Kit’s Book Excerpt
From Changes for Kit
Kit plunked down at her desk. Never had she felt so discouraged. Never had she felt such despair. For almost two years, ever since Dad lost his job, she and her family had struggled through ups and downs, believing that if they worked hard enough, things would change for the better—not just for their family but for everyone hit hard by the Depression. It was that hope that kept them going. If Uncle Hendrick was right, if hope was for fools, what did they have left? The Depression had won, and there was nothing anyone could do. There was certainly nothing she could do to change anything. Uncle Hendrick had made that clear to her.
Tears welled in Kit’s eyes. She put one elbow on either side of her typewriter and held her head in her hands. She sniffed hard, trying not to cry. Then she took a deep, shaky breath. Somehow, the dark, inky smell of the typewriter ribbon just under her nose comforted her, and so did the solid, clunky black bulk of the typewriter itself. Next to the typewriter, Kit saw the drawing Stirling had made for their newspaper. He’d drawn her striding along, her camera slung around her neck, wearing her new coat. Chipper, she said to herself. That is the perfect word to describe how I look in Stirling’s drawing. And what would be the perfect word to describe how I feel now? Crushed? Flattened? No. Squashed. Idly, Kit touched the s key. She remembered how Dad had fixed it when the typewriter was broken. He had repaired the typewriter for her because he knew how much writing meant to her. Kit pushed down hard on the s and the key struck the paper with a satisfying whack, a sound that Kit loved.
Kit sat bolt upright. Suddenly, she knew what she must do: write!
If Uncle Hendrick could write letters to the newspaper, she could too. She might not be rich or important, but she knew how to write a letter that said what she wanted it to say. She’d deliver her letter right along with Uncle Hendrick’s. It might not appear in the newspaper, it might not change anything or anyone else, but writing it would change the way she felt.
