Illustrations (c) 2024 by Lynne Rae Perkins.

Being a fine arts major at a large public university opened my ­small-town mind to a myriad of ideas, in a myriad of ways. And I loved it. My ­education there was not particularly strong on how to survive after ­college. Which I truly believe, in a way, is okay. I am not a proponent of let’s-turn-colleges-­into-widget-makers. Still, a few tips would have been helpful. I graduated with high honors, woefully unqualified to do much of anything. I did know how to type and how to frame pictures. Those have come in handy.

I managed to get an interview at a prestigious ad agency in Pittsburgh. The art director who interviewed me was someone I had taken art classes with as a child. He was a few years older than I was and had gone to the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. Here he was, looking funky yet professional and sharp, up in a skyscraper with a wall made of windows. And there I was, with my BFA and a portfolio of etchings and figure drawings. Who knows what I was wearing — I think I was in an “earthy” phase. He was very friendly and kind. But there was no place for me there.

The first job I ended up getting was as a typist for a credit bureau that was transferring all of its files from index cards into computer files. (So long ago!) I would type all day, then go home to my parents’ house and sleep in my childhood bedroom. I did set up a sort of studio in the garage. I read a lot. I was trying, but I had no idea what to do next.

Then a childhood friend suggested I check out the children’s room at the Carnegie Museum of Art. I did, and they took me on as a ­volunteer to help out with Tuesday afternoon classes. So, once a week, I left my job, hopped on a bus, and rode for forty-five minutes to the museum. The best part of this was having lunch with the three women running the program. Every week, for an hour, I got to spend time with these smart, funny, caring women who were doing something they really loved. They watered the part of me that was wilting.

All of this is to say that in our big, noisy, busy world, the world of social media and self-promotion, sales numbers, celebrity, and bestseller lists (and many, many other even more mind-­boggling realities), reading The Horn Book Magazine is like having lunch with my coworkers Bay, Martha, and Karen in the children’s room. It’s a place of sanity, thoughtfulness, kindness, and humor. A place where people talk about the things that matter. The things that should matter. A place that waters the part of me that might be wilting.

I feel lucky that at times I have been able to be part of that conversation. Thank you, past, present, and future denizens of the Horn Book! My anniversary wish for you is that you continue to be that place for years to come.

From the May/June 2024 special issue of The Horn Book Magazine: Our Centennial. For more Horn Book centennial coverage, click here. Find more in the "Blowing the Horn" series here.

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