On the hunt for a NO

Spoiler Alert: Apparently, I know a lot of yes-men.

People often ask whether I plan to go back to advertising. The answer is no.

When I stepped away from my career to have children, I didn't know exactly what came next. I just knew it wasn't that.

When I look back on everything that followed, it makes me think of Isaiah 22:22:

"What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open."

I didn't know what door God would open next. I just trusted that He would and kept my head down in the work and joys of being a mom.

What I didn't expect was that it would look like a children's book about my hometown's Apple Festival.

When I set off chasing the dream of publishing this book, I was looking for a NO.

I did feel called to write this book, I don’t want to diminish that. But, it isn't easy to do something you've never done before—especially when it means putting a personal piece of yourself out into the world and asking people to care about it enough to spend $19.99 plus tax.

Still, I felt it was important enough to try.

So I set out on a journey to find a NO.

I'm happy to report that I never found one loud enough to stop me.

The first NO I went looking for was Paula Maloney.

Anyone from my hometown knows Paula. She's all class—a business owner, a dedicated artist, style icon, a volunteer art teacher, and someone who loves the Apple Festival more than just about anyone. I didn't know Paula well personally. I simply admired her.

I told her I had written a children's book about the festival and that I'd be honored if she would consider illustrating it. I sent her the manuscript and asked her to coffee.

She said yes to coffee.

We talked for an hour and a half that morning.

I expected a polite decline. Instead, I shared a crazy idea.

What if we figured out how to make this book and launch it at the 75th Apple Festival the following year?

She agreed.

I left with an illustrator. A partner.

And another yes.

Of course, Illustrations alone don't make a book.

I needed someone I trusted to tell me whether the manuscript actually worked.

So I called my old friend Ashley from my advertising days—she’s a professional writer whose opinion I respected enough to hear the answer, even if I didn't like it.

I hired her to edit the manuscript.

But before she ever touched a red pen, I asked her something else.

I asked whether I was too close to the story.

Would anyone outside my hometown understand it? Would they care?

I was looking for a NO.

Instead, she understood the story.

And she believed other people would too. Another yes.

Next came my husband.

This dream would require both my time and our investment. We have three young children under five, and they are my full-time focus. Asking to pursue a book felt a little wild in this season of life.

But if you know my husband, this next part won't surprise you.

He said yes too.

Since the book is based on my hometown festival, the next step was seeking permission from the festival board.

I reached out to the person I knew best on the board: Gaye.

I'd known her my whole life. She served as the pageant director when I ran for Apple Festival Queen twenty-five years ago and has devoted countless hours to the festival over the course of her lifetime.

I told her about the book.

Another opportunity for a NO.

Instead, I got a yes.

Not only did she support the idea, she championed it.

She helped me navigate the process and advocated for the project with the board.

Through Gaye, I passed along a heartfelt letter and formally asked permission to use the festival's intellectual property.

They didn't say no either.

In fact, they said thank you and asked how many books they could have for the festival.

With one note: they would need final approval before publication.

Another yes.

So we built the book and presented it back to the board.

I traveled home for the meeting, nervous they would want changes we didn't have time to make.

Once again, I braced for a no.

Instead, they said yes.

The approval was granted.

From there, the idea began to grow beyond the book itself.

I wanted to create an interview series that would preserve and share the stories of people who have celebrated the festival over its 75-year history.

Could I produce an interview series?

I wasn't sure.

I'd spent fifteen years in advertising on the business side. I knew just enough to be dangerous.

What I didn't have was a production crew, a studio, or much of a budget.

What I did have was an iPhone and a genuine belief that these stories needed to be told.

So I bought a tripod and a wireless mic.

Downloaded CapCut. Started outreach. And got to work.

I started asking people if they'd be willing to share their stories.

I assumed many would decline.

Instead, almost everyone said yes.

And most of them added, "Oh, and you have to talk to so-and-so."

To date, I've interviewed more than twenty people, and I'm traveling back for a few more next week.

The yeses keep coming.

Permission from a hometown composer to use his original piece about the festival?

Yes.

Permission from the performers to use their recording?

Yes.

Then there was Captain Applesauce.

My daughter has one of the beloved Captain Applesauce stuffed animals. In fact, an illustration in the book shows her cuddled up with him.

As we worked on the book, I started wondering whether the stuffed animals were still being made.

They weren't. For years, the festival chairman's aunt had handcrafted them, but she was no longer able to continue.

Captain Applesauce himself wasn't going anywhere. He remains a beloved part of the festival. But the stuffed animals were no longer being made, and that felt like a shame.

So I asked if the festival would be open to me researching manufacturers and helping bring the stuffed animals back.

Another opportunity for a no.

Another yes.

Today, 500 new Captain Applesauce stuffed animals are in production and hopefully on their way in time for this year's festival.

Another tradition carried forward. Another yes.

By this point, the book was finished.

Now I had to figure out how to get the story into the world.

I reached out to independent bookstores and asked them to take a chance on a debut author.

Many emails went unanswered.

But a few didn't. Four more yeses. Four bookstore owners looked at a first-time author with a self-published children's book about a small-town festival and decided it deserved a place on their shelves.

I started looking for opportunities to share the story beyond bookstores too. By this point, I'd learned that if you don't ask, the answer is always no.

So when I learned that someone in my extended network knew a producer at a major cable news company, I asked for an introduction.

Another ask. Another opportunity to hear no.

Instead, I got a yes. The introduction was made.

The pitch was shared.

The advice was generous.

The story wasn't quite ready yet. But the conversation helped shape how I would tell it moving forward.

And every update I've sent since has been met with encouragement and support. Another yes.

Closer to home, the schools and library said yes too.

This fall, Captain Applesauce and I will be visiting local classrooms and the Sallie Logan Library, sharing the story with children who are growing up with this festival just as I did.

Another opportunity to pass a tradition forward. Another yes.

And while all of those yeses helped move the project forward, none of them would have mattered without the people helping me behind the scenes.

Every interview I scheduled, every trip home, every late-night editing session, every phone call, every meeting—none of it happened by myself.

I asked my husband for time.

I asked my parents for help.

And every single time, they said yes.

When it came time to conduct interviews, I shipped all of my recording equipment to my parents’ house so I wouldn't have to travel with it. When I arrived, I discovered the microphone I'd ordered wasn't compatible with my iPhone.

The first interview was the next day.

After a brief moment of panic, I found a compatible microphone 45 minutes away at a Best Buy in Cape Girardeau.

So I asked for help.

My mom said yes.

We piled into the car with all the kids, picked up the microphone, and turned the day into an adventure, including a stop at the local children's museum.

The next morning, I was ready for the interviews.

That's what many of these yeses have looked like; people willing to help solve problems alongside me.

They watched the kids while I conducted interviews.

They entertained the baby while I worked on edits.

They listened to updates, celebrated mini-milestones, and encouraged me when none of us were quite sure of where this was headed.

Many of the yeses in this story belong to people whose names will not appear on the cover.

But this book would not exist without them.

I don't think the lesson here is that every dream that's going to work out gets—or needs—a yes.

Most ideas encounter obstacles.

Most projects hear plenty of nos.

That's part of the process.

But with this project, the right people seemed to appear at exactly the right time at every turn.

The illustrator.

The editor.

The festival board.

The interviewees.

The bookstore owners.

The volunteers.

My family.

Time after time, what I expected to be a roadblock became another green light.

I went looking for a NO because I was afraid my idea was too small.

Instead, I found a project that seemed determined to become something bigger than I ever imagined.

Looking back, the whole thing feels a little written in the stars.

But the book was simply the beginning.

The story I'm telling in Tell Me About Your Apple Festival is about the enduring power of tradition.

How traditions connect us across miles and time.

How they give us stories to share, memories to revisit, and reasons to come home.

As I worked to launch the book, I watched that message come to life in ways I never could have expected.

The interviews.

The music.

The trips back home.

The introductions.

The encouragement.

The people who wanted to help tell the story.

All of it became evidence of the very thing the book is about.

A reminder that for seventy-five years, hundreds of people have volunteered their time, shared their talents, solved problems, organized events, baked pies, marched in parades, raised funds, and said yes so that the Apple Festival could become what it is today.

And you don't have to be from my hometown to understand why that matters.

The people who helped bring this project to life saw it too.

Maybe that's why I never found a NO loud enough to stop me.

Some stories have a way of finding the people who are meant to help tell them.

—

Author's Note: What started as a children's book became an open door to something bigger.

Tell Me About Your Apple Festival, my debut children's book, will be released this September in celebration of the 75th Murphysboro Apple Festival.

As part of the project, I interviewed members of the Murphysboro community and asked them one simple question: "Tell Me About Your Apple Festival?"

Their stories will be shared in an interview series across my social channels, along with updates on the book and the people, traditions, and memories that inspired it.

I hope you'll follow along.