The childish side of my grown-up self still loves to come out and play. Many things about life amuse and confound me just like they did when I was young. So, I write stories calling upon that part of my mind that remembers with wonder and playfully interprets those childhood memories.

Everyday activities and events trigger these stories. Watching a stray dog beg for food, buying a dining room rug, seeing children pressing their faces against the school bus windows are all ammunition for a story. I listen and I watch. I remember how it felt to be afraid—of the dark, of monsters, the popular kids, the bullies, snakes and spiders. Those memories are usually the hamburgers and hot dogs that feed the plot of my children’s stories. However, some of them will turn out to be more like the eggplant and Brussels sprouts of life. I guess it’s all just part of growing up.