Nolan, Janet 1956-

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NOLAN, Janet 1956-

PERSONAL:

Born October 27, 1956, in Chicago, IL; daughter of Donald and Audrey (a travel agent) Gould; married Bill Nolan (a computer sales consultant), April 18, 1982; children: Tom, Megan. Education: Evergreen State College (Olympia, WA), B.A., 1979; University of Illinois—Chicago, M.U.P., 1986. Hobbies and other interests: Swimming, reading, "taking very long walks."

ADDRESSES:

Agent—c/o Author Mail, Albert Whitman, 6340 Oakton St., Morton Grove, IL 60053-2723. E-mail—jignol@ameritech.net.

CAREER:

Writer. Worked as a waste auditor for a recycling company; also worked as a professional meeting facilitator; volunteer at local schools. Member of West Cook County Solid Waste Commission and Oak Park Solid Waste Commission.

MEMBER:

Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators, League of Women Voters.

WRITINGS:

The St. Patrick's Day Shillelagh, illustrated by Ben F. Stahl, Albert Whitman (Morton Grove, IL), 2002.

WORK IN PROGRESS:

A Father's Day Thank You, for Albert Whitman (Morton Grove, IL), publication expected in 2005.

SIDELIGHTS:

Janet Nolan told CA: "I still find it hard to believe the words I wrote at my dining room table have been edited, illustrated, and bound into an actual book. While I never would have checked 'yes' in the 'do you want to be a writer?' box, I think I've been on the path toward writing my entire life. Unfortunately, I never stopped to read the signs along the way.

"While every female emotion from early adolescence to the present has been recorded in diaries, journals, and spiral notebooks, I did not consider my personal reflections 'writing.' It was private. Because I did not share my words with anyone, they were just thoughts on paper.

"If not a writer, I have always been a reader. What I love about reading is getting lost. I believe getting lost in a story that has the power to take me to a different place, a different reality, or a different time is a gift. What I've recently discovered is that getting lost in writing is a gift as well.

"I had to take a rather odd detour through the garbage to figure that out. I was working as a waste auditor for a recycling company. It was a very cool job: clipboard, hard hat, and steel-toed boots. It's the kind of thing people with graduate degrees in urban planning and a desire to save the planet do. I analyzed the waste/recycling streams out of large downtown Chicago buildings. My writing was technical and academic. Somewhere along the way I was asked to write a brochure for children to explain a plastics recycling program. I wrote the brochure at work, and at home I wrote 'Patti Petunia's Pink Bubble Bath Bottle: An Adventure in Recycling.' While that story did not launch my career, it did wake up some sleeping brain cells. I wrote one terrible children's story after another. It didn't matter how horrible they were. They were private. I didn't show them to anyone; therefore I wasn't a writer. I considered my writing was the artistic equivalent of singing in the shower: harmless but fun. Then came a wonderful moment after a family wedding in Philadelphia.

"Everyone was walking down the street except for my cousin's three-year-old daughter. She was dancing, in a world of her own, in mismatched patent-leather 'tapping shoes' and a dress that spun when she twirled. The combination of family togetherness and one child's ability to be part of the family yet uniquely independent inspired me.

"Finally, I had something to write about: what I felt, not what I wanted to say. I did not set out to write a book chronicling the lives of an Irish-American family. I wanted to write a book that gave my niece a reason to dance. The first character I created was the grandfather, a man who walked with a cane and told wonderful stories of Ireland that my niece always wanted to hear. Over time—years actually—with the help of my wise critique group and patient editor, a story emerged. The grandfather's cane—the shillelagh—became the link that tied the generations of my niece's family together.

"The story begins with the Irish potato famine, a young lad named Fergus, and his favorite blackthorn tree. St. Patrick's Day became the holiday when the stories of my niece's ancestors and their shillelagh were told. The St. Patrick's Day Shillelagh ends as it originally began, when a little girl …begins to dance.

"I am also excited about my upcoming book, A Father's Day Thank You. The book puts a humorous twist on traditional Father's Day gift giving."