My philosophical inquiries were  abruptly  interrupted by kindergarten.

My philosophical inquiries were abruptly
interrupted by kindergarten.

As a little girl I thought a lot about the nature of reality, life after death, and where the universe ended, but my philosophical inquiries were abruptly interrupted by kindergarten, which had nothing to do with the things that preoccupied me.

Teen Pamela JaneMy new memoir, An Incredible Talent for Existing, describes my existential childhood, the radical sixties, going crazy, and how all that led me to becoming a writer. It was a big mess when it happened, but it made a great story afterwards.

I was fortunate growing up in that my parents filled my brother and my lives with wonderful children’s books that I lived in and through. That’s why I love writing for children, playing with words and ideas, rhyme and rhythm, as well as writing for adults. Most importantly, I try not to take myself too seriously!

My parents filled our lives with wonderful children's books.

My parents filled our lives with wonderful children’s books.

Besides writing children’s books and nonfiction for adults, I am a public speaker, writing coach, blogger, and columnist for To read my writing-advice columns for womensmemoirs, “Dear Pamela” click here. I am currently working on a fun and original math series for young children, as well a nonfiction book about living in Florence, Italy, with her family. Read a chapter from the Italy book:

No One Feels Sorry for You When You’re Living in Tuscany!

Village in Tuscany

When my family moved to Florence for a year, I had my new Italian life all planned – long afternoons gazing at masterpieces of Italian art at the famous Uffizi, leisurely evenings at a trattoria, sipping wine. In the mornings, I would work on the memoir I was writing (no distractions like back home!) while my husband taught at NYU’s Florence Campus, and our four-year old, Annelise, attended an Italian preschool. This was going to be so great! Walking with Annelise to school that first morning, the gold Italian light shone softly on the ancient, shuttered buildings. We passed a man in a leather apron standing outside a shoe repair shop, a fragrant panneteria, and a pint-sized piazza that gave the neighborhood a charming small-town feeling. My spirits soared. What a great experience for all of us! At home, I settled down in the breezy, light-filled living room to write. But suddenly noises exploded in the apartment overhead – pounding, … Read on

You Think it Can’t Happen? How My Two Picture Books Were Stolen by a Major Publisher

Open Mind

When I was in eighth grade I wrote two short stories for our English teacher, Mr. Mortem, a malevolent-looking man with a low brow and small beady eyes. We joked that he moonlighted as an axe murderer. But he was even scarier as an English teacher. He snapped girls’ bras in the hallway and terrorized us with menacing-sounding exams called “evaluations,” which turned out to be ordinary multiple-choice tests. When we turned in our stories, Mr. Mortem said he didn’t believe I’d written mine. How would he know? All he’d ever seen of my writing were checkmarks on his “evaluations.”  He also didn’t know how disenchanted I was in school, or how passionate I was about writing. “I’m going to keep this story so you won’t try to use it again in high school,” he said. My stories, according to Mr. Mortem, were too good for me to have written.Inside, I was seething.Just wait. Someday I’ll be a real writer. … Read on

21 Things You’d Never Guess About Pamela (including things that terrify her)


1. I didn’t like school because my second-grade teacher was so scary. She had long red witch-like fingernails. She used to clunk us on the head with them when we weren’t paying attention. Once she had a conference with my mom and I thought they would talk about why I wasn’t getting better grades, but instead my teacher wanted to know how my mom got my socks so white. 2. I always loved reading, especially the Oz books by L. Frank Baum. I planned to get to Oz, just like Dorothy and I even packed a little picnic basket to take down the Yellow Brick Road. I started down our street one sunny Saturday morning, all ready to go, but somehow I never made it there. 3. My father was a well-known scientist and my brother is a entomologist (bug doctor.) That sounds like bugs go to him when they’re sick, but actually it just means he knows a whole … Read on

9 Funniest Rejections of All Time

Rejection ahead

You know what they say about comedy coming from deep pain. That’s I why I laugh at rejections. Below are my seven top funny rejections. Be on the look out for these standbys; they may show up in your “in box”! The rejection used to repair furniture “When my office was moved yesterday, your enclosed manuscript emerged from underneath my desk. I am sorry.” Hey, it’s okay to use my manuscript to prop up your desk! The rejection for something you did not even write “Thanks so much for being kind enough to return the errant manuscript you received from us. We’re thinking perhaps one of your envelopes attached itself to the wrong manuscript.” The rejection for a fan letter sent to a favorite author A friend of mine wrote a fan letter to author E.L. Konigsburg, and got it back from the publisher – rejected. The one-minute-per-book rejection I once had ten picture book manuscripts rejected in ten minutes … Read on

FAQ about Pamela Jane

Photo of Pamela Jane

Do you like being a writer? Most days I love being a writer. I have a short commute, right across the hall, and I get to wear comfy clothes, and be my own boss (I’m a very strict boss to myself.) I like dreaming up ideas and shaping them into stories, and I love being able to buy real, concrete things (like a new washing machine) with money I earned from sitting in a room by myself, writing. I even love–uh, oh, here comes my boss. I’ll talk to you later! Is being a writer hard? Some days, when things aren’t going well, being a writer is really hard. I used to rent a house on a farm and while I was writing I would look out the window and see the farmer mowing his field. What a life! I’d think to myself. He mows the field once, and he’s done. He doesn’t have to mow it over and over, … Read on