriMo pep talk, and I still believe, from the core of my being, that writing saves lives. LISTEN, my new picture-book collaboration with Pascal Lemaitre, is about being quiet and listening with your heart, which is more than all the other senses combined, and it’s about the interconnectedness of all of us. My wish for the world, and especially for the children, is to somehow take the time to listen with our hearts, and to act from there, and that by doing so, we can make this place a little better.

Please come celebrate with us at Rizzoli on September 3 at 6 p.m. if you are in the New York area; it promises to be an amazing evening.

xox Holly

On September 3, 2019, my new picture-book collaboration with Pascal Lemaitre will be published, and I am so happy to share the story of how the book came to be, and a little bit about what the book means to me and Pascal. 

“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.”

—Vincent Van Gogh 

At the Rizzoli launch party in New York City for Pascal Lemaitre’s and my collaboration Come with Me in 2017, Matt Dillon joined us on stage to talk about Pascal’s mother-in-law, Yvette Pierpaoli, a humanitarian who devoted her life to refugees. Matt had been close friends with Yvette, and that night, Matt said, “Her eyes were as big as her ears.”

I wrote down those words, because they felt huge to me. Just the idea that you can hear with your eyes, that we all can do that, resonated powerfully with me. And as I thought more about those words over the next months, I began to see that not only can we listen with our ears and eyes, but we can listen with all of our senses—we can take in the sound of our own feet, the smell of the air, the taste and sharing of the food we eat, and the earth in our hands . . .

 And we can listen with our hearts, too.

It was Antoine de Saint-Exupery, in The Little Prince, who said, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”  

Pascal paid homage to Vincent Van Gogh as he colored this book; Van Gogh was always in a quest for light, outside light and inner light, and Pascal was inspired by not only Japanese prints beloved by Van Gogh, but also by fields of sunflowers near Yvette’s home in the South of France . . . sunflowers were beloved by Van Gogh, too.  

Listen is a story about love, about the earth, about how we are all connected, like trees through their roots . . . and Pascal and I hope that our youngest readers can discover how it feels to listen and act from the very center of their hearts, and by doing so, find joy in each other and the natural world, too.  

With much love,

Holly & Pascal