Today I drug out the big box full of my and Madeline's baby books. It was all sugar and spice and everything nice until I came across a manila folder full of some elementary school work that my mom saved. YOU GUYS. I HAVE NOT LAUGHED THIS HARD IN WEEKS. Maybe months. Maybe ever.
As it turns out, I wrote quite a few books in my younger years.
First, this ode to my mother.
She's okay, I guess.
Then this one.
At the time I was using Kathryn as my pen name. In my defense, this was before anyone introduced me to the concept of "plagiarism."
I was also doing all of my own illustrations.
Just to be clear, not everything is a vegetable. (MOM.)
I wrote some fiction, fairy tales in particular. Probably because I could not resist trying my hand at the "castle-inside-the-first-letter" technique.
Also, it seems my mother used to scream at me when I barged in on her in the shower. This is a universal and timeless part of parenting.
In my early works I experimented with some creative spelling.
And it is xspeshalee clear that my excellent self-esteem was already in tact.
My longest work to date is a short story titled, "A STORY OF AN UNICORN" [sic.] It turns out my parents were ruthless editors who did not feel that young unicorn romance and baking witches into cakes were wise plot choices for me at this point in my writing career.
Neither was young unicorn polygamy.
They did, however, encourage me to keep writing books, to which I responded:
Maby I will, maby I will...