My house is filled with books. Especially in my kids’ room. It’s practically overflowing in them. They’re one thing I can’t say no to. Reading with my kids is my favorite thing. It’s a ritual we look forward to. Even if we have a long, hard day we can rely on coming together each night for a snuggle and a story. Author Mac Barnett’s books are usually the first pick amongst our family. Mac’s written over 40 books! If you’re a parent, there is a good chance that you have one of his stories in your collection: The Wolf, The Duck & The Mouse; Triangle; Sam & Dave Dig a Hole —are just a few of our favorites. What I love about Mac’s storytelling is he’s not fussy about making sure everything works out in the end. Mac gives children the authority to make their own interpretations.

Since being quarantined, Mac started Mac’s Book Club where he reads books aloud and answers his extremely inquisitive listener’s questions. My kids and I enjoy his charming and funny approach and his adorable, furry sidekick Henry. I asked Mac about how he got into his business, his creative process, and about his true love—hats.

Tell us about yourself and your background? 

I’m a children’s book author—picture books mostly, but some chapter books too. I grew up in the Bay Area and still live there today. I definitely identify as a Californian, although I’m not really sure what I mean by that. 

You’ve written over 40 books! How did you fall in love with writing children’s picture books? 

My mom read to me a lot when I was a kid, and we especially loved funny stuff. I remember her reading James Marshall’s picture books to me when I was a kid, and she was laughing so hard she was crying. And it was amazing: my mom—a grown-up, a mom, a very funny person—was laughing at the same book I was laughing at. That’s something special about picture books: they’re usually read to kids, not by kids. And so these stories become a part of a family’s shared language. Picture books are some of the first artworks children connect to, but they’re also an important way children connect to people around them.

Where do you draw inspiration for your stories? Tell us a little about your process. 

I’m inspired by my audience: kids. Children are generally braver, smarter, more engaged readers than adults are. A lot of adults, when they come into contact with a story they don’t understand, will push it aside. Things that don’t immediately make sense to us can make us feel dumb. They threaten the carefully ordered worlds we’ve spent our whole lives building. But kids boldly throw themselves into strange stories, difficult stories, challenging stories. Kids aren’t passive readers. They’re willing to do the work. And they’re alive to the new in the world. At the deepest level kids and stories share the same purpose: exploring what it means to be a person in this world. 

You work with amazing illustrators to bring your words to life. How do you work together to create such magic?

Typically, picture book authors and illustrators aren’t supposed to talk to each other when they’re making a book. But we don’t always follow those rules. I’ve made six books with my friend Jon Klassen, and we work very closely together. He opines on the words, I opine on the pictures, and I think our stories together are a document of our friendship, which is rooted in our love for picture books: we met at a party 10 years ago, figured out we both loved Frog & Toad, and have been buddies ever since.

In any good picture book, the illustrations are essential—often more important than the words (oh what a painful thing to write!). I think it’s something many parents and educators who rush to have kids “graduate” from picture books into chapter books miss: understanding a picture book requires a child to synthesize language and image. The words tell you things the pictures don’t. The pictures tell you things the words don’t. Sometimes the words and pictures tell you two different things, and you have to figure out which one is right. Writing a good picture book means leaving space for the illustrator to tell the story. (And the words and pictures both have to leave plenty of space for kids to make their own interpretations of the story, too.)

When you’re burnt out how do you reinvigorate yourself? 

I find writing very difficult and get burnt out fast. Reading is restoring—so is listening to music, and looking at art. I visit a lot of schools and read my books to students—or at least I used to, in the pre-quarantine days—and talking to kids always reminds me why I started writing. Lately I’ve been doing a daily read-aloud show on my Instagram and it’s been surprisingly energizing—even though it takes a few hours out of my day, I’m writing more than I ever have. Sharing stories is such a deeply human thing to do, but the actual act of writing is so solitary, so disconnected from other people.

What are some ways you tackle writer’s block?

I just get away from the desk, ideally to do something physical. Pull weeds, empty the dishwasher, walk around with my dog in the woods. I can’t force this stuff.

You literally wear a lot of hats. What’s your dream hat? 

I have this problem where I buy hats and then feel ridiculous wearing them. I think my ideal isn’t any particular hat, but a society in which more people wore hats so that I could wear mine without feeling like I was making such a statement about hat-wearing. 

Tell us about your creative process. Do you have any rituals that help you feel inspired? 

My creative process is a total mess. I work at odd hours, fritter away massive amounts of time on dumb websites. I go days, weeks, months, without writing anything. When I hear writers talk about their rituals—rising early, lighting candles—or who speak about writing as “a practice,” I get real sweaty: I must be doing this wrong! 

Kids are so curious and imaginative. How can adults tap back into their childlike wonder? 

“Wonder” implies amazement but also uncertainty, and I think it’s important for us to be ok with uncertainty, with ambiguity, with not knowing. This is where I think aesthetics comes in. Encountering something beautiful—a novel, a poem, a tree—can be shocking. We get knocked off balance a bit, and that’s good, because in that wobbly moment there’s an opportunity for change, for growth. 

What are you currently reading? Do you have an all-time favorite book? 

I’m on the home stretch of the third and last of Hilary Mantel’s Cromwell novels and I am going to miss living in these books so much. All-time favorite? Maybe The Baron in the Trees? Or The Once and Future King? I’m bad at picking one of something. 

You’re local from the Bay Area. Where are a few places you visit for inspiration? 

I love the parks and forests in the hills above Oakland. Southie is a restaurant where I spend a lot of time, or I did, back in the days when we spent time in restaurants. (And I look forward to the days when I will spend lots of time there again!). I like to visit the SFMoMA for artwork and the Oakland YMCA for racquetball. 

What songs do you have on heavy rotation right now?

My Lady Carey’s Dompe by Hugh Aston (attributed)

Numbers on the Boards by Pusha T

Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush

If you weren’t an author what job would you like to have?

I was planning to become a medievalist if I couldn’t get a picture book published and that job still sounds really nice.

“…in that wobbly moment there’s an opportunity for change, for growth.”

If there was a picture book written about you, what would it be called? 

I’d rather people pay attention to my work than my life so I hope the title would be some reference to the books I wrote. (Also you can tell by the past tense that I’m dead in this hypothetical.)

Favorite quote? 

Ursula Nordstrom was a legendary editor of kids’ books at Harper, probably the most influential figure in American children’s literature. She published Goodnight Moon, Charlotte’s Web, Where the Wild Things Are—and that’s honestly just the beginning. Her letters are terrific, filled with probably 100 of my favorite quotes, including this one, about the time someone at Harper offered her a job in the adult department:

“The implication, of course, was that since I had learned to publish books for children with considerable success perhaps I was now ready to move along (or up) to the adult field. I almost pushed the luncheon table into the lap of the pompous gentleman opposite me and then explained kindly that publishing children’s books was what I did, that I couldn’t possibly be interested in books for dead dull finished adults, and thank you very much but I had to get back to my desk to publish some more good books for bad children.”

Thanks, Mac. You can follow Mac and his book club on his Instagram.

Photos by Carson Ellis & Taylor Rose Norman Barnett.