I'm Grateful For Every Teacher Or Librarian

I Was Visiting My Mother In Florida When The September 11, 2001 Attacks Happened. I Was Working On The Tale Of Despereaux At That Point. I Had Already Gone Into Writing It With A Great Deal Of Trepidation And Fear, And Then This God-awful Thing Happens And It Was Really Hard To Even Get Back Home To Minneapolis.

The Miraculous Journey Of Edward Tulane Began With A Friend Giving Me A Rabbit Doll - Forgive Me, Edward, For Using That Word; He Doesn't Like "doll" - For Christmas. I Said, "oh, He's Lovely, What's His Name?" And She Said, "edward." And A Few Days After I Received The Rabbit, Who Was Dressed Very Handsomely In Edwardian Kind Of Clothes, I Saw Him Stripped Of His Finery And Face Down On The Bottom Of The Ocean Floor. Why? I Don't Know. But That's Where His Story Began In My Head.

It Is Our Duty And Our Joy To Communicate Our Hearts To Each Other. Words Assist Us In This Task.

There Is No Right Or Wrong Way To Tell A Story. You Have To Find Your Own Way. You Can Get Your Idea From Listening, Looking, Or Imagining. Stories Are Everywhere. All You Have To Do Is Pay Attention.

He Was Reading From The Beginning So That He Could Get To The End, Where The Reader Was Assured That The Knight And The Fair Maiden Lived Together Happily Ever After.