Well, if I’m ever going to make the family fortune by writing children’s books, as my son is often exhorting me to do, I’d better get a move on!
But how? I don’t have those clear, honest and true memories of childhood to guide me like Beverly Cleary. I don’t have the zany imagination of Dr. Seuss and others. I don’t, I don’t…
I often want to write for my grandchildren, BlueCat and Stargirl. But the plot eludes me.
Today on the Sunday video call, StarGirl was still in her pj’s. We all tried the psychological tricks- her mama says to us, “Did you know, yesterday StarGirl got herself dressed, ALL BY HERSELF?” “No” the grandpa is mock astonished,“that’s not possible!” I say, “Do you pick out your own clothes to wear?” StarGirl falls for none of our tricks, but – on her own sweet time- disappears and comes back dressed.
“No socks,” I say. “What socks do you want to wear today?”
Stargirl happily dashes off and returns with the beaver socks in hand. She loves her animal socks, with the little faces and ears at the heel.
Mama laughs and tells how StarGirl- at the park with friends- will exclaim, “Mira!” To her friend’s parent, and turn backwards picking up one leg, waving it in the air. “Que?!” Mama has to direct their gaze to the little animal face on the heel of the sock. “Ah, que mono!”
So later in the hot shower, I am thinking maybe I will write a story about StarGirl. StarGirl in the beaver den! She can imagine her slippery body diving through the stick and clay-lined tunnel to the pond’s watery expanse, and then up for air. Would StarGirl like eating bark with her beaver friends? Maybe take some lollipops into the den! Would the beavers like the lollipops?
We will see. Every story-teller has to find their own voice, after all, and their own muse.