Month: May 2026

See List    Kate O’Shaughnessy

Some kids’ books stick with you long after you read them.  These books don’t shout or shine too brightly. Instead, they sit with you quietly and say, “Hey, maybe this is what growing up really feels like.”

Kate O’Shaughnessy writes those kinds of books. Her stories sneak in through road trips, recipes, and whispered doubts. Before you know it, you’re looking at something profound and tender: what it means to belong, to question, and to build a life when the instructions feel incomplete.

Let’s take the scenic route through her work. Here are a few mile markers along the road Kate is the award-winning author of several middle-grade novels, including The Lonely Heart of Maybelle Lane, Lasagna Means I Love You, and The Wrong Way Home.

The Lonely Heart of Maybelle Lane (2020)

This debut introduces Maybelle, an eleven-year-old who collects sounds. That’s already a delightful detail—who hasn’t tried to capture a moment only to fail miserably? When she learns that her estranged father is a radio DJ, she sets off on a road trip to meet him and enters a singing contest in Nashville along the way. What makes this story shine isn’t just the journey; it’s how Maybelle forms a chosen family from the most unlikely companions. Courage fills the space where fear once sat.

Lasagna Means I Love You (2023)

In this book, we meet Mo, who’s dealing with loss, foster care, and the small but stubborn hope of finding or making a family. Through a quirky cookbook filled with recipes and their backstories, Mo starts to create a sense of belonging in her own way. It’s a book that understands grief without letting it take control, which is a remarkable balancing act.

The Wrong Way Home (2024/2025)

Next is her latest—and maybe her most talked-about novel. The Wrong Way Home follows twelve-year-old Fern, who grew up in an off-the-grid commune led by a charismatic figure she trusts completely. When her mother suddenly takes her away, Fern faces a disorienting question: What if everything she believes is wrong? The story unfolds as Fern adjusts to a new life—school, friendships, and the wider world. At the same time, she quietly grapples with loyalty, doubt, and identity. This book is a Newbery Honor title and has gained recognition for its emotional depth. For readers in our part of the country, it’s worth noting that The Wrong Way Home is on the Kansas William Allen White Book Award nominee list for 2026–27.

What ties it all together? If you look closely, you’ll notice a pattern in O’Shaughnessy’s books. Her characters often stand at a crossroads, holding a question that doesn’t have an easy answer: Who am I, really? And who gets to decide? This question appears in Maybelle Lane as a “journey within a journey” – finding a father while also finding herself. In Lasagna Means I Love You, it takes the form of quiet determination to create a family from scratch. In The Wrong Way Home, it becomes urgent: It takes courage to question everything you’ve learned, even when it’s scary. Time and again, her stories return to self-trust—the delicate, hard-won belief that your own voice matters, even when it contradicts the loudest voices around you. It’s not flashy. It’s not preachy. It’s just true.

The “Why” Behind the Words: O’Shaughnessy’s writing feels grounded because it is. She explores complex emotional issues: family relationships, identity, and belonging – with empathy and care.  She often focuses on internal stories: the quiet shifts that shape how kids view themselves and their world. She has a particular affection for mother-daughter relationships and stories about connection and care.  She also seems to trust her readers. She doesn’t over-explain. She allows characters to make mistakes. And she gives readers space to figure things out on their own—because kids are often really good at that.

So, if you’re a parent, teacher, or a librarian recommending a middle-grade novel, Kate O’Shaughnessy’s books are worth exploring. Start with The Wrong Way Home—especially while it’s on the William Allen White list, sparking conversations in classrooms and libraries. Then circle back to Maybelle and Mo, who will feel like old friends before you’re halfway through. And maybe—just maybe—take a moment to think about the books that shaped you when you were younger. The ones that sat beside you quietly and said, “You’ll figure it out.” Because if O’Shaughnessy’s stories remind us of anything, it’s this: We usually do.

See List    Lindsay Currie

A funny thing happens when you reread the books that once scared, thrilled, or excited you as a kid. You realize that the author was doing something much more complex than you noticed at age ten. It’s like discovering your childhood treehouse had load-bearing beams. That’s how the works of Lindsay Currie feel – a writer who has created a wonderfully eerie and heartfelt niche in contemporary children’s literature. Parents, teachers, and young readers keep coming back to this space, flashlight in hand.

A Tour Through the Goosebump-Adjacent Neighborhood

The Mystery of Locked Rooms – Let’s start with the big one: Currie’s latest adventure, currently a nominee for the Kansas William Allen White Book Award. Three friends explore an abandoned funhouse, encountering a series of riddles that seem designed by a playful camp counselor who loves brainteasers. What makes it special isn’t just the clever clues; it’s the emotional stakes woven throughout. The story prompts readers to think about what it means to trust others, especially when both figurative and literal doors remain closed.

Scritch Scratch – This ghost story, set in Chicago, follows a hesitant young ghost-tour assistant who unknowingly brings a spirit home. It’s spooky, but also tender. Currie uses the supernatural to explore themes of loneliness, empathy, and how kids carry their worries like invisible backpacks.

The Peculiar Incident on Shady Street – This haunted-house mystery has a heart. A girl moves to a new city, strange events begin to unfold, and soon she finds herself immersed in clues, friendships, and ghostly antics that feel just dangerous enough to be fun. It’s a tribute to curiosity.

What Lives in the Woods – Picture a creepy old mansion, a forest that whispers, and a main character who refuses to let fear limit her. It’s atmospheric in the way that makes campfire stories memorable. 

So what is Lindsay really up to?  Across all these tales, one theme rises up like a friendly ghost tapping on the window: courage. Not the dramatic kind where someone jumps from a moving train, but the quieter bravery of kids who confront the unknown. This unknown can be anything from a haunted attic to starting at a new school, or the unsettling realization that the world is larger and stranger than adults often acknowledge. Currie’s characters don’t begin as heroes. They grow braver. They earn their courage, and they do so in ways that young readers can relate to as they navigate their own locked doors, both literal and metaphorical. 

Is this Lindsay’s “Why?” – Currie often shares her fascination with the emotional landscape of childhood—the way kids feel everything intensely, how fear and wonder can coexist like mismatched bookends. Her stories reflect that sensitivity. They aren’t meant to scare children into compliance; they aim to empower them. There’s also a clear appreciation for puzzles, history, and the small mysteries of everyday life. You get the sense that she recalls exactly what it felt like to be young, curious, and slightly overwhelmed. She writes to that version of the reader—the one who longs to believe there’s something magical, or at least meaningful, behind every creaking floorboard.

Your Turn at the Flashlight! If you haven’t picked up The Mystery of Locked Rooms yet, consider this your reminder. It’s clever, heartfelt, and perfect for reading aloud in classrooms or at bedtime. 

What is your favorite Lindsay Currie moment? Maybe it’s the scene that made you laugh, or the one that had you sleeping with the hallway light on. Or, if you’re feeling nostalgic, tell about your favorite childhood mystery book—the one that made you believe the world was full of hidden doors.

See Lists    Kyle Lukoff

See Book List    Scott Reintgen

As you know, when you’re standing in front of thirty teenagers who would rather be anywhere else—including a dentist’s chair or a pit of fire—you know that the greatest sin you can commit isn’t a typo. It’s being boring.

Scott Reintgen (it’s pronounced Rankin, by the way) clearly learned that lesson in the trenches. He didn’t just leave the classroom; he took the “back-row dreamers”—the kids who doodle dragons in the margins of their algebra homework—and actually gave them the keys to the spaceship. 

The “Back-Row” Origin Story

Scott spent years in North Carolina’s public schools, which is basically the hero’s journey but with more standardized testing and mystery meat in the cafeteria. He noticed something annoying: his students loved epic adventures, but the heroes in those books rarely looked like the kids sitting in his desks. 

So, he did the logical thing. He stopped just teaching the “classics” (which, let’s be honest, usually involve a lot of Victorian orphans or men staring at the sea) and started writing the books his students actually wanted to steal from the library. He sold his first series, Nyxia, in a major auction in 2015, which is the writer’s version of winning the lottery, only with much more coffee and existential dread.

The Philosophy: Why Not Both?

Scott’s whole vibe is rooted in a very specific kind of “underdog” philosophy. He writes because he thinks inspiration shouldn’t be a gated community. His themes usually boil down to: “What are you willing to trade to win?” and “Why is the giant corporation trying to kill us?” (A question we all ask every time we look at our phone bills). 

He explores the “Price of Ambition,” which is a fancy way of saying his characters are constantly in high-stakes competitions where the silver medal is usually “not dying.” It’s representation with a purpose—making sure every kid feels “vibrant and victorious,” even if they’re currently struggling with pre-calculus. 

The Style: High-Octane (And Other Adjectives for “Fast”)

If Scott’s writing were a car, it wouldn’t have a brake pedal. It would just be an engine and a very loud stereo. His style is “high-octane,” which is marketing-speak for “this book will give you a minor heart arrhythmia.” 

He’s a master of the narrative hook. He uses short, punchy chapters that make you say, “Okay, just one more,” until it’s 3:00 AM and you’ve forgotten your own name. He avoids “info-dumping” (that tedious thing where an author spends six pages explaining how a magic toaster works) and instead just throws you into the fire. He even teaches a writing course on this at ItsPronouncedRankin.com, because apparently, some people need to be told not to bore their audience to tears. Who knew? 

The Catalog: From Alchemy to Mars

His bibliography is a bit of a genre-hopping fever dream. You’ve got the Nyxia Triad (space competition), the Waxways series (dark fantasy), and his middle-grade stuff like Talespinners. 

But we have to talk about the current heavyweight: The Last Dragon on Mars.

It’s exactly what it sounds like, which is to say, it’s awesome. It’s about a kid named Lunar Jones living on a rusting, dusty Mars who finds—you guessed it—a dragon. It spent 22 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list, which is longer than most of my New Year’s resolutions last. It’s also a nominee for the 2026-27 Truman Book Award here in Missouri. 

The twist? It’s a “sci-fi and fantasy mash-up,” which finally answers the age-old question: What happens if you put a mythical fire-breathing beast in a vacuum?. Scott Reintgen has basically built a career on the idea that the “back row” deserves the front seat—and honestly, considering the view from the front, I think he’s onto something. 

See Book List    Kristy Boyce

I’ve always been a bit suspicious of people who claim they don’t have a “thing.” You know the type—they say they like “all kinds of music” or “whatever’s on TV.” It’s not true, obviously. Everyone has a secret, slightly embarrassing obsession that involves specialized terminology and probably a specific type of footwear. For me, it’s Opera (don’t ask); for Kristy Boyce’s characters, it’s usually a mix of Shakespearean monologues and twenty-sided dice.

And honestly? We’re all the better for it.

The Travel Log (or: How to Fall in Love While Being Culturally Confused)

Boyce has made a career out of sending teenagers to Europe to find themselves, which is a lot more productive than what I did at seventeen (mostly finding new ways to fail Algebra II).

In Hot British Boyfriend, we get the classic “I’ve been publicly humiliated so I’m moving to England” pivot. It’s a bold strategy. It involves Ellie navigating the social minefields of a British boarding school while trying to figure out if she wants the boy who looks like a prince or the one who actually knows how to talk to her. (Spoiler: It’s rarely the prince. Life is funny that way.) Then there’s Hot Dutch Daydream, which involves Amsterdam, art, and bikes. Boyce makes riding a bike in a European city look like a cinematic masterpiece.

Then we have the heavy hitter: Dungeons and Drama. It’s currently a nominee for the 2026-27 Missouri Gateway Book Award, which is a very fancy way of saying “this book is really good.” The plot is a classic fake-dating setup—Riley (theater nerd) and Nathan (gaming nerd) strike a deal to help her sneak off to rehearsals. It’s basically a high-stakes heist involving a cape and a character sheet. It’s charming, it’s witty, and it captures that specific brand of teenage desperation that feels like the world is ending because you might miss a curtain call.

The “Finding Your People” Problem

If there’s a “golden thread” here—aside from “nerds are actually the coolest people in the room”—it’s the idea that performing is exhausting.

Boyce’s characters are almost always wearing a mask (sometimes literally, if there’s a costume involved). They spend half the book trying to be the version of themselves they think the world wants to see. The “twist” in every story—the gentle punchline—is that the moment they stop acting and start being their weird, authentic selves, everything actually starts working. It’s a lesson most of us don’t learn until we’re sixty (or so) and realize no one was looking at our shoes anyway.

Why She Does It (The “Dr. Boyce” Factor)

Kristy isn’t just making this stuff up for the vibes. She’s a senior lecturer in psychology at The Ohio State University, which means she understands why we’re all so socially anxious.

She writes from a place of lived experience—she was the theater kid; she was the one rolling dice on a Friday night. She met her husband because he was the Dungeon Master. (Which is basically the ultimate romantic meet-cute if you’re into math and storytelling.) She’s on a mission to show that the things we think make us “outsiders” are actually the things that lead us to our best people.

The Part Where You Do Something

If you’re looking for a gift for a teenager—or if you’re a grown-up who still remembers the visceral fear of a bad theater audition—go grab Boyce’s stuff. Her latest, Rolls and Rivalry, is out now, and it’s a delight.

So, here’s my question for the road: What was your nerdy gateway “thing?” Was it theater? Model trains? Collecting stamps that featured famous bridges? Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here.

See Book List    James Ponti

I’ve noticed that if you hang around a middle school library long enough—which, for reasons of sanity, I only do when I’m actually invited—you’ll start to see a specific kind of magic trick. A kid who usually treats books like they’re written in ancient Aramaic will suddenly be hunched over a paperback, ignoring their phone, their friends, and the general chaos of puberty. Usually, that book has James Ponti’s name on the spine. It’s a bit humbling, really, to realize a guy can compete with TikTok just by writing about smart kids in sweaters.

The Paper Trail (or: Why My Bookshelf is Now a Crime Scene)

Ponti has this annoying habit of being consistently good at different things. It’s a range that makes those of us who struggle to pick a lunch spot feel a bit inadequate.

City Spies: Think Ocean’s Eleven, but if the crew was composed of international orphans who are better at hacking and physics than you’ll ever be at anything. They live in a castle in Scotland (naturally) and work for MI6. It’s global, it’s high-stakes, and it makes my own childhood exploits—which mostly involved trying to build a “fort” out of damp cardboard—look pathetic.

Framed!: This one features Florian Bates, a kid who solves crimes for the FBI using something called TOAST (Theory of All Small Things). It’s essentially Sherlock Holmes if Holmes had a social life and lived in D.C. It’s a great reminder that while I’m losing my car keys for the third time today, there are fictional twelve-year-olds noticing the specific thread count of a kidnapper’s socks.

Dead City: Zombies in Manhattan. But not the “eat your brains” kind—more like the “secret society living in the subway” kind. It’s urban fantasy that manages to make the MTA look organized, which is perhaps the greatest fictional achievement of our time.

The Secret Sauce: Found Families and Misfit Toys

There’s a “Golden Thread” in these books, and it’s not just “kids are smarter than adults” (though that’s a heavy runner-up). It’s the Found Family.

Most of Ponti’s characters are, to put it gently, outliers. They’re the kids who didn’t quite fit the mold, so they went out and built their own. In City Spies, they aren’t just a team; they’re a group of people who realized that “weird” is just another word for “specialized talent.” It’s a lovely sentiment, really. It suggests that even if you’re a square peg, there’s a very specific, high-stakes, international espionage-shaped hole out there just for you.

Most recently, James Ponti has added a new trick to his repertoire, and it’s currently making waves on the Mark Twain Book Award nominee list. It’s called The Sherlock Society, and honestly, it’s making me feel even more unaccomplished than his other books did. 

The Latest “Case”: The Sherlock Society

Imagine you’re twelve years old, your last name is Sherlock, and you’re faced with a summer of lawnmowing or—heaven forbid—babysitting. Alex and Zoe Sherlock naturally decide that starting a detective agency is the only logical alternative. 

The Sherlock Society: Set in the humid, history-soaked streets of Miami, this one sees Alex, Zoe, and their friends Lina and Yadi teaming up with their grandfather, a retired investigative journalist. They start out looking for Al Capone’s legendary buried treasure—because why wouldn’t you? —but they stumble into a very modern, very messy conspiracy involving corporate corruption and environmental dumping in the Everglades. It’s got a vintage Cadillac, slick gadgets, and enough twists to make you forget that these kids should probably just be at the pool. 

That Familiar Golden Thread

The “Sherlock Society” fits perfectly into Ponti’s obsession with Found Families. These aren’t just kids who happen to be in the same class; they are a unit that respects each other’s specific, weird talents—whether it’s Lina’s bookworm tendencies or Yadi’s filmmaking obsession. 

The twist here is that the family isn’t just “found”—it’s multi-generational. Grandpa Sherlock isn’t just there to drive the car (though his aquamarine Cadillac is a vibe); he’s there to teach them that investigative journalism isn’t just about the “who” and the “what,” but about the “why”. It’s that classic Ponti theme again: doing what is right, even when it’s much harder than just finding a box of gold. 

Why This One Matters

Ponti’s motivation for this series seems to be a love letter to his home state of Florida and a gentle nudge to the next generation about Civic Responsibility. He manages to turn a history lesson about Al Capone into a call to action for environmental protection, all without being “preachy” (the kiss of death for any middle-grade book). 

Why He Does It (The “Why” Behind the Words)

Ponti didn’t just stumble into this. He spent years in the trenches of kids’ TV—Nickelodeon, Disney, the whole “slime-and-bright-colors” circuit. He writes for kids because he actually likes them. Or at least, he respects them.

He doesn’t talk down. He assumes his readers can handle a plot involving the Louvre or federal forensics. His mission seems to be proving that curiosity isn’t just a trait; it’s a survival skill. He wants kids to know that being the person who notices the small things (the “TOAST” method) isn’t just for nerds—it’s for heroes.