Writing Is Seeing. It Is Paying Attention.

There," She Said. She Rocked Him Back And Forth. "there, You Foolish, Beautiful Boy Who Wants To Change The World. There, There. And Who Could Keep From Loving You? Who Could Keep From Loving A Boy So Brave And True?

So Here I Am, Sending A Two-ounce Mouse Down Into A Dungeon With A Sewing Needle To Save A Human Princess, And I Don't Know How In The World He's Going To Do It. I Have No Idea. That Was The First Time It Occurred To Me That Writing The Story Was Roughly Equivalent To Despereaux's Descent Into The Dungeon. I Was Tremendously Aware Of That As I Was Writing. I Thought, "i Have To Be Brave Or Else I'm Not Going To Be Able To Tell It." But It's The Only Way That I Can Write. If I Know What's Going To Happen, I'm Not Interested In Telling The Story.

Nobody Ever Learns Anything.

I Think That That's Part Of How People Have Responded To The Tiger Rising. It's What I Call My Dark Child. It's Gotten Sandwiched In Between Two Overachieving, Tap-dance-performing Kids - Winn-dixie And Despereaux.

In Luggage Claim At The Minneapolis Airport, The Guy Came Up To Me And Said, "maybe You're Wrong, Maybe Stories Do Matter." I Wrote That On A Scrap Of Paper And Put It Above My Desk. That Was The Thing That Pushed Me Through To The End Of Telling Despereaux, That Comment, "maybe They Do...maybe Stories Matter."