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Avi’s Summer Blog Series 2026

Sharon G. Flake

From Avi: Just as we’ve done for the last four sum­mers, 2025 through 2022, I’ve invit­ed 13 admired authors to write for my blog through­out the sum­mer. I hope you’ll tune in each Tues­day to see who answered this year’s ques­tion, which we hope pro­vides you and the young peo­ple in your life with inspi­ra­tion. Whether you already read these authors’, poets’, and illus­tra­tors’ books or we’re intro­duc­ing them to you, we trust you’ll find new books to read!

What advice can you give so I can become a writer?
Young girl writing with pencil in hand staring intently at her journal
Your Road, Your Way

I did not know I want­ed to become a writer until I was in col­lege and, frankly, out of options.

At sev­en­teen, I attend­ed the Uni­ver­si­ty of Pitts­burgh with a sin­gu­lar goal, to become a doc­tor, a pedi­a­tri­cian. I had pre­pared for my future career by vol­un­teer­ing at a hos­pi­tal in mid­dle school and enter­ing a pro­gram at a col­lege in high school. Who knew I need­ed a bet­ter grasp of col­lege chem­istry and oth­er sci­ences to make my dream a reality?

At Pitt, I went from one impos­si­ble dream to anoth­er, think­ing rather too high­ly of myself, I sup­pose. “I’ll major in com­put­er sci­ence,” I thought one day, only to near­ly fail the first class. Anoth­er time, I decid­ed an account­ing career suit­ed me. I won’t tell you how that course end­ed. I will sim­ply say that some­one who could not bal­ance their check­book most like­ly wouldn’t make a great accountant.

For years, I thought those cours­es and oth­ers were a waste of my time and money.

I was wrong. They were nec­es­sary to my jour­ney, impor­tant. It’s how I learned which roads were nev­er meant for me to trav­el, while also teach­ing me that I was hard work­ing, tena­cious, no quit­ter. That some roads, like writ­ing, were wide open, like­ly whis­per­ing to me all the while, chal­leng­ing me to take a gam­ble, explore, trust the jour­ney I was on.

Some­days I believe I became a writ­ing major sim­ply because I was out of options.

Oth­er times, I real­ize that road was always meant for me. Pro­fes­sors who rec­og­nized my abil­i­ties, and writ­ing cours­es that sparked my imag­i­na­tion, were used to point me in the direc­tion I was meant to be on all along. I just had to be coura­geous enough to find my way there.

Write

The sil­li­est thing I had ever heard, or so I thought, was a phrase more than one of my col­lege pro­fes­sors repeat­ed to us. Writ­ers write. Why, of course they do, who didn’t know that? Lots of peo­ple, appar­ent­ly. Over the years I real­ize that many peo­ple talk about writ­ing, think about writ­ing for years, but do not sit down and write. If you wish to become a writer or pub­lished author, you will have to invest a bit of time writ­ing. How much time is up to you. Where you write — at school, in a clos­et, at the kitchen table — is up to you as well. But write you must. This is how you learn, grow and per­fect the craft. The more you write, the more you trust your­self and your instincts, sharp­en your eye and voice, and appre­ci­ate rewrit­ing. Writ­ers write. You are a writer. You know what to do.

Start Close to Home

I grew up in a ram­bunc­tious, live­ly home filled with three broth­ers, two old­er sis­ters, along with my mom and dad. Our tele­vi­sion could be heard out­doors, and up the street. We talked over one anoth­er, laughed until our bel­lies ached. Felt loved and seen. Every book I write comes from this space that said you are impor­tant to us.

Most of us live ordi­nary lives. You may be think­ing or say­ing: what is there to write about in my neigh­bor­hood or house? But home is where the mag­ic of your ear­ly years hap­pens. Mow, I am not sup­pos­ing everyone’s home and lives are per­fect. Mine wasn’t either. I was shy and inse­cure, stayed in the house a lot in mid­dle and high school. My par­ents’ finances were tight. I had an ill grand­par­ent we attend­ed to for years. Nonethe­less, our home was a buzz of activ­i­ty and noise. There was always some­thing cook­ing on the stove, doors open­ing and slam­ming shut. My aunts and uncles rou­tine­ly found their way to our house, and so did my grand­par­ents. Includ­ing my par­ents, these peo­ple were my very first storytellers.

They told sto­ries about their pasts — some heart­break­ing, many laugh­able. Their tales came with sound effects, imagery, dis­tinct voic­es for their char­ac­ters. I’m sure I heard each sto­ry a dozen times or so. But it nev­er mat­tered to me. I loved them.

If you can, look at your life and home with fresh eyes. Take a few notes. What pic­tures are being paint­ed with words by the per­son speak­ing? What unique phras­es do they use? We do not only express our­selves with words, but with our faces, hands, entire bod­ies. See if you can cap­ture them on paper. Once you’re done writ­ing things down, read your words out loud. Now, try to use some of them in a sto­ry to cre­ate imagery, char­ac­ters, voic­es, sto­ry­lines. If we pay atten­tion, sim­ple moments can be trea­sures all around us.

Have Fun

Writ­ers can seem so seri­ous, espe­cial­ly when they are dol­ing out advice. But we can be a fun, joy­ful lot. Yes, writ­ing can be hard work. Yes, some­times I want to pull my hair out as I wres­tle with a scene or trick­ly char­ac­ter arc. But I wouldn’t choose any oth­er career. When I am writ­ing, in sync with my char­ac­ters and sto­ry, I am lit­er­al­ly fly­ing with no net beneath me. It’s the joy I felt writ­ing my very first nov­el, The Skin I’m In, as well as my last two his­tor­i­cal nov­els, Once in a Blue Moon and Hat­tie Mae Begins Again. Trust­ing one’s instincts, voice and writ­ing abil­i­ty is part of the writ­ing process. I wish this for you as well. Hap­py writ­ing, my friend.

You Are Not Alone

It took me decades to real­ize that as a pro­fes­sion­al writer, I was sit­ting on an island alone. Yes, I knew hun­dreds of oth­er authors. And they knew me. But when I got stuck in a nov­el for more years than I’d like to admit, I real­ized that I was alone in my strug­gles. And by choice. I am not an intro­vert nor an extro­vert. I’m some­place in the mid­dle. Find­ing myself on that island, I real­ized I need­ed to do some­thing dif­fer­ent. And I began to reach out to oth­er authors. It wasn’t easy. There was a bit of shame in it, go fig­ure. But guess what? They reached right back out to me.

You are not alone. Writ­ers love to com­mune with oth­er writ­ers. Find a group of like-mind­ed peo­ple (writ­ers) to con­nect with at your school or form a group your­self. Go to the library and do the same thing if school isn’t an option. It will strength­en your char­ac­ter, your writ­ing, voice, and con­fi­dence. If you ever get stuck the way I was, you will also find you are not alone. There are oth­ers will­ing to help you get out of that rut or hole. You are part of a glob­al com­mu­ni­ty of writ­ers, with many local ties. Have fun expand­ing your universe.

Particulars

Sharon G. Flake is the best-known author of the ground-break­ing nov­el The Skin I’m In, which trans­formed the read­ing habits and sense of self of gen­er­a­tions of young read­ers. Con­sid­ered a mod­ern clas­sic, this best-sell­ing nov­el is used in class­rooms world­wide and stud­ied by experts in the field of edu­ca­tion and lit­er­a­ture. Flake is the author of fif­teen books, with more than 1.8 mil­lion copies in print on six con­ti­nents. Her most recent his­tor­i­cal nov­el, Hat­tie Mae Begins Again, focus­es on a young girl’s trav­els from the south to the north dur­ing the Great Migra­tion. The book explores ways in which young peo­ple are meant to feel like out­siders and how they can draw on their upbring­ing, fam­i­ly sto­ries and self-reliance to find their way back to themselves.

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