I know what I'm going to name my next cat...Tacy, as in Tacy from the Betsy-Tacy series by Maud Hart Lovelace. How I missed this fabulous series as a kid I don't know. Well, maybe it had something to do with the fact that the only thing I'd read (at least initially) were Nancy Drew books. You may compare this to a one-year old refusing to eat anything but Gerber plums and apples, or in my case, raspberry cobbler. At any rate, I missed out on a wonderful series growing up. Fortunately, that gap in my reading journey has come to an end and it is easy to understand how and why it is included in 1001 Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up.
Friends do come and go. But, a special, precious few begin when we are in grade school and last for the rest of our lives. Most of us have at least one of these friendships. I did. Unfortunately, we spent most of it living in different states. My BFF moved to Virginia right after our freshman year of high school. Similarly, Betsy and Tacy are best friends and live next door to each other...until right before they begin their freshman year of high school. Luckily for Tacy, Betsy is moving just across town. Still, the pain both girls go through as a result of the move is something everyone can identify with no matter their age (or gender, for that matter). Moving at any point in life is not easy.
There are numerous questions that run through the mind when a move is on the horizon, chiefly, "Will I make a new friend and will he or she be as good as...." The answer could be a mix of both yes and no...probably more yes, "you" will make a new friend and he or she is just as likely to be as special as the one you might be leaving behind. But, there is something about a friendship formed in grade school. They grow as quickly as you outgrow your shoes and winter coats.
In Heaven to Betsy, Betsy is keenly concerned about what will happen to her friendship with Tacy when she moves and they begin high school. Will they remain friends and be as close as they were before the move? What will happen if they make new friends? Will they drift apart? After all, they've been best friends and have lived across the street from each other since they were five. They'd played countless hours of house, school, and dress up together. Now they're young ladies, high school students...a time when lots of things can and do change.
Friends are important. They see you at your worst and still love you for who you are. Friends forgive (ignore?) a lapse in communication without a second thought...allowing you to pick up right where you left off as if no time had elapsed. Friends back you up when you feel like your back's against the wall. Friends, simply, are there for you...every successful, failed, awkward, sticky, and muck-filled step of whatever journey you're sharing together. Betsy and Tacy are all of these and more to each other. They're the kind of friends we'd like to be friends with. They remind us of our own friends, of all that is good and wonderful and why we are friends with those we are. In short, Betsy and Tacy and their friendship, adventures, and experiences remind us of ourselves.
Book: Betsy-Tacy series
Author: Maud Hart Lovelace
Year: 1940-1955
Note: For contemporary counterparts, "pair" this series with Snail Mail No More by Paula Danziger and Ann Martin and Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life by Wendy Mass.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Meep-Meep!
Book 3: Rosie's Walk by Pat Hutchins (1968)
Thirty-one words. That's it. Just thirty-one words to tell this hilarious story. And, you would think it would take no time at all to read it as a result. Not so. When I read this to groups of young kids (or simply one-on-one) it takes well over at least ten minutes. Why? Because of the illustrations. That is both how and where this story is is really told. The words are almost unnecessary.
At first glance, the pictures seem simplistic, but upon closer examination are quite sophisticated. This sophistication is not lost on or beyond the reach of the toddler (and older) set. Hutchins keeps the color palette simple, sticking with soft yellows, reds, browns, greens, and black outlines for definition...along with plenty of white space on the page. Rosie may be on a walk around the barnyard before dinner, but what she doesn't know (and the reader does) is that she is being followed by a fox.
What reads as a such an uncomplicated thing, "Rosie the hen went for a walk across the yard," is so much more. As Rosie leaves the hen house, she is completely unaware of Fox hiding beneath it and then following her across the yard. As he leaps to pounce on her, he lands on a yard rake and is whacked in the face. The humor isn't missed by kids and is the reason Rosie's Walk is not a story to be read quickly. They pour over the pictures, noting such minute items as a snail in the grass, or a string wrapped around Rosie's ankle that--unbeknown to her of course--causes a sack of flour to tear and spill on Fox as she walks past his latest hiding place.
Rosie's adventure is reminiscent of the antics between Wiley E. Coyote and Road Runner. No matter how hard Fox tries to catch Rosie, some unfortunate mishap occurs to him. What makes this story such a classic and amazing work is that none of Fox's mishaps are even remotely hinted at in the text. Hutchins' illustrations tell Fox's tale and it is that which captures a young child's attention.
Hutchins' technique of using the illustrations to tell a story parallel (or separate) to that of the text is not new. Randolph Caldecott, considered the "founder" of children's book illustration, employed this idea in his works. For example, in his Diverting History of John Gilpin, there is much more going on in the pictures than the text would have a reader believe. Hidden humor, an extra story going on "behind the scenes" etc. are just a few mechanisms that make an appearance the story. So, this begs the question, how is it Rosie's Walk did not win the Caldecott Award?
Meep-meep.
Historical Note: Randolph Caldecott, born in Chester, England in 1846, taught himself to sketch and paint. His illustration break came when a publisher lost his principal illustrator, Walter Crane. The first two books Caldecott worked on were immediate successes and he would go on to not only illustrate other writer's works, but also write and illustrate his own. Sadly, he passed away at the age of 39 in St. Augustine, Florida. There is a headstone marking his grave in St. Augustine. In 1938, the American Library Association awarded the first medal bearing his name to Animals of the Bible, illustrated by Dorothy Lathrop. The award is given each year to the book with the best illustrations published in the preceding year. For example, the 2011 award will be given to the book with the best illustrations published in 2010. Also, the artist must be a United States resident and the pictures must embody the illustration ideas of Caldecott himself. For more information on Caldecott, visit http://www.randolphcaldecott.org.uk/. Visit the American Library Association's web site at www.ala.org for award criteria and a complete list of Caldecott Award winners and honorees.
Thirty-one words. That's it. Just thirty-one words to tell this hilarious story. And, you would think it would take no time at all to read it as a result. Not so. When I read this to groups of young kids (or simply one-on-one) it takes well over at least ten minutes. Why? Because of the illustrations. That is both how and where this story is is really told. The words are almost unnecessary.
At first glance, the pictures seem simplistic, but upon closer examination are quite sophisticated. This sophistication is not lost on or beyond the reach of the toddler (and older) set. Hutchins keeps the color palette simple, sticking with soft yellows, reds, browns, greens, and black outlines for definition...along with plenty of white space on the page. Rosie may be on a walk around the barnyard before dinner, but what she doesn't know (and the reader does) is that she is being followed by a fox.
What reads as a such an uncomplicated thing, "Rosie the hen went for a walk across the yard," is so much more. As Rosie leaves the hen house, she is completely unaware of Fox hiding beneath it and then following her across the yard. As he leaps to pounce on her, he lands on a yard rake and is whacked in the face. The humor isn't missed by kids and is the reason Rosie's Walk is not a story to be read quickly. They pour over the pictures, noting such minute items as a snail in the grass, or a string wrapped around Rosie's ankle that--unbeknown to her of course--causes a sack of flour to tear and spill on Fox as she walks past his latest hiding place.
Rosie's adventure is reminiscent of the antics between Wiley E. Coyote and Road Runner. No matter how hard Fox tries to catch Rosie, some unfortunate mishap occurs to him. What makes this story such a classic and amazing work is that none of Fox's mishaps are even remotely hinted at in the text. Hutchins' illustrations tell Fox's tale and it is that which captures a young child's attention.
Hutchins' technique of using the illustrations to tell a story parallel (or separate) to that of the text is not new. Randolph Caldecott, considered the "founder" of children's book illustration, employed this idea in his works. For example, in his Diverting History of John Gilpin, there is much more going on in the pictures than the text would have a reader believe. Hidden humor, an extra story going on "behind the scenes" etc. are just a few mechanisms that make an appearance the story. So, this begs the question, how is it Rosie's Walk did not win the Caldecott Award?
Meep-meep.
Historical Note: Randolph Caldecott, born in Chester, England in 1846, taught himself to sketch and paint. His illustration break came when a publisher lost his principal illustrator, Walter Crane. The first two books Caldecott worked on were immediate successes and he would go on to not only illustrate other writer's works, but also write and illustrate his own. Sadly, he passed away at the age of 39 in St. Augustine, Florida. There is a headstone marking his grave in St. Augustine. In 1938, the American Library Association awarded the first medal bearing his name to Animals of the Bible, illustrated by Dorothy Lathrop. The award is given each year to the book with the best illustrations published in the preceding year. For example, the 2011 award will be given to the book with the best illustrations published in 2010. Also, the artist must be a United States resident and the pictures must embody the illustration ideas of Caldecott himself. For more information on Caldecott, visit http://www.randolphcaldecott.org.uk/. Visit the American Library Association's web site at www.ala.org for award criteria and a complete list of Caldecott Award winners and honorees.
Monday, October 18, 2010
J, K, L, M, N, O, P, and Q
Book 2: Make Way for Ducklings by Robert McCloskey
Mr. and Mrs. Mallard turn seventy next year. When they first landed at the Boston Public Garden in 1941, little did they know they'd be raising more than just their ducklings Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Oack, Pack, and Quack. They would, and continue to, help raise thousands if not millions of future readers and there is a very good reason why this story is timeless. Well, many good reasons, actually, and while I can't quack for the millions of other readers who love the story, for me I'm never quite sure the Mallard family is going to make it across the street safely. Oh I know, there is the theme of family and all sorts of other underlying messages. But, when I read a children's story I want to read it through the eyes of a child and grown up stuff, like the afore mentioned thematic items, for the most sail right over a child's head. Don't get me wrong, they will (unconsciously) note the idea of family and that the Mallard's are doing everything they can to make sure their ducklings are raised safely. But, they (meaning children) are not going to stop and think, "Now, what is the author really trying to say."
I don't want to get bogged down in grown-up stuff. One of the many purposes of books for kids is to entertain and Make Way for Ducklings has it all. The opening scene draws you right in...where on earth are Mr. and Mrs. Mallard going to land for the night. A young reader or listener is hooked right from the beginning...wondering what's going to happen next. Will they find food? Will they find a place to lay their eggs? And how on earth are they going to get across the street to meet Mr. Mallard on the pond at the Public Garden.
That is the child equivalent of whether Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy will work out their differences and marry. No matter how many times I read Make Way for Ducklings, I'm never quite convinced it's going to work out. That the family isn't going to make it across the streets and into the pond at the Public Garden to a waiting Mr. Mallard. And this is one reason why it is such a beloved and classic story. Because they DO arrive safely, and everyone, no matter how old, needs that reassurance that things can work out just fine...that happy endings aren't just the stuff of fairy tales.
The other magical aspect of the story is the illustrations. Secretly, I wanted one of the ducklings for my own. McCloskey captured their physical and behavioral antics perfectly. Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Oack, Pack, and Quack come alive with every reading. Anyone looking at the pictures can't help but feel as if they're standing on the sidewalk, too, waiting to cross the street or floating with Mr. and Mrs. Mallard in the air scouting out a place to land.
Everyone, no matter their age, enjoys a good story. Stories invite the imagination to run wild, to laugh, to cry, to work out what worries us. And there's no better place to begin doing that than the pond at the Boston Public Garden. Quack!
Historical Note: In order to capture the ducks as perfectly as he did, McCloskey lived with ten mallard ducks and their chicks in his New York apartment for about a year to get them just right.
Mr. and Mrs. Mallard turn seventy next year. When they first landed at the Boston Public Garden in 1941, little did they know they'd be raising more than just their ducklings Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Oack, Pack, and Quack. They would, and continue to, help raise thousands if not millions of future readers and there is a very good reason why this story is timeless. Well, many good reasons, actually, and while I can't quack for the millions of other readers who love the story, for me I'm never quite sure the Mallard family is going to make it across the street safely. Oh I know, there is the theme of family and all sorts of other underlying messages. But, when I read a children's story I want to read it through the eyes of a child and grown up stuff, like the afore mentioned thematic items, for the most sail right over a child's head. Don't get me wrong, they will (unconsciously) note the idea of family and that the Mallard's are doing everything they can to make sure their ducklings are raised safely. But, they (meaning children) are not going to stop and think, "Now, what is the author really trying to say."
I don't want to get bogged down in grown-up stuff. One of the many purposes of books for kids is to entertain and Make Way for Ducklings has it all. The opening scene draws you right in...where on earth are Mr. and Mrs. Mallard going to land for the night. A young reader or listener is hooked right from the beginning...wondering what's going to happen next. Will they find food? Will they find a place to lay their eggs? And how on earth are they going to get across the street to meet Mr. Mallard on the pond at the Public Garden.
That is the child equivalent of whether Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy will work out their differences and marry. No matter how many times I read Make Way for Ducklings, I'm never quite convinced it's going to work out. That the family isn't going to make it across the streets and into the pond at the Public Garden to a waiting Mr. Mallard. And this is one reason why it is such a beloved and classic story. Because they DO arrive safely, and everyone, no matter how old, needs that reassurance that things can work out just fine...that happy endings aren't just the stuff of fairy tales.
The other magical aspect of the story is the illustrations. Secretly, I wanted one of the ducklings for my own. McCloskey captured their physical and behavioral antics perfectly. Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Oack, Pack, and Quack come alive with every reading. Anyone looking at the pictures can't help but feel as if they're standing on the sidewalk, too, waiting to cross the street or floating with Mr. and Mrs. Mallard in the air scouting out a place to land.
Everyone, no matter their age, enjoys a good story. Stories invite the imagination to run wild, to laugh, to cry, to work out what worries us. And there's no better place to begin doing that than the pond at the Boston Public Garden. Quack!
Historical Note: In order to capture the ducks as perfectly as he did, McCloskey lived with ten mallard ducks and their chicks in his New York apartment for about a year to get them just right.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Skippery Boo
What is it about kids that they enjoy a good, scary story...and at the same time shriek, "STOP!" Such was the effect of "The Skippery Boo" by Earl L. Newton on me. I hated that story (I think of poems as stories, just in a slightly different format) and loved it at the same time. My mom would read it to me once in awhile. Not content, however, to simply read it to me, she had to be the Skippery Boo.
The impact of this was twofold. One, I would squeal and scream with both delight and terror. Two, it made the literature come alive. It wasn't a poem. It was a true story for that brief moment in time she was reading it to me. There really was a hunter wandering in the wood (I always pictured him dressed in Robin Hood-type garb) humming along and stopping for drink along a sparkling, rippling stream. Perhaps there were fish mingling about the surface. I could picture the tall tall pines surrounding his camp offering him shade and perhaps a bit of protection from the elements.
Of course, this meant, too, that the Skippery Boo really existed, a creature that in my mind was a cross between a lion, mermaid, bat, "a grizzly hare/And webfoot bear/A goof and a bumble-cat" that could shatter a tree like a toothpick. "Nooooo! Stooooooop!" I'd wail as the Skippery Boo came to life at the foot of my bed. I'd try to run away down the hall, but my mom would chase me--albeit good naturedly--still reading. I was convinced for those few glorious, terrifying, exhilarating, and enchanting minutes that I was the hunter (or huntress in this case) running from the Skippery Boo. Isn't that what any good four year old huntress would do? Arguing with Mr. Boo just didn't seem like a worthwhile pursuit.
But, isn't this what stories are supposed to do? To bring pretend worlds to life even for just a little while? To transport us to a realm with magical creatures and let our imaginations run wild down the hall? "So as you wade/This vale of shade/And jog life's journey through/At day, at night,/Be it dark or light,/Watch out for the Skippery Boo." Oh that wonderful warty-toed Skippery Boo. Has he met you?
The impact of this was twofold. One, I would squeal and scream with both delight and terror. Two, it made the literature come alive. It wasn't a poem. It was a true story for that brief moment in time she was reading it to me. There really was a hunter wandering in the wood (I always pictured him dressed in Robin Hood-type garb) humming along and stopping for drink along a sparkling, rippling stream. Perhaps there were fish mingling about the surface. I could picture the tall tall pines surrounding his camp offering him shade and perhaps a bit of protection from the elements.
Of course, this meant, too, that the Skippery Boo really existed, a creature that in my mind was a cross between a lion, mermaid, bat, "a grizzly hare/And webfoot bear/A goof and a bumble-cat" that could shatter a tree like a toothpick. "Nooooo! Stooooooop!" I'd wail as the Skippery Boo came to life at the foot of my bed. I'd try to run away down the hall, but my mom would chase me--albeit good naturedly--still reading. I was convinced for those few glorious, terrifying, exhilarating, and enchanting minutes that I was the hunter (or huntress in this case) running from the Skippery Boo. Isn't that what any good four year old huntress would do? Arguing with Mr. Boo just didn't seem like a worthwhile pursuit.
But, isn't this what stories are supposed to do? To bring pretend worlds to life even for just a little while? To transport us to a realm with magical creatures and let our imaginations run wild down the hall? "So as you wade/This vale of shade/And jog life's journey through/At day, at night,/Be it dark or light,/Watch out for the Skippery Boo." Oh that wonderful warty-toed Skippery Boo. Has he met you?
Monday, August 30, 2010
I think I can, I think I can
Book 1: The Little Engine That Could by Watty Piper (published by Platt & Munk, 1930)
I remember my dad reading this to me almost every night as a child. I remember the sound of his voice as it changed with each character. Deep and resonating as the little red train chug-chug-chugged and puff-puff-puffed along the tracks in the beginning. Arrogant for the Shiny New Engine pulling its passenger cars. Grumpy for the Big Strong Engine pulling its load of big machines. Sleepy for the Rusty Old Engine. And, of course, cheerful for the Little Engine That Could.
I loved the pictures, too. They pulled me in...I was in the story. I was enthralled with the toys and I remember putting several of them in my letter to Santa. I wanted the baby elephant. I had to have the doll with the blue dress and yellow bow. And who could possibly resist the ABC book, the tractor, or the fire engine with the extension ladder. Don't even get me started on the illustration of the peppermint balls and lollipops. I mentioned to Santa those would make great stocking stuffers. I mean, no Christmas stocking is complete without candy...no matter what the age of its owner. It's a rule. Anyway, it was (still is) a magical story and I could forget all about my four year old troubles.
Most of all, I loved the happy, friendly little blue Little Engine That Could. She was so nice to everyone. Not rude, or grouchy, or indifferent...all of which bothered me. I didn't like that the other trains wouldn't help the little red broken down train and always asked WHY they were so mean to it, and my dad would try his best to explain. Of course, what I didn't understand then was that if they didn't there wouldn't have been a story. But, what that red train went through always stuck with me and I think even at the young age four I made a decision to do my best not to treat people that way...no matter how they treated me.
The Little Engine had a strength in her even she was unaware of in the beginning. She didn't know if she could make it up the hill and into town. But, she was willing to give it a shot, to try despite an obstacle. Maybe she could overcome it, maybe she couldn't. At least she'd know. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Those are words I've referred back to anytime life decided to throw a hill in my way. No one has a crystal ball to see an outcome. If we did, there would be no adventure and or stories to tell. It is cheerfully attempting the hill, win or lose, that is important.
"I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could." Powerful words.
Historical Note: Watty Piper is the pseudonym for Mabel Caroline Bragg (1870-1945) who was a teacher and writer. The origin of the story is unknown as several similar stories existed before Piper's version. In Bragg's original version (The Little Pony Engine, 1916) the setting was Christmas. But, when Platt & Munk republished in its current incarnation, they dropped the holiday element. 2010 marks the 80th anniversary of this timeless classic. (Source: Schaefer, Pat. "Little Engine That Could." The Cambridge Guide to Children's Books in English. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Credo Reference. Web. 30 August 2010.)
I remember my dad reading this to me almost every night as a child. I remember the sound of his voice as it changed with each character. Deep and resonating as the little red train chug-chug-chugged and puff-puff-puffed along the tracks in the beginning. Arrogant for the Shiny New Engine pulling its passenger cars. Grumpy for the Big Strong Engine pulling its load of big machines. Sleepy for the Rusty Old Engine. And, of course, cheerful for the Little Engine That Could.
I loved the pictures, too. They pulled me in...I was in the story. I was enthralled with the toys and I remember putting several of them in my letter to Santa. I wanted the baby elephant. I had to have the doll with the blue dress and yellow bow. And who could possibly resist the ABC book, the tractor, or the fire engine with the extension ladder. Don't even get me started on the illustration of the peppermint balls and lollipops. I mentioned to Santa those would make great stocking stuffers. I mean, no Christmas stocking is complete without candy...no matter what the age of its owner. It's a rule. Anyway, it was (still is) a magical story and I could forget all about my four year old troubles.
Most of all, I loved the happy, friendly little blue Little Engine That Could. She was so nice to everyone. Not rude, or grouchy, or indifferent...all of which bothered me. I didn't like that the other trains wouldn't help the little red broken down train and always asked WHY they were so mean to it, and my dad would try his best to explain. Of course, what I didn't understand then was that if they didn't there wouldn't have been a story. But, what that red train went through always stuck with me and I think even at the young age four I made a decision to do my best not to treat people that way...no matter how they treated me.
The Little Engine had a strength in her even she was unaware of in the beginning. She didn't know if she could make it up the hill and into town. But, she was willing to give it a shot, to try despite an obstacle. Maybe she could overcome it, maybe she couldn't. At least she'd know. "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Those are words I've referred back to anytime life decided to throw a hill in my way. No one has a crystal ball to see an outcome. If we did, there would be no adventure and or stories to tell. It is cheerfully attempting the hill, win or lose, that is important.
"I thought I could, I thought I could, I thought I could." Powerful words.
Historical Note: Watty Piper is the pseudonym for Mabel Caroline Bragg (1870-1945) who was a teacher and writer. The origin of the story is unknown as several similar stories existed before Piper's version. In Bragg's original version (The Little Pony Engine, 1916) the setting was Christmas. But, when Platt & Munk republished in its current incarnation, they dropped the holiday element. 2010 marks the 80th anniversary of this timeless classic. (Source: Schaefer, Pat. "Little Engine That Could." The Cambridge Guide to Children's Books in English. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Credo Reference. Web. 30 August 2010.)
Sunday, August 29, 2010
I have a blog. Now what?
I've wanted to start a blog for awhile, but had no clue about what. I'd come up with one, and then seconds later scrunch my nose and think, "Nah. I don't want to do that. I'll be bored within weeks." Anything I came up with felt like work. Work, like having to memorize multiplication tables...which, since math and I never got along very well in school, hurt. It hurt more than a bee sting, more than cracking your chin on the ice, more than accidentally snorting soda through your nose in a fit of giggles. You get the idea.
What I do know is that I have always loved a good story. Good Night Moon, Nancy Drew (my heroine!) and The Boxcar Children, Anne of Green Gables, Alex Rider....The list is long, but distinguished. But, how to turn my love of a good tale into a blog. I enjoy writing, but I do have to have an idea in mind, even a purpose. For the blog, all of that eluded me. That is, until yesterday, when I was visiting my favorite bookstore (which has a cat, by the way, named Index...or Dexie for short). There I ran across the book 1001Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up, edited by Julia Eccleshare, and had a the-spaghetti-is-done-because-it's-stuck-to-the-ceiling moment. How fun would it be to read all 1001 books? This was quickly followed by, "And, I could blog about it." Ding ding ding ding ding! We have a winner!
I loved Julie/Julia by Julie Powell and think her blog idea was genius...so yes, part of my inspiration is probably thanks to her. It's also thanks to my parents, who began reading to me long before I could walk and always made sure there was a Nancy Drew book waiting in the wings for when I finished the one I was reading at the moment. It will be interesting to see what books I'm already familiar with and what I'm not. But, that will be part of the adventure. Do I have any idea what I'll write about? Nope.
On that note, I'd better get reading (and replenish the chocolate chip cookies)!
What I do know is that I have always loved a good story. Good Night Moon, Nancy Drew (my heroine!) and The Boxcar Children, Anne of Green Gables, Alex Rider....The list is long, but distinguished. But, how to turn my love of a good tale into a blog. I enjoy writing, but I do have to have an idea in mind, even a purpose. For the blog, all of that eluded me. That is, until yesterday, when I was visiting my favorite bookstore (which has a cat, by the way, named Index...or Dexie for short). There I ran across the book 1001Children's Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up, edited by Julia Eccleshare, and had a the-spaghetti-is-done-because-it's-stuck-to-the-ceiling moment. How fun would it be to read all 1001 books? This was quickly followed by, "And, I could blog about it." Ding ding ding ding ding! We have a winner!
I loved Julie/Julia by Julie Powell and think her blog idea was genius...so yes, part of my inspiration is probably thanks to her. It's also thanks to my parents, who began reading to me long before I could walk and always made sure there was a Nancy Drew book waiting in the wings for when I finished the one I was reading at the moment. It will be interesting to see what books I'm already familiar with and what I'm not. But, that will be part of the adventure. Do I have any idea what I'll write about? Nope.
On that note, I'd better get reading (and replenish the chocolate chip cookies)!
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