FLR: You had a great story to tell for the idea behind Becoming Naomi León, and how the book and/or character was inspired by your 1997 trip to Oaxaca. Can you tell us more details of the story of the hole in the fence that first gave you the idea for The Dreamer?

PMR: In 2005, shortly after my return from a trip to Chile, I was at a conference with author and illustrator Jon Muth. During a conversation, I mentioned my travels and the subject of Neruda came up. Jon told me a story about the young Neruda passing a gift to an unknown child through a hole in the fence. I was intrigued and after the conference I found the essay Neruda wrote about the incident. That was all it took for an idea to plant itself in my mind and relentlessly hold on. A few weeks later, I received a beautiful book in the mail from a friend in Chile who knew of my affection for Neruda. The book was, in essence, children’s answers to selected questions from Neruda’s The Book of Questions. I began thinking about a book inspired by The Book of Questions. One thing led to another and I wrote a manuscript intended for a picture book for older readers. But when it was done, Scholastic creative director David Saylor asked me to consider making it into a novel. The day before the request, I had just returned thirty-two books on Neruda to the library! If I agreed, it meant going back to square one, not only in rewriting the text, but emotionally going back to a book I had “put to bed.” And back to all of the research. So, I will admit, I had to be convinced, and I shed a few frustrating tears. But I was convinced, and after I immersed myself in his life again and approached it with a novel in mind, I became enchanted with the format and the possibilities it presented.

FLR: When researching for a book, do you ever have trouble stopping the research in order to start the writing? How do you know it’s time to switch processes?

PMR: At first, I spend a fair amount of time reading and clinging to the research. But research can be a form of procrastination, because technically, I’m working on the book. There does come a time when I must start the actual writing. At that point, all of the research and materials are all over my office and that’s where they stay for the duration of the project. The line between researching and writing blurs. It’s as if I’d read a recipe for a cake over and over again, and even though I think I know it by heart, when it is time to make the cake, I must still stop and refer to the recipe to confirm that my memory is correct. This book is fiction but is grounded solidly in Neruda’s childhood, so I wanted to stay in his world. Even at the very end of the project, I was still pulling out books and rereading. I was still starting each day with his poetry.

FLR: Can you tell us more about the significance of printing The Dreamer in green ink?

PMR: Neruda loved the natural world. Many of his poems reflect this affection. As a child, he loved collecting things from nature. He marveled at nature and was quite distracted by it. As he grew older, writing in green ink became one of Neruda’s idiosyncrasies. He thought that green was the color of esperanza, hope. It makes sense when you consider how very much the natural world meant to him&mdas;the greens of the Araucanian forest, the river Cautín, and the ever-changing hues of the Pacific.

FLR: Did you grow up aware of Pablo Neruda as a writer? Were you interested in other poets growing up?

PMR: I had read some of his work as early as high school. Before I traveled to Chile in 2005, I brushed up on Neruda, Mistral, and the early works of Allende, especially since I was visiting their homeland. I have poetry books at home, including Longfellow, and have a very old copy of the complete The Song of Hiawatha, which I love. But I’m not sure any of those things were paramount to this book. As I researched Neruda and that initial story about the hole in the fence, I became entirely intrigued and fascinated by his childhood.

FLR: Do you have a favorite Neruda poem?

PMR: It is hard to choose one favorite because his writing is so varied. One poem that almost always makes me teary is “Pido Silencio” (I Request Silence), especially the section that begins, “And I just want five things…” But for his whimsy and magical realism, I adore The Book of Questions. I find it encompassing: joyous and childlike, sad and complicated, simple yet thought-provoking. On this project, The Book of Questions inspired me the most.

FLR: You have previously collaborated with other well-known illustrators such as Brian Selznick (Riding Freedom), Joe Cepeda (Becoming Naomi León), and Rafael López (Our California). Was Peter Sís your choice for the illustrator of The Dreamer? Did you work with him, or did he base his illustrations on your writing?

PMR: I have been a fan and admirer of Peter Sís work for a long time. Years ago, when I was in Chicago to speak at a university, I went to see his exhibit at the museum. Of course, as I walked the halls admiring his original art, I never imagined that someday he might illustrate one of my books. As The Dreamer progressed, my editor, Tracy Mack, and art director, David Saylor, began to discuss who might illustrate the book. For me, that Tracy and David even thought to pair us was a huge compliment. Very early in the project, Peter and I did meet with my editor and art director to see if he was intrigued with the idea of the book. When Peter agreed, I was, understandably, thrilled and honored. Even though I was not yet finished with the manuscript, we kept him in the loop and he saw several preliminary drafts. Peter and I are both traditional in our approach to a book and respectful of the protocol, meaning that if I had a comment about the art in relation to the writing, I went through my editor and vice versa. The only time we communicated during the actual illustration of the book was when Peter needed a specific image reference for the art. Then he emailed me and I would send it. The art is his interpretation. I find it transporting and inspiring. It gives the story another dimension.

FLR: Are the details about Neruda’s early life factual?

PMR: The book is a work of fiction that parallels his early years. In a sense, the book is a play, a script of his young life. I dramatized actual events, created dialogue, added the voice of poetry, asked the reader questions, and then wrote in, what I hoped would be, an appropriate format for my audience. (That is a very simple description compared to the actual tedious research and writing of the book!) In some cases I did not elaborate on some facts, only because his family dynamics were so complicated. For instance, as an adult, Neruda discovered that his Uncle Orlando was not his uncle at all, but actually his older stepbrother. And his brother, Rodolfo, was actually his half brother and did not live with the family until he was around twelve years old. He was raised by a midwife. I tried to give Rodolfo more depth than I could find in the research. I’m not sure he was as kind as I portrayed him. Laurita was his half sister and she was close to Neruda all of his life. By all accounts, his father was as mean, as cruel, and as dictatorial. In the research, I tried to discover the psychology behind his actions. Giving him dimension and not portraying him as all bad was the hardest part for me. One of Neruda’s biographers reported that their father made Neftalí’s and Laurita’s lives so miserable that they actually discussed how much better off they might be if he were dead!

FLR: Can you speak about some of the relevant themes in the books that readers may relate to—or that you related to?

PMR: I think that there are many elements in Neruda’s young life that will feel common and familiar to readers: his strained relationship with his brother, his supportive relationships with his sister and Mamadre, his struggle for independence, his painful shyness, his desire to collect and organize mementos. And also, his suspicion and hope that there was something yet-to-be-discovered about himself that was magnificent—something that he had to share. When I wrote the book, I often envisioned a middle grade boy and girl as the potential readers—brooding adolescents, who might feel misunderstood and might be closet artists. I saw them carrying the book around, and writing in its margins. That would have been something I might have done. From the fifth grade on, I was an obsessive reader and I carried favorite books with me, underlining and writing in the margins. I was also a daydreamer and pretender, who could very easily slip into my own wandering thoughts. And like Neruda, I wanted to have a profession that had something to do with books someday, but coming from a blue-collar family, that needed to translate into a job that paid the bills. That issue was never dictated or imposed. It was simply my reality. And I think that is true for many students.

FLR: You described Neftali’s (Neruda’s) obsession with the staccato details of language. Can you tell us about your decision to incorporate elements of poetry—rhythm, repetition, visual imagery—to tell the story?

PMR: I’m not sure there was a conscious decision. Sometimes the story is the dictator. It was clear that rhythm was a presence in Neruda’s life. So, I attempted to create a type of soundtrack. I wanted the reader to hear the persistent rain, the call of the chucao, the pounding ocean, and the monotony of the printing press, too. I hoped the reader would recognize the relationship between the simplest of repetitive sounds and poetry.

FLR: Can you tell us more about your next projects?

PMR: The just-released Tony Baloney is a story about a macaroni penguin and his stuffed ostrich, Dandelion. It is illustrated by Edwin Fotheringham. And there is a new novel on the horizon, but it's much too soon to discuss as I'm still imagining…dreaming. Stay tuned.