I recently discovered that I have been writing stories even longer than I remember. My first “book” is a stapled stack of crayon drawings on ripped chunks of paper. I drew the story and told it. My mom did the actual writing. In my story, various friends sit on rocks and sing or talk, or don’t talk, or play with their dogs who are pretend and that’s why they’re not in the pictures. It has some plot problems, but it’s a book about friendship—friendship and rocks.
If I Could Fly, written when I was perhaps seven, is my first fully bound picture book. I love that it’s about flying! I still sometimes daydream (and write) about flying.
I like thinking that writing picture books is in my bones—that little me already knew her calling. It’s a lovely idea. But then again, we all have stories to tell. Some of us are lucky enough to tell our stories in books. Maybe you have stories you’d like to tell, too.
Let your imagination fly—fly over the clouds. Then work, work, work at your writing.