Author Jarrett Lerner has spent his career writing books that his young readers want. Now, he discusses how his newest title, A Work in Progress, is a book that his readers need.
The first 14 books I published were all driven, generally speaking, by a single core motivation: to write the kinds of books that I wanted as a kid. One of my main goals as a creator is to get kids excited about books and reading, and so focusing on what they want—and adding in what the grown-up me wants to share and do along the way—has always made sense and proved successful.
(Ten Thousand Things: An Object, a Story, and a Podcast)
But now, with my 15th book—A Work in Progress—I’ve done something different. I’ve tried to give kids a book that they desperately need.
A Work in Progress is an illustrated novel-in-verse, framed as the interior of a kid’s private notebook/sketchbook. That kid is Will Chambers, a boy who was publicly body shamed back in elementary school and is, in seventh grade, grappling with the increasingly dire consequences of that experience. Having internalized the attacks of his bullies, Will becomes his own bully, and, to use his own words, “does the job better than anyone else possibly could.” Soon, Will’s shame contorts into anger. Into hate. He resolves to wage war on his body, hoping to starve it into a more acceptable, pleasing shape.
I think a lot of my followers and fans were caught off guard when I first announced A Work in Progress. This book was coming from the same guy who made books about farting robots and superheroic taco ingredients? But once that initial surprise passed, something else dominated people’s reactions and responses to the book’s announcement: recognition. I quickly lost count of how many adults read the premise of A Work in Progress and wrote to me, either publicly or privately, “This sounds like me,” or “I think I’m Will,” or “I might need this book more than my kids/students do.”
According to a recent study, nearly two-thirds of teenagers are insecure about their bodies. The numbers for younger kids are lower, but not by much, and are similar to the numbers for adults. To me, these data paint a clear—and extremely distressing—picture. Something is happening to our kids that is causing them enormous insecurity about their bodies. That insecurity spikes during kids’ teenage years, and for the overwhelming majority of them, it sticks around into adulthood. The situation only grows more distressing when you consider the fact that, for many kids, teens, and adults, their bodily insecurity manifests itself in various forms of disordered eating, eating disorders, and other harmful behaviors.
To make matters worse, I’m confident that the data above is inaccurate—that there was a great deal of underreporting going on, perhaps especially among the boys. I can say this with confidence because I was one of those boys suffering with such things, and even when I was at my worst, waging my own sort of war on my body, I never would’ve admitted it to anyone else.
As a kid, any sign of emotional vulnerability was met by my male peers with ridicule and disgust. If you showed the slightest sign of being sad, hurt, anxious, or scared, you were swiftly told to “man up,” and then called a number of derogatory things if you couldn’t manage to. “Manning up” meant squashing those “weaker” emotions, facing the world and barreling through every experience with dispassionate strength and unshakable confidence.
I think—and hope—that this culture of “manning up” is beginning to change among younger generations, but my interactions with kids and teens (as a parent, an uncle, and a visiting author to 100-plus schools across the country every year) has assured me that it’s still very much alive and well.
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Surely this is true for plenty of girls, too, but particularly for boys, being open about their sadness and shame and insecurity—especially when it comes to their bodies, their physicality—is complicated. But being open about such stuff is the most efficient and effective way to change it, to begin to work one’s way to a healthier, happier relationship with their bodies.
I worry about every kid out there who is uncomfortable with and upset by their bodies, and worry about what such feelings can lead to—but as a boy who hid my truth for years and years in an effort to “man up,” I often feel extra anxious for the boys out there who aren’t only suffering, but putting in a great deal of effort to make sure no one ever finds out.
I believe that kids, and perhaps especially boys, will benefit from reading a book about a boy like Will Chambers. But I also hope that every single person who picks up A Work in Progress will benefit from seeing me, a grown man, making myself vulnerable by sharing so many things that, only a couple of years ago, I never could’ve imagined myself sharing with anyone. Because kids, and perhaps especially boys, need to know that having emotions is normal and necessary, not a failure or sign of weakness. Stoicism does not equal strength. Having trod both paths, I can say that it requires far more strength to admit your struggles, to face your fears, and to ask others for help doing what you can’t do alone.
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