Then, one day, I had to shelve a cart of books in the basement children's room, and my feelings about my job made an about-face. These were the books I knew and loved. Since there was no children's librarian that summer, I reigned supreme down there. The other pages hated the children's room because a library cart full of skinny children's books holds roughly a jillion items and takes about three times as long to shelve as a grown-up cart, but I didn't mind a bit. Plus, I got almost exclusive rights to the elevator key, and I was allowed fetch magazines from the spooky old basement, rumored in playground lore to be the entrance of a vast underground railroad tunnel. (It's not.)

At sixteen, I finally wrote a story all by myself, without a teacher assigning it. It took me ten months to write ten pages, and I thought it was enormous. I was very proud. But, true to form, I didn't show it to anyone. Now, I can't explain this, but despite my feelings (or lack thereof) for science and math, I took a powerful liking to my junior year chemistry/algebra teacher. I decided Mrs. Morr was The One to see everything I wrote that year, and she took it like a champ. She fed me endless encouragement and let me eat up a downright embarrassing number of her afterschool hours.

Then suddenly, I returned to my old habits and only churned out what my teachers said I had to. Some of what I wrote was pretty good stuff, and in twelfth grade, I wrote a poem called "Fairy Dust" that won first prize in a county-wide writing contest. When Mrs. Payne read it to the class, Tim Slating said, "Wow. I'm gonna be reading that to my kids someday." I liked the sound of that.

I don't know what ever made me dig up that old unicorn story again, but some time around 2000, I hauled it out and gave it another major makeover. I scrapped all but the barest bones of the premise and pecked away at it here and there throughout college, mostly in the wee hours of the night, when I could get at the computer without anyone noticing what I was doing.

All along, it never really occurred to me that I might be able to write books for kids. (I don't know what I thought that unicorn story was - mostly just "That Old Story of Mine," I guess.) I mean, people had been telling me for most of my life that I had a knack for writing, and I believed them, but I also had a pretty strong conviction that I didn't have it in me to write for adults. Adult books seemed out of my league, somehow. I didn't even enjoy reading most of them. I loved kids' books best, but at the same time I felt a little bit silly reading them at my age. And then I took a children's literature class at Oakland University, where it finally dawned on me: Children's books are serious business.

Now that I've said all that, I have to admit that the idea must have been lurking in the back of my mind for quite some time. While digging around in the attic a couple years ago, I uncovered an American Girls fill-in-the-blank journal that said I wanted to be "an author for children's books." I don't even remember writing that down.

In college I also discovered a terrific little children's book store called Halfway Down the Stairs, just a few miles from school. I wanted to work there in the worst way, but openings among that loyal staff were few and far between. Before long, I was dropping in once a week to buy a book, and also dropping not-so-subtle hints about my job-lust. At the end of each semester, I sold my textbooks back to the university, pocketed my meager refund, and headed straight to HDS to buy some books worth keeping. Finally, I revved up my nerve and told Cammie, the owner, "If anybody who works here ever gets struck by lightning, call me."

Next, insert a brief interlude at Walt Disney World, where I spent a four-month internship serving up burgers and fries at Cosmic Ray's Starlight Cafe in Tomorrowland. Ye Old Fantasy Manuscript went with me and picked up a couple new characters along the way.

When I got home, I landed myself a temporary job at Borders and begged my way into a graduate level children's literature class during my last semester at OU. It beat the pants off that first class I'd taken.

Within a few weeks, I worked up the moxy to ask my professor, Linda Pavonetti, if she'd take a look at something I'd written. I bet Linda secretly cringed at the thought of yet another wannabe with a manuscript, but she agreed to have a look, and I forked over three chapters of the revamped fantasy that virtually no one else had seen for the better part of 10 years. I think both of us were surprised to discover that it was pretty good. Good enough that Linda shocked me by emailing those three chapters to an editor she knew at Random House. Right then in her office, I began to let myself believe I had a serious shot at writing for kids. Once again, I kept the news secret, and quietly began work on finishing that story in earnest as I waited to hear back from Random House.

In the meantime, a slot opened up at Halfway Down the Stairs, and I grabbed it. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by gobs of children's books and people who loved them, and I slurped it right up. At some point during my lurking at the shop, my mother had outed me as a potential author. With some trepidation, I gave Cammie a few chapters of my story and prepared myself for her notoriously honest feedback. Lo and behold, she liked it, and my confidence took one more big leap.

In another random act of boldness, I wrote a letter to my favorite author, Donna Jo Napoli, in July of 2002. Not only did I open up enough to tell her precisely why I love her books so much, but I mentioned that I had a manuscript being read by none other than her own editor. Something I said made an impression, because Donna Jo took me under her wing, and I've settled quite happily there. The first of her many extraordinary kindnesses was to put in a good word for me at Random House.

In the end, Random House (and a couple other places besides) turned that first book down. Morganna's Way, as I eventually named it, now resides quietly in an unlabeled binder on my shelf, though I refer to it as the-book-under-the-bed. I can tell you now that Morganna isn't my best work, but it's the book I wrote just for me, and that's a fine thing all by itself.

I guess you could say that because of Morganna, by the time I got the notion to write Miss Spitfire, I was ready. (For more on how that happened, click here.) After a heap of research, I wrote for a year and revised for another six months. Donna Jo Napoli read my second draft and said it was marvelous. My fellow booksellers at HDS said it was better than Morganna and would sell for sure.

Funny thing about me: when people say nice things about me, I believe them, even if I don't admit it. So I started submitting Miss Spitfire to editors. That got me nowhere slowly. I decided I needed an agent.

On St Patrick's day of 2005, Halfway Down the Stairs hosted a workshop on writing and publishing for children, featuring firsthand advice from two local authors - Kelly DiPucchio and Sue Stauffacher. Now, I knew a thing or two about Kelly's agent, and I'd set my sights on him in a big way. I wanted that agent just about as badly as I'd wanted a job at Halfway Down the Stairs in the first place. He was young, a former bookseller like me, he spent time giving online workshops for aspiring writers, and he'd sold some books I liked a lot.

After the presentation, as Kelly and Sue were signing stock, I sidled up to Kelly and asked if she'd recommend me to Mr. Wonder-Agent. She said yes, and I managed not to swoon. From the other side of the table, Sue Stauffacher piped up that I could try her agent too. Sue had spent a noticeable portion of her talk singing the praises of this agent named Wendy Schmalz. She'd sounded nice and all, but I didn't know much of anything about her. Yeah, sure, I thought to myself as I said something polite and non-committal to Sue, maybe later.

Wouldn't you just know it - Kelly DiPucchio's agent, my first choice agent, said no. For a while, I whimpered and pouted. Then, figuring I had nothing to lose, I stiffened my upper lip and gave Sue Stauffacher's agent a shot. She said yes.

Within six weeks, Wendy Schmalz had sold Miss Spitfire to Atheneum, a division of Simon & Schuster.

So now here I am, a real live author with a website and everything!

Still want some random factoids about me?

Movies I've pretty much memorized
Anne Frank Remembered
Annie
Helen Keller in Her Story
Last of the Czars
Lilo & Stitch
Mary Poppins
The Miracle Worker
The Odd Couple
Rainman
Rasputin: Dark Servant of Destiny
Titanic: The Final Chapter

My Favorite Books
Castle in the Attic
Diary of Anne Frank
The Giver
The Grapes of Wrath
The Great Gilly Hopkins
Magic Elizabeth
Of Mice and Men
Peter Pan
The Red Tent
Song of the Magdalene
The View from Saturday
Wait Till Helen Comes
Zel

Sneak a peek at some of my earliest scribblings . . .