#Early middle grade book

[booksteacupandreviews]

Grandpa's Bag of Stories by Sudha Murty - engaging collection of stories

Grandpa’s Bag of Stories by Sudha Murty is fast-paced, beautifully engaging collection of stories filled with morals that parents and grandparents will love sharing with their children of age 8 or more. Grandpa’s Bag of Stories by Sudha MurtySynopsisReviewBook Links Grandpa’s Bag of Stories by Sudha Murty Publication Date : July 29, 2024 Publisher : Puffin Read Date : September 2,…

[cjbolan]

Mary Penelope Windsnap in Book 1: *courageously disarms and traps in a net with her bare hands a dangerous Royal spy with superhuman armed guards at his beck and call*

Mary Penelope Windsnap in Book 2:

* sails headfirst into a deadly sea monster’s reach to find her daughter*

Mary Penelope Windsnap in Book 8:

* is too scared of a possibly unarmed man in a silly pirate costume who’s surrounded by a bunch of kids to do anything except just hide*

[literaticat]

Thank you so much for answering all of our questions! I'm struggling to conceptualize the difference between an early reader, a chapter book, and middle grade? (Do they ever call middle grade books chapter books?) Thanks!

If I wrote a book and was having a hard time determining if it fit into early reader or chapter book, is that something an agent can help me figure out where it best fit?

While there is a little bit of crossover between these categories -- a LITTLE bit -- ie, a handful of books that one might argue COULD be considered early readers/chapter books, or chapter books/young MG -- the reality is, for the most part, these categories each have pretty distinct parameters.

Therefore, I'm going to be brutally honest: If you can't tell the difference between these categories, you have not read enough children's books to be writing them. Go to the bookstore or library and get to reading!

But before you go, here, I made you a cheat sheet -- hey, don't make fun of it, "graphic design is my passion" lol :D

(ETA: Oh and yes - sometimes random people -- parents, teachers, kids -- do call anything with chapters a chapter book. In publishing terms, though, chapter book is its own distinct category, and a middle grade book would never be called a chapter book.)

(ETA AGAIN: Sure, your agent can certainly help you decide at which audience to aim your book, like for example, suggesting that an early reader might sell better as a chapter book, or vice versa -- but it would def help if you knew the difference first and had a goal in mind, yanno?)

[ladyfate2010]

BOOK ALERT

If your child is a fantasy-fiction lover, I have a perfect book for you. Featuring a storyteller grandma, curious children, a beautiful garden, the bond of siblings and, of course, fairies.

Buy it only on Bribooks -

[ritzcrackee]

i need book friendssss

[ace-with--a-mace]

i definitely think quarantine stunted everyone under the age of like 25's growth and its detrimental to society today

[narratorstragedy]

it’s wild to me when people are like “i learned to read when i was three 😌” because i genuinely can’t remember reading before age 6 or so (besides the painstakingly sounding out words type)… like in my head it always felt like i woke up one day and picked up a magic tree house book and i could suddenly understand it. i also learned to walk rather late because i figured out i could just crawl instead and couldn’t be bothered. which is iconic actually

[bargainsleuthbooks]

Book Reviews: Children's Edition; Simone Biles: Little People, Big Dreams; My Friend LeVar; The Owl Prowl Mystery; Big Jim and the White Boy; From the Early 1900s to the Mid-1900s: Inventors #NetGalley #NewBooks

Time for another round-up of ARCs that I've read lately. This time 'round, it's a bunch of children's books of all ages, including a retelling of Huck Finn, and a book on #Olympian #SimoneBiles #Bookreview #netgalley #newbooks #levarburton

I’m cruising along and getting through all my Advanced Reader’s Copies from NetGalley. In order to keep up with blogging about them all, I’ve decided to do more roundups like this. Most books can be found at the affiliate links below or try your local library when they are released! (Amazon US) (Amazon CA) (Amazon UK)  (AbeBooks) (Barnes & Noble) (Booksamillion)  (Audible.com)…

[chantireviews]

The 2023 CIBAs Grand Prize Winners for Fiction!

A Huge Congratulations to all of the 2023 Chanticleer Int’l Book Awards (CIBAs) FICTION Division Grand Prize Winners! Every tier of the CIBAs is an important one, though few rise to be one of the coveted Division Grand Prize Winners. We will link to the Non-Fiction, Series, Shorts, and Overall Grand Prize lists after they post! This post has links to each of the 16 individual CIBA FICTION…

[booksteacupandreviews]

Mehar’s World of Colours by Arti Sonthalia - Middle Grade Fiction for art lovers

Mehar’s World of Colours is heartfelt, lovely, and a wholesome story with beautiful illustrations and amazing messages and life situation that kids can relate to and it’s a perfect Middle Grade Fiction for art lovers. Mehar’s World of Colours – Middle Grade Fiction for art loversSynopsisReviewBook Links Mehar’s World of Colours by Arti Sonthalia Publication Date : March 25, 2024 Publisher :…

[cjbolan]

After finishing the Netflix ATLA I realized Shiprock is a lot like the Northern Water Tribe. They treat women OK but give them way fewer opportunities than the men. Just as women in the Northern Water Tribe can only be healers, women in Shiprock can only be schoolteachers or sirens . With very few exceptions.

And they make miserable any woman who dares want more options.

(I always thought Jake Windsnap is a bit sexist in the early books and this comparison confirms it)

[butchlifeguard]

so is a child in this book written really badly or are my only references Early Bloomers with 160 iq

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

Stuck at the bookstore until 3. Normally I wouldn't mind, but most of the people who have walked in here have been either annoying or an asshole.

[gowns]

Why Kids Aren't Falling in Love With Reading - It's Not Just Screens

A shrinking number of kids are reading widely and voraciously for fun.

The ubiquity and allure of screens surely play a large part in this—most American children have smartphones by the age of 11—as does learning loss during the pandemic. But this isn’t the whole story. A survey just before the pandemic by the National Assessment of Educational Progress showed that the percentages of 9- and 13-year-olds who said they read daily for fun had dropped by double digits since 1984. I recently spoke with educators and librarians about this trend, and they gave many explanations, but one of the most compelling—and depressing—is rooted in how our education system teaches kids to relate to books.

What I remember most about reading in childhood was falling in love with characters and stories; I adored Judy Blume’s Margaret and Beverly Cleary’s Ralph S. Mouse. In New York, where I was in public elementary school in the early ’80s, we did have state assessments that tested reading level and comprehension, but the focus was on reading as many books as possible and engaging emotionally with them as a way to develop the requisite skills. Now the focus on reading analytically seems to be squashing that organic enjoyment. Critical reading is an important skill, especially for a generation bombarded with information, much of it unreliable or deceptive. But this hyperfocus on analysis comes at a steep price: The love of books and storytelling is being lost.

This disregard for story starts as early as elementary school. Take this requirement from the third-grade English-language-arts Common Core standard, used widely across the U.S.: “Determine the meaning of words and phrases as they are used in a text, distinguishing literal from nonliteral language.” There is a fun, easy way to introduce this concept: reading Peggy Parish’s classic, Amelia Bedelia, in which the eponymous maid follows commands such as “Draw the drapes when the sun comes in” by drawing a picture of the curtains. But here’s how one educator experienced in writing Common Core–aligned curricula proposes this be taught: First, teachers introduce the concepts of nonliteral and figurative language. Then, kids read a single paragraph from Amelia Bedelia and answer written questions.

For anyone who knows children, this is the opposite of engaging: The best way to present an abstract idea to kids is by hooking them on a story. “Nonliteral language” becomes a whole lot more interesting and comprehensible, especially to an 8-year-old, when they’ve gotten to laugh at Amelia’s antics first. The process of meeting a character and following them through a series of conflicts is the fun part of reading. Jumping into a paragraph in the middle of a book is about as appealing for most kids as cleaning their room.

But as several educators explained to me, the advent of accountability laws and policies, starting with No Child Left Behind in 2001, and accompanying high-stakes assessments based on standards, be they Common Core or similar state alternatives, has put enormous pressure on instructors to teach to these tests at the expense of best practices. Jennifer LaGarde, who has more than 20 years of experience as a public-school teacher and librarian, described how one such practice—the class read-aloud—invariably resulted in kids asking her for comparable titles. But read-alouds are now imperiled by the need to make sure that kids have mastered all the standards that await them in evaluation, an even more daunting task since the start of the pandemic. “There’s a whole generation of kids who associate reading with assessment now,” LaGarde said.

By middle school, not only is there even less time for activities such as class read-alouds, but instruction also continues to center heavily on passage analysis, said LaGarde, who taught that age group. A friend recently told me that her child’s middle-school teacher had introduced To Kill a Mockingbird to the class, explaining that they would read it over a number of months—and might not have time to finish it. “How can they not get to the end of To Kill a Mockingbird?” she wondered. I’m right there with her. You can’t teach kids to love reading if you don’t even prioritize making it to a book’s end. The reward comes from the emotional payoff of the story’s climax; kids miss out on this essential feeling if they don’t reach Atticus Finch’s powerful defense of Tom Robinson in the courtroom or never get to solve the mystery of Boo Radley.

... Young people should experience the intrinsic pleasure of taking a narrative journey, making an emotional connection with a character (including ones different from themselves), and wondering what will happen next—then finding out. This is the spell that reading casts. And, like with any magician’s trick, picking a story apart and learning how it’s done before you have experienced its wonder risks destroying the magic.

-- article by katherine marsh, the atlantic (12 foot link, no paywall)

[meezcarrie]

April 2023 New Releases

No foolin' - April 2023 has a bunch of great New Releases that are on my radar - and should be on yours too! #comingsoon #NewReleases #MustRead #TBR #TBRlist #BookTwitter #coverlove #readingcommunity #bookstoread #BooksWorthReading #books

Happy April! Spring is in the air here in Georgia… and so is pollen haha! There are 85 titles on this list of April 2023 New Releases, and they comprise a range of genres – contemporary, historical, cozy mystery, suspense, Amish fiction, children’s books, YA, and even some speculative fiction. And, of course, expect to see lots of romance because it’s me, after all 😉 All books listed are…

[space-cowgirllll]

Tolerate It

pls enjoy this kinda angsty little thing I wrote a couple of months ago when I was really going through it in a relationship and have been too shy to post anywhere until today. I miiiiight have the second part to this halfway done. If this sucks I'm so sorry lmao it’s very lightly proofread and I have not written anything that hasn't had to be turned in for a grade in years.

Part Two

You sit alone at the table wondering how you ended up here. The dinner you'd spent the better part of the evening preparing grows cold as you sip on what has to be your third glass of wine. From your spot you can see Abby standing at the counter, speaking softly into the phone while she reads through the mail that had piled up over the last week. You pick at your food, hoping she'll join you eventually, but when fifteen minutes turns into twenty and then thirty five, you realize you're wasting your time. The laughter from the other room tells you the work part of the call ended long ago. Pushing your chair back, not caring when the loud noise earns you a glare from Abby, you gather your plate and blow out the candles at the center of the table.

Abby moves to sit on the loveseat in the living room after her call. It doesn't take long for her to get lost in the new book she had just brought home. Your eyes shift to the untouched plate of food still waiting for her in the dining room and then to the apple in her hand. The sound of  your throat clearing catches her attention.

"Your plate is still at the table if you want it, babe." You gesture to the lone plate at her usual spot.

There's a pang in your chest at the sight of the floral arrangement you'd chosen for the week. Behind that, strong wind pelts rain at the window. The gloomy weather a perfect representation of the storm brewing inside you.

"I thought I told you I had an early dinner with a couple of colleagues."

"Oh."

It comes out as a whisper. Not bothering to tell her she hadn't called you back after her lunch break. Again. You make a mental note to put the plate away before bed, knowing she'll pack it for tomorrow.

Your arms are elbow deep in soapy water, trying to rush through the last couple of dishes before she retreats to her study. The clanking of pots and pans fills the quiet space. You scrub at a particularly stubborn spot, trying to think of a way to bring it up without sounding too obvious.

"How was work today?"

"Fine." Your wife replies, not elaborating further.

"It's the twenty first, right?" There's some hesitation in the question.

"Yup."

Okay.

She doesn't look up from her book when you shuffle past her a little while later, placing a steaming mug on the coffee table. Her hand caresses the soft skin of your thigh and you perk up when she mumbles a soft thanks, placing a quick kiss on her temple. The sleeping cat on her lap stirs when you give him a gentle scratch behind the ear.

You settle into the sofa across from her and watch her read. She's in the cotton pajamas and fuzzy socks you'd laid out in the closet for her. It makes you feel ridiculously overdressed. Your hands fist the skirt of your dress, feeling foolish. There's a dark spot on the satin material from leaning over the wet counter.

The record player in the far corner of the room catches your attention. You miss the nights where she'd play you one of her favorites and dance with you around the living room before letting you sit on her lap as she read out loud to you. You never thought you would miss those boring medical journals. These days you're lucky if you get more than an hour with her before she locks herself in her study.

It hadn't always been like this. The two of you have been together longer than you've been apart. Visions of eleven year old Abby teaching you how to braid her hair for soccer practice flash in your head. Crawling into her bed in the middle of the night after another nasty fight between your parents. Summer vacations to her family's lake house. Her and her parents at every dance recital and play you'd ever been part of in high school. Realizing at sixteen that your feelings for the girl weren't so platonic. Then moving into the spare bedroom down the hall from her a year later after coming out to your family. Prom dress shopping with her and her mother, sneaking kisses in the tiny fitting rooms. The Anderson's were the family you never had.

Navigating young adulthood with Abby had been fun. You'd rented a tiny apartment in Seattle and paid way too much for it while attending university. It wasn't much, but it was home. You remember the dance parties in the tiny living room. The time the blonde begged you to let her keep the tiny cat she'd found in an alley on the way home one random afternoon. Going on dates and exploring the city. Staying up late and fantasizing about what life would look like in ten years. The look on her face as her thumb rubbed small circles on the exposed skin of your belly after you'd shown her your list of baby names. Getting married just after graduation.

Abby had never been too busy to show you how much she loved you, no matter how busy she got with school. Packing your meals for work, making sure your car had enough gas in it, organizing stay at home date nights whenever your schedules aligned. And you doing the same for her when she was up to her eyebrows in work for school.

The notes were your favorite. They had started appearing randomly after you'd been unexpectedly laid off. You'd been moping around the house for weeks, losing hope after not hearing back from any of the companies you'd applied to. Always in your favorite color, the purple post it notes could be found stuck to the wherever you'd see them first thing in the morning. The silly declarations of love and the affirmations always made you smile.

Those days were long gone. You were slowly going from high school sweethearts to two people who simply co-existed. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, it was getting harder to deny the lack of warmth in her eyes when she looked at you sometimes. Today proved what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself. The only person who had ever felt like home has slowly started becoming a stranger that slipped into your bed later and later each night.

Your eyes start stinging and you bite down on your lower lip. There's no way you're breaking down in front of her, not tonight. The warmth radiating from the fireplace does little to keep away the chill running through your body. Shaky hands bring the mug to your lips, hoping some tea would calm the nausea swirling in your stomach. You're not surprised to find yourself unable to keep drinking after a few tiny sips. Abby's favorite mug grows cold on the coffee table and you're positive she doesn't even remember it's there.

The sound of her phone ringing startles you both. Abby snatches the phone off the counter, a tired sigh leaves her parted lips when she sees who's calling. She jogs up the steps, intently listening to whoever is on the other end of the phone. You pick at the chipping nail polish on your left hand, watching the way your engagement ring glints in the dim light of the fire. Your stomach dips as you slip the stack off your finger, placing them in the small bowl on the coffee table.

"Are you going somewhere?" Your head shoots up to where she's standing in the threshold. The sight of her in a fresh pair of navy blue scrubs doesn't surprise you. Her loose bun traded for a tight braid that hangs over her shoulder.

"No. Why would I be?"

She gestures at your dress. Eyes roaming over your face, finally noticing the makeup you'd carefully applied hours before. You see her lock in on your empty hand, her sculpted brows furrow in confusion. Please say something. You beg, just wanting to understand why this is happening. Was she so busy she couldn't even bother to ask what's wrong? Did she even care anymore?

The constant buzzing of the phone in her tote bag answers your question for you. She shakes her head and turns to the door, stopping to slip her feet into her sneakers. You follow silently behind her, wondering if you should say something.

"Abigail?"

She hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to look up from her phone. Her fingers move at lightning speed across the touchscreen. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand, fighting the urge to snatch her phone and chuck it against the wall.

"What?" She asks again when you don't speak up. The look of annoyance on her face has you taking a step back.

"Nevermind," you turn towards the coat closet, pulling out her winter jacket. "It doesn't matter." You don't have to look back to know she's rolling her eyes.

"I should be back before you leave for work." You busy yourself with the already organized closet, pretending to move things around while she gathers the rest of her things.

"Be careful." You mumble, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. Not trusting yourself to say much more without your throat closing.

"Always am." She plants a kiss on the back of your head and heads out the door. It's only when you hear the sound of her car pulling away that you let yourself cry. No longer caring about the mascara that is certainly smearing.

Unsteady legs carry to the foot of the stairs where you collapse into a pathetic heap. Tears freely flowing down your cheeks, further staining the material of your dress. Your hands harshly pull at the fabric, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. The pins in your hair clatter loudly on the floor as you harshly pull them out.

Your sobs echo throughout the empty house. Pain radiates through your body, from somewhere in your chest to the tips of your fingers. The nausea has increased tenfold. You inhale sharply, resting your head on your knees. Watery eyes fixed on the front door your wife had just walked out of, this gut wrenching feeling of loneliness overwhelms you.

"Happy anniversary Abby."