I See All Of Them. All The

The Fact That I Lost My Son Permeates My Being.

I Often Compare Myself As A Kid To My Own Grandchildren, Who Are Around 11 And 14 Now. That's The Age Kids Usually Read My Book. And I Remember Myself, We'd Gone Through A World War. My Father Was An Army Officer So I Was Aware Of What Was Going On. But I Wasn't Bombarded With Images Of Catastrophe Like Many Kids Are Today.

I Make Up The Characters In My Books, But Of Course My Consciousness Is Filled With Every Child I've Ever Known, Including My Two Grandchildren, My Own Kids (i Had Four) And Especially Myself As A Child, Because That Person Still Lives Inside Me, Too.

I Don't For One Second Think About The Possibility Of Censorship When I Am Writing A New Book. I Know I Am A Person Who Cares About Kids And Who Cares About Truth And I Am Guided By My Own Instincts, And Trust Them.

Always In The Dream, It Seemed As If There Were A Destination: A Something--he Could Not Grasp What-that Lay Beyond The Place Where The Thickness Of Snow Brought The Sled To A Stop. He Was Left, Upon Awakening, With The Feeling That He Wanted, Even Somehow Needed, To Reach The Something That Waited In The Distance. The Feeling That It Was Good. That It Was Welcoming. That It Was Significant. But He Did Not Know How To Get There.