When I was in elementary school, my mom took me to the big, downtown library. I sat on the linoleum floor and pulled book after book off the shelves. I still remember the smell of the wax on the floor and the oak of the shelves.
I grew up in Virginia. When I wasn’t reading, I often tagged along behind my older brother. We spent a lot of time outdoors: catching tadpoles in the creek, finding box turtles, picking wild blackberries, playing tag and kick-the-can, selling lemonade, or, really, anything we could sell.
For Christmas one year, my brother received Augusta Stevenson’s Abe Lincoln, Prairie Boy. It had an orange hardcover and the illustrations were black-and-white silhouettes. I read it cover-to-cover, probably not in one sitting, but that’s the way I remember it. This began my love of biographies. I read many biographies in that Childhoods of Famous Americans series.
When I began thinking of writing biographies for young people, I went to numerous writing workshops, and later, participated in critique groups of children’s book writers. I’m still learning. And I’m still trying to get better at it.
Here are pictures of me and my little rescue poodle, Buddy. He only has one tooth, so his tongue hangs out a lot. In the second photo, we’re on an epic road trip with his buddy, Poogen.
