So Many Miracles Have Not Yet Happened.

I Like Going To Schools And Telling Classes That When I Was A Child, I Failed Every "will This Kid Become A Writer" Test.

In My Stories For Children, I Sometimes Show A Hard, Harsh, Dangerous World. I'm Going To Show You The Way It Is, But I'm Going To Also Tell You That There's Every Reason To Hope.

My Goal Is Two Pages A Day, Five Days A Week. I Never Want To Write, But I'm Always Glad That I Have Done It. After I Write, I Go To Work At The Bookstore.

Longing Is Not Always A Reciprocal Thing.

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.