R.L. Toalson's Blog

Things that make me laugh:

Jokes created by my sons
Watching my four-year-old accomplish something I didn’t know he was capable of
Observing my sons roller blading out front

Playing “Infected” when I’m it
A beautifully tidy house
My cat sleeping in the sink

Watching The Embarrassing Moment on the big screen or reading it in a book
My husband tripping
My four-year-old answering the question, Why do you think that?

The delightful curiosity of children
The magnetism of screens (at least until te...

My oldest son is on the third read-through of Rick Riordan’s entire list of books. He is, currently, obsessed with Greek mythology and mythology in general, and he reads physical books and audiobooks and reads them all again. And again. And again.

I’ve heard it said, many times, by people who don’t write for children: I think I’ll write a children’s book someday. It can’t be that hard. But, oh, they are wrong.

Some mistakenly believe that because children’s books have smaller word counts they...

When my house is quiet, I hear
the hum of vehicles on the highway
the chirping of birds outside my window
a dog barking in the canyon, as though his owner has just returned

When my house is quiet, I hear
the scratch of a pen against paper
the bend of the page as it fills
the whisper of breath on my lips

When my house is quiet, I hear
the rumble of an airplane turned north
the tap of an insect against the pane
the neighbor’s little boy, squealing in delight

When my house is quiet, I hear
life

He’d just sat down to his lunch. I was finishing up something in the kitchen before I’d join him at the table, my daily lunch date with my youngest son.

That morning we’d played a matching game, rammed a few cars together, sung a few songs, and now nap time was creeping closer. But first lunch and stories.

“Did you pick a story for us to read?” I said.

“Oh, yeah!” he said. It’s become a ritual: He pretends to forget, I remind him, he races to the bookshelf ten or so feet away, in our home lib...

Kids have their own opinions about nearly everything. If you have ever given them a platform on which to share these opinions, you will often be surprised, and likely delighted, by their emphatic thoughts.

They don’t always get a chance to exercise these opinions; so much of their world is already set up and laid out for them. But the spaces where they are permitted freedom, they will gladly use it.

My 8-year-old son earlier this year expressed that he wants to be an Accelerated Reader millio...

Every night, during our prayer time, my third son has been praying he’ll be an Accelerated Reader millionaire. 

My sons’ school rewards their AR millionaires with a limousine ride to a local smoothie shop and a pizza party, so there’s some incentive to becoming a millionaire. I’m not a huge fan of the program when it’s used in connection with grades—because I believe kids will naturally become good readers if they find the right books, and they need to do that without rewards or it becomes ro...

The other day my eight-year-old asked me an important question. His eyes were wide in that way he has when he’s been wondering something for a while.

Finally, he said what was on his mind. “What does it mean to revise?”

He’d likely heard me complaining, just a few minutes ago, about a project I needed to revise and how I felt a little stuck on one section of it.

I took a deep breath. Revising is not always easy to explain. But I would try.

“Let’s say you have a log,” I said. “And you’re tryin...

The other day my husband and I were finishing dinner for our sons, and I, having come off a high from my current work in progress, which finally hit its sweet spot after two weeks of struggling, said, “I don’t know if I’ve said this recently, but I really, really love what I do.

My husband hears this often; I can’t help but express gratitude for the gift of doing what I love—creating what was not there before. I love the entire process—research, brainstorm, drafting, revising, editing. It fee...

In a house full of children you’ll see
clothes strewn all over the floor
books left in random places, bookmarked by the arm of a couch or a sock or a thread they were braiding
cats zipping in and out of rooms

In a house full of children you’ll hear
cascades of giggles
“Watch this!”
jokes that never end and secrets whispered—some loudly, some so softy you’ll never decode them

In a house full of children you’ll smell
stinky feet
spaghetti cooking on the stove—it’s easy in large batches
the outd...

This is my first week back writing after spending the holidays hanging out with my sons, planning for the new year, and reading. The project I chose to start with this year has felt difficult to write.

It’s not the story or the passion with which I approach it. I love this story. I long to see, on paper, what I see in my head. I want it to have the same greatness on the page that it does in my imagination. I look forward to writing it every day.

But the resistance has felt like wading through...