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This is a simple (well, seemingly — Rylant makes it look<\/em> and sound<\/em> easy) text that nudges the reader, gently urging us to consider: Just what will you do with your today<\/em>? She gives us some refreshing takes on this notion of twenty-four hours. And what a day’s promise means. Or can mean. She introduces the day as a “perfect piece of time to live a life, to plant a seed…You can make a wish, and start again…” And, as you can see below (though the text may be challenging to read), it’s also a fitting time to find our way back home. Ah, sweet. If a “day is all you have to be, it’s all you get to keep,” then in a hammock with mama, resting under the sun, looks like a good way of being to me. <\/p>\n One can sensibly argue that this will appeal to adults more than to the wee ones. This crossed my mind — as well as, I see by doing a quick online search, Publishers Weekly<\/em>: “{C}hildren aren’t usually moved by messages about fleeting time — that’s a sentiment adults are likelier to.” True. But, even as PW<\/em> points out, the youngest of children will enjoy Rylant’s rhythms as well as the sweetness of the images McClure depicts with her cut paper and X-Acto knife: a young child feeding a chicken, riding on his father’s shoulder on a trip through the woods, playing in the rain, and—as you can see above—seeing new life grow and having tender moments with mama. This is a quiet lap-sit read with a preschooler, even a soothing bed-time gem. <\/p>\n McClure, as you can see, keeps the color choices simple: alternating blue and yellow backgrounds. It’s striking. (“Color is distracting to me. I like things black and white,” she told Chad Beckerman<\/strong><\/a> in the interview referenced below.) Her unobtrusive artist’s note at the close of the book explains her paper-cuts for budding artists observant enough to see the tiny print:<\/p>\n First, I draw the image on black paper, and then I cut it out with an X-Acto knife. I keep everything connected by a path of black paper. The paper becomes lace-like as the image emerges. I decide the width of line and what will be black or white as I cut. There is no erasing, so if I make a mistake, I just have to keep cutting and find a solution. The cut paper is then scanned, and color is added by computer.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n I don’t need to point out to you devoted, astute 7-Imp readers that this notion of the artist’s inability to erase — keep working, no going back, “find a solution” — is yet another manner of meeting the day, whether we want to or not. Fitting, I think, McClure’s medium.<\/p>\n![](\"http:\/\/blaine.org\/jules\/allinadaycover.jpg\")
I’m taking a moment here to tell you about Newbery medalist Cynthia Rylant’s<\/strong><\/a> new picture book, to be released in March from Abrams Books for Young Readers. It’s called All in a Day<\/strong><\/a><\/em>, and it makes me happy. I mean, “there is a faith in morningtime, there is belief in noon.” How much do you love that? The book’s illustrated with boldness and style by self-taught artist Nikki McClure<\/strong><\/a>, but I’ll get to that in a sec.<\/p>\n![](\"http:\/\/blaine.org\/jules\/Allinaday81.jpg\")
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