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If you are reading this page because you want to contact me personally, you probably have already discovered that I haven't made it easy to track down my own contact information. I thought I'd address this fact straightforwardly rather than leave you to simply feel frustrated. People who are persistent can always find a way to contact me, anyway, so rather than simply try to foil you, I thought it might be best, and most truthful, to just tell you directly why I don't make it easy for people to reach me. Be warned that this (below) goes on for a while. I guess I feel a little defensive and guilty about letting people down, so I'm over-explaining a little.
Now, to be honest, it's not that I'm busy only because I'm famous and all. I'm not actually very famous. (In 1994, a brilliant young woman named Janet read my book, quit going to college, and then enthusiastically moved to Oregon to become my first assistant. We had planned for her to spend a couple weeks sleeping on my living room floor while she found a place to live, but I didn't know what kind of food she ate, so I waited until her arrival to stock the kitchen with something besides the tofu, tahini, and buckwheat sprouts I subsisted on. Thus, Janet and I spent our first afternoon together grocery shopping. After we returned home she confessed her disappointment: while a few acquaintances had said hello, not a single person had rushed up urgently, eyes aglow, demanding, "Are you by any chance Grace Llewellyn? The Grace Llewellyn? Could I please, please have your autograph?" ) I am a little bit famous, and in some circumstances (like at a few large homeschooling conferences) I have felt marvelously, horribly prominent. But the reason I'm busy is mostly because I routinely work on more projects than I can possibly manage at once, and because I also try to lead a "real life," the sort that I encourage other people to lead, which includes reading, staring out the window, going to personal growth workshops, being with friends and family, dancing, playing my piano, going on walks, exploring museums, watering my plants, and doing other things I love to do. My favorite place to meet and talk with people I don't know yet is at Not Back to School Camp. Granted, if you're an adult that makes things difficult, because we don't generally allow visitors (except for carefully screened interviewers and other media folk), and because staff positions are very difficult to land (mainly because NBTSC is very much a community, and so we like to have the same people there again and again). As the director of NBTSC, I certainly am available to speak with campers and their parents about camp-related concerns. But other than this, it's mostly my choice to not make myself available to the general public. I know that a lot of people feel frustrated about this (because a lot of people complain when they do finally track me down), but the truth is that there are other people who can offer excellent help and guidance for unschoolers, and I don't wish to fill this role anymore except at camp and possibly through future writing projects. To the degree that it's a personality thing--you read my book and feel you resonate with me personally--cool! I'm honored! Thank you very much for liking me! I really mean that. Yet, I'm sorry, but I don't have time right now to correspond with, or speak on the phone with, people I don't know. I'm truly sorry if that sounds harsh. It's not personal at all. Let me put it another way: many years ago, before I got an unlisted phone number, my husband-at-the-time and I were often interrupted at random times of the day and night by the phone ringing and an unfamiliar voice saying, "Grace? My name is Jatheusaleh Simmontix and I wonder if you could spare 5 minutes to help me with my son. [No pause or question mark in the inflection before plunging ahead:] You see, he's blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah ." And it would be 20 minutes before I was back to my dinner, sleep, gardening, or enjoying good company. Email, it turns out, is just as difficult simply because the volume is greater. I can't both keep up and live my life and do my work in the way I want to. If I believed that my help was needed or that there was no one else who could assist with people's questions or insecurity, I'd feel differently. But this is not true! The unschooling movement is SO alive, vital, packed with thousands of parents and kids and consultants that can do everything I can do (and much, much more) except be the person who wrote the Teenage Liberation Handbook. And you know what? I wrote that book when I was 26. I'm almost 41 now. I love that book and am happy I had the opportunity to write it (right time, right place, right help), but I don't, anymore, even remember everything I said in it. So, to quote Bob Dylan, "It ain't me, Babe. It ain't me you're looking for, Babe." I don't imagine I'll always want to seal myself off from readers quite so much as I'm trying to these days--at times I'm probably a little too hermitish for my own good--but this is the overall choice I'm making now. You can get the help you want from the people I recommend here. Just to be clear: I do really love to meet and interact with unschoolers at camp! That's one of the biggest reasons I started NBTSC. It's the high point of my year in many ways, though extremely challenging also. So if you're young enough, please join me there sometime. That's all I want to say. Thanks for understanding. And I know you'll find the contact and help you need. Photo by Sarabeth Matilsky, NBTSC 2004
*** What the heck. Here's my email address: GraceLlew@aol.com. You are welcome to write to me, and I do read pretty much all of my email. Just please know that for the reasons I explained above, there's a good chance I won't take the time to respond. If your email lands when I feel some sense of spaciousness in my day, I'll try to get back to you.
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The plain truth is that 1) I'm really busy, and 2) I'm a little bit
shy. I do love meeting, communicating, and being with people, but prefer to do
so on my own terms, and my own schedule.