My earliest known writing was on that yellowish double-lined paper we used in grade school back then. I wrote about walking my neighbor’s black cocker spaniel Zsa Zsa. As I remember, the story was enthusiastic and joyful. The dog, however, was mean. I was writing fiction. I wanted to bring that paper along on my school visits, but alas, I couldn’t find it.
In high school, I spent much of my time in the biology room. My friends and I took care of the plants and snakes and frogs at lunch time and after school. We went off to the Trees for Tomorrow conservation camp, marveled at the really truly dark, and brought back tiny trees to plant at home. One of the two I planted at our old house is still standing tall.
In a college creative writing class, I wrote a poem about my sister Judy’s cats. Twenty years later, I was reading a rhyming picture book to our sons. I thought it might be fun to write a children’s book, and I remembered that poem, which I had saved in a file cabinet. When I dug it out, I was amazed to find a note from my instructor saying that it might make a good children’s book.
Cats on Judy
Judy sleeps with cats on her bed.
One in her arms and one on her head.
She rather likes their company
Because they keep her warm, you see.
So she’s content to get her rest
With one on her stomach, one on her chest.
She cannot make them go away.
When she rolls over, so do they.
She thinks they’re really very sweet,
One on her back and one on her feet.
And so they dream the whole night through.
When Judy wakes up, the cats do, too.
And into the kitchen for breakfast she goes,
With one at her heels and one at her toes.
That’s when I decided to get serious about writing for children.
JoAnn Early Macken
Posts
