Picking up my daughter, I watched the kids and parents streaming from the school, trailing jackets and backpacks and siblings and shoelaces. What I would really like to do is write something for them, I thought. Something that little ones can enjoy, that can provide a love for story and reading. I think maybe I read Cynthia Rylant once, talking about how rewarding it was to write a book that could help a kid learn to read, and even more, that could help him WANT to.
So on my way to the next school, I wrote a simple kid's picture book story, with rhyme and rhythm and counting and problem-solving. It's not the best story I've ever read, but it's far from the worst either.
On my way. Already on my way.