Alexandra Diaz is the author of books for young readers such as The Only Road—recipient of the Pura Belpré Honor and the Américas Award for Children’s and Young Adult Literature—The Crossroads, Santiago’s Road Home, and Farewell Cuba, Mi Isla. Ahead of World Circus Day on April 18, and in honor of her forthcoming middle grade novel, Camp Big Top, Diaz shares how she defied others’ expectations and achieved her dreams on both the page and the trapeze.

I was never someone who responded well to “you can’t do that,” especially when it came to doing cool things I saw on TV: pole vaulting, hang gliding, walking the tightrope, horse-trick riding, flying on the trapeze, being shot out of a cannon, and so forth. The fact that these acts were often performed by cartoons or Muppets didn’t faze me; they were more relatable than most people anyway. So being told at a young age that I couldn’t do gymnastics, the one cool thing that other human kids did, because I was “too big” and “too tall” and “too uncoordinated” was not only devastating, it scarred me well into adulthood.

I heard similar discouragement when I told people I wanted to be an author and write books for children: “you can’t make a living out of that.” Who were these people to tell me what I was capable (or not capable) of doing? Call it indignation, rebellion, or stubbornness. I knew better than anyone else my abilities and strengths; I knew what I could accomplish.

Within 336 days, my debut YA novel got published and I discovered a local circus studio that offered adult classes to everybody and every body. On my first aerial silks class, I climbed a good five inches off the ground. It was like all my dreams coming true, even if the circus studio didn’t have a flying trapeze rig or the facility to be shot of a cannon.

I have since done flying trapeze. I’m still waiting on the cannon.

Fitting in is something I’ve always struggled with. One of the reasons I started writing was to escape my seemingly boring and outsider reality, and live vicariously through my characters. After all, they would have the fun adventures, overcome baddies, and solve mysteries (oh, wait, that’s my next book...). In the circus, I found my people—others who were “weird” and socially awkward and not the “ideal” body type. Plus, I was finally doing cool things in person that I thought would only be possible to experience through fiction.

As my skills as a circus artist developed and I began teaching circus to children and adults, it wasn’t long before I plotted how to bring my two worlds together. My picture book attempt for a circus story, complete with stripy tights and a desire for elephants, never went out on submission. And my idea for a chapter book series never got transferred from scribbled notes on an envelope to the computer. Going with a middle grade novel would work better, anyway.

While dog walking (because that’s the answer to the inevitable question, “Where do you get your ideas?”), characters began forming in my head. There were characters I could relate to all too well: Luna, who was experiencing body-shaming and lack of confidence; Ricky, who was too uncoordinated and distracted by everything to feel like he belonged; and Betina, whose parents didn’t approve of the things she enjoyed. Then there was Mario, who worried how others saw him and refused to participate. Never having been a popular kid, and being too socially awkward to know how to change how others saw me, I related to Mario the least—until I got to know him and noticed that underneath the cool-kid-front resided insecurity and the need for approval. Those were definitely traits I could relate to. And the fact that all the characters find their acceptance in the circus world was like soaring home.

Internal conflict sorted, each character also needed a circus challenge to overcome—easy-peasy. As an aerialist and professional stilt-walker (yes, I do get paid to walk around on stilts; yes, you can hire me for your events too), I knew that those were skills I had to include for my characters. And what’s a circus without a clown—especially with the ability to transform into one simply by wearing a little red plastic nose? But none of that worked for image-focused Mario, who had the emotional and physical flexibility of a steel pole. He needed to succeed in his own right, and that meant doing something I couldn’t: juggling.

Yeah, me and hand-eye coordination? It’s one of the few skills I’ll accept being told I can’t do... yet.

With the upcoming release of Camp Big Top, I’ve combined two things I love and was told I “couldn’t” do. Who knew I could? Oh, yeah, I did! On the surface, the book is about joining forces and saving circus camp. But really, it’s about learning to accept yourself and others. And mostly, it’s about empowerment. There isn’t a single circus thing that my fictional characters do that flesh and blood readers can’t try for themselves. With that in mind—spoiler alert—no one gets shot out of a cannon.

Camp Big Top by Alexandra Diaz. Beach Lane, $17.99 May 26 ISBN 978-1-66596-689-4