As a girl my life ambitions were to be an elementary school teacher, fly to the moon as an astronaut, and achieve television fame as a “Solid Gold” dancer – not necessarily in that order.
It wasn’t until I read the Velveteen Rabbit that I considered writing. The thought had never occurred to me. Though my parents expected me to do well in school, reading and writing for pleasure were not encouraged. I was inspired by that story about a boy who loved his stuffed rabbit so much, a fairy used magic to make the toy real and save him from a bonfire.
When the pages in my storybook started to fold and curl, someone gave me a blank journal. Though I don’t remember the gift bearer – it might have been a teacher or neighbor – I can still picture the peach glossy cover that framed a spotted rabbit. They say imitation is the best form of flattery. I wrote my own bunny tales with original illustrations of horses and rainbows, as I found great difficulty in drawing running rabbits.
Then one day, my aunt gave me The Little Prince. What a book! I tossed the rabbits aside and concentrated on the peculiar Prince and his beloved flower and boa constrictors and sheep. Where did this story come from? How did this man read my thoughts and know my frustration with adults? What triggered the image of a sheep in a box? Antoine de Saint-Exupery became my idol.
This story was so different from the much shorter Velveteen Rabbit. There were so many thoughts and ideas crammed into the Prince’s adventure. I wanted to write something great like this. I replaced my equestrian scenes with an elaborate depiction of a vivid solar system with the help of foam balls, glow-in-the-dark stars and a couple wire hangers.
The last influential story that comes to mind is Charlotte’s Web. I sobbed when Charlotte died at the county fair. Though I still get teary-eyed, my initial reaction involved large, wet tears, and a heavy heart. The great genius of this story is that no other had ever touched me in that way. E. B. White elicited such a strong emotional response, such sorrow, with her tale. How did she do it? And the bigger question… could I ever do the same?
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Oh! ….and the answer?