When I was a little girl, I loved stories. One of my earliest memories consisted of my maternal grandmother reading nursery rhymes from a large book. I loved hearing the rhythmic sound of my Nannie’s voice as she read and rocked. I had such a deep affection for those mini stories. I carried the big book around with me, looking at the beautiful hand-painted illustrations, imagining the stories. I wanted to hear the words over and over. Grandmother could never read enough to satisfy me, so I began memorizing the stories and poems. “The Swing” written by Robert Louis Stevenson quickly became one of my early favorites. I would enjoy my little red swing and think about the words as I sailed back and forth. Soon, I used my imagination to make up my own stories and create imaginary friends. Everywhere I went, a tiny kitten named Kitty followed me along with a bird perched on my shoulder, and a pony named Dobbin. We had many adventures together. Since I was too young to write, none of the stories were saved.

I did not have the joy of kindergarten, but my first grade teacher, Mrs. Wade, delighted me each day with story time, changing her voice to fit the unique characters. I sat captivated throughout the story, always wishing for one more. 

I loved trips to the school and public libraries. The experience of being surrounded by wonderful books brought joy. Those are experiences that shaped my life and caused me to have a love for books. Today I get much pleasure from my large personal library of both adult and children’s books. My books feel like old friends. One of my favorite things to do is curl up with a book and a pot of apricot, peach tea.

As a young person, I knew that one day I wanted to teach young children and write a book, and I wanted beautiful hand-painted illustrations that reminded me of some of my favorite illustrators, Eloise Wilkin, Jessie Willcox Smith, and Beatrix Potter. My long-awaited dream finally came true when I wrote Summer’s Song and discovered the perfect illustrator, Sara Jo Floyd.