Yeah, that’s me–Little Miss Prissy Pants on the left. This picture was taken when I was seven years old. It’s about the time when I became a major storyteller. Now some people might argue that I was a liar-liar-pants-on-fire. They’d be right.
You see I discovered the power of words, and I used that power to weave wondrous tales. A plain dry bean in my hand morphed into ‘the’ magic bean, and I substituted my name for silly old Jack’s. It’s how I rolled. It’s how I survived.
Looking back, my imagination helped me rise above some pretty hard circumstances. I think this gift came from the Irish side of my family. I had a crazy uncle who could paint vivid pictures with words. He swore every bit was true. I’m a wee bit saner than Uncle Jay.
Perhaps this joy I have with word play is why I write for children. I am still the seven year old with a big imagination who has a lot to say.
(And the little blonde to the right? It’s my younger sister who was in cahoots with me in acting out adventures. I was the flame. She was the kindling.)