Rex Ogle has lived many lives: editor, author, abused child, homeless teen. The last two identities are explored in many of his books, including Free Lunch, his award-winning debut; Punching Bag; and Road Home. But his long bibliography runs the gamut in both format and subject matter, including graphic novels such as Four Eyes, illustrated by Dan Valeza. With the release of his Kirkus-starred novel in verse, When We Ride (Norton Young Readers, March 25)—a story of best friends and the life choices that strain their bond—we spoke with Ogle by Zoom from his home in Los Angeles. Our conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

I’m impressed with the diversity of your work. How do you decide what format a book will take?

I’ve heard colleagues say, “I write prose, so—prose,” or “I write comics, so—a comic.” I ask, What’s the best format for this story? I grew up obsessed with poetry and reading prose and comic books, so all three genres were very intimate to me. Is it a highly visual story? Then it has to be a graphic novel. If the visuals are harder to include, the story could be verse or prose. I let the story tell me what it wants to be.

Has that approach to writing a book ever failed?

Being an editor for 15 years taught me about the craft of storytelling. In 2012, my agent sent [my debut], Free Lunch, out to every major publisher—and it was rejected by all except two. One of them asked me to set it in high school. I said no, because then it wouldn’t be a memoir. The other wanted me to turn it into a graphic novel. I tried, but I couldn’t do it. An artist can’t capture the nuance and the pain that only come through in prose.

I initially assumed Four Eyes was a graphic novel version of Free Lunch. It’s definitely not, but it examines the same time period and people, albeit for a younger audience.  

Free Lunch was about poverty, domestic violence, and home instability, so the story had to be about those things. I wanted to go there with Four Eyes, but that’s not the premise of the story. Four Eyes is about getting glasses, not fitting in, and finding new ways to look at yourself. Not only was it important for it to be a graphic novel, I don’t think it would have worked as anything else.

Your books range from unflinching depictions of abuse to light-hearted humor. That tonal shift seems emotionally complicated.

When I was younger, my mom would drive me to school, and we sang along to Madonna. Then the next thing I know, she’d pull the car over and start punching me in the face. She’d kick me out saying, “You’re walking to school.” I’d walk the last mile and a half with a bloody nose and black eye. At school I’d wash my face and pretend everything was OK. I’d smile and hang out with my friends. “What happened?” “I ran into my locker.”

It was an education in taking the heavy stuff and saying, You can process this now, or you can process it later, but right now you have to get an education. If you want out, you’re going to need the grades to go to college; you’re going to have to work to get away from your situation. I’ve always been good at putting stuff in a mental drawer, which is not healthy. I’d put stuff in a drawer, close it, lock it, and not deal with it.

Is it cathartic to unpack those drawers through writing? How do you prepare for that? 

Therapy. For 20 years I processed my trauma while trying to become a famous writer. During that time, I wrote 18 novels: fantasy, sci-fi, horror. All escapism, and all rejected. I asked an editor, “What am I doing wrong?” He said, “There’s none of you in these stories. You're not being honest.”

I wrote Free Lunch as an exercise over about a year—a year of panic attacks, depression, anxiety, and so many tears. It was awful, but five years later, it was published—then Abuela, Don’t Forget Me, then Punching Bag. Later, I realized that I’d taken all my pain and trapped it in three books. It was out. I’ve been happier in the last year than I’ve been in my entire life.

Tell us about some of the readers’ responses.

People will tell me that they were also on the free lunch program; that’s the number one thing that I hear. But people also talk about being abused as a kid or being homeless. I felt utterly alone growing up. I didn't know that millions of people were also living in poverty, living with domestic violence, living with home instability. I thought I was the only one.

And now there are political attacks on free lunch programs.

Lunch is just another school supply. It’s vital to supporting education. You can’t learn without a textbook, and you can’t learn without lunch. If you haven’t eaten all day, you can’t focus on the chalkboard or on a test. All you think about is that hunger in your stomach. Nothing else.

Can we assume When We Ride is a fictionalized version of your teen years?

The ending is not what happened in real life, but I was best friends with the drug dealer in high school, and I drove him around to deal. I’d stay in the car doing homework. I didn’t want to drive, but I felt I had to because he needed money to buy food. I’m never going to stop someone from working, even if I disagree with it. And I disagreed with it often.

With your memoirs and memoir-adjacent works like When We Ride, has anyone said, “This isn’t what I remember?”

I don’t have a photographic memory, but I have a very good one. With Free Lunch and Four Eyes, I reached out to my abuela, my aunt, and my brother and asked countless questions. I sent manuscripts to friends and family to check if I was remembering things correctly. The story shocked people that didn’t know. Friends told me, “We thought you were a clumsy idiot clown because you always had bruises,” or “We thought you were super emotional.’”

As for the reception, my brother is super supportive. My abuela was also. My parents are probably not thrilled with the books being out there in the world. And by “probably,” I mean they definitely aren’t, but I wrote them letters and sent early copies of the book. I said, “I’m not trying to demonize you. I don’t hate you. I’m not angry. I let that stuff go decades ago. I love you, I hope you’re well, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve been an orphan my whole life. I wrote the story that I lived—if you want to talk about it, I’m always here to have a conversation. But this is out in the world, so before you tell your friends that your son wrote a book, you might want to read it.”

Christopher A. Biss-Brown is the curator of the Children’s Literature Research Collection at the Free Library of Philadelphia.