Kate DiCamillo's Blog, page 31

Speaking of time rushing by, here is a picture of my brother and me on the patio...

Speaking of time rushing by, here is a picture of my brother and me on the patio of our house in Philadelphia.
I look like I have to go to the bathroom.
I was infamous for having to go to the bathroom.
My mother was fond of saying that I had been in every public restroom on the East Coast.
I wish I could tell what book is in Curt’s lap.
Both Curt and I loved books. We lived in them.
What story is he holding there?
Whatever it was, he was reading it to me.
I would like to hear it again...

Here is a picture of early morning light on the St. Croix River. It isn’t an...

Here is a picture of early morning light on the St. Croix River.
It isn’t an extraordinary picture. I know that.
But every time I look at it, I feel a vertiginous sense of wonder.
My first memory is of water, of standing on the beach in Bay Ridge, Maryland, watching as a wave came in and grabbed at the tips of my shoes. My father picked me up just before the water covered my feet.
And now, here I am, forty-five years later, thousands of miles away, looking at a different body of water, still...

Here is another picture of my mother. She is the redhead on the left. The blon...

Here is another picture of my mother. She is the redhead on the left. The blonde is her best friend, Pat.
I don’t know the names of the boys.
There is no date on the photo.
All I know is that my mother is young, and on the beach in Bay Ridge, Maryland, smiling, squinting into the sun.
She has not met my father yet.
She has not dreamed of my brother, or me.
I keep looking at this photo of who she was before me.
I squint into the bright light of her.
I smile back.

In the mailbag: a letter from Cesia in New York:“Dear Ms. DiCamillo, In class...

In the mailbag: a letter from Cesia in New York:
“Dear Ms. DiCamillo, In class we heard your story Because of Winn-Dixie. To me your story was beuteful and ful of frendshep.”
These two sentences seemed so incredible to me that I read them over and over before I continued on and found the best sentence of all, which begins this way “And happines is all over the book because opal made friends . . .”
That’s it, Cesia.
That’s everything.
Thank you.

From the Candlewick team:We've just added a new event to Kate's Facebook page;...

From the Candlewick team:

We've just added a new event to Kate's Facebook page; she'll be at the La Jolla Library this Saturday. To tide you over (or if you don't live near San Diego), here's a pre-event interview with Kate from the San Diego Union Tribune:

http://www.utsandiego.com/news/2012/nov/04/tp-childrens-book-author-still-a-kid-at-heart/?page=1#article


CHILDREN’S BOOK AUTHOR STILL A KID AT HEART
www.utsandiego.com
Kate DiCamillo’s award-winning children’s books include “Because of Winn...

Kate DiCamillo at the La Jolla Library

Kate DiCamillo at the La Jolla Library

My friend who lives across the street (and who is a writer too) sent me this pic...

My friend who lives across the street (and who is a writer too) sent me this picture of her dog Louie. The dog climbed the stairs to her third floor office to deliver a look of naked need just as she sat down to write. Every time I look at this photo I laugh out loud. This is how it is with writing. You sit down and someone needs something.
These autumn mornings are dark and I want to stay in bed.
But I have been setting the alarm so that I am up early, getting the work done before all the...

For Halloween, Henry has been a spider, a chicken, a pumpkin, a biker and a king...

For Halloween, Henry has been a spider, a chicken, a pumpkin, a biker and a king.
It must be said that Henry has expressed absolutely no enthusiasm for the spider, chicken, pumpkin or biker outfits.
However, he sure does seem to like wearing this crown.
He sits up straighter when it is on his head. He radiates a certain eminence.
If my mother were here, she would say that the dog suffers from delusions of grandeur.
I say: what’s the harm in dreaming big?
Happy Halloween.

I never know what is going to happen in a story. I never know how it will end....

I never know what is going to happen in a story. I never know how it will end.
I remember when I was working on The Tale of Despereaux and I arrived at the terrible realization that Despereaux would have to go down into the dungeon to save the Princess Pea.
It seemed like a very bad idea.
How could I let a tiny mouse go down into a rat-infested dungeon?
It was ridiculous, impossible.
But the mouse insisted on going.
I, reluctantly, followed him.
And things, unbelievably, turned out okay....

I like old postcards, postcards sent from places I have never been, bearing mess...

I like old postcards, postcards sent from places I have never been, bearing messages from people I do not know. You can usually find a shoebox full of them at any antique store; and I can put myself into a happy trance reading the faded and mysterious words written on them:

Have you seen Ralph?
Tell Ida that I am sorry and that I will be home soon.
This bridge is worth seeing, but it would be better seeing it with you.
Last night, we had creamed chicken and peas.
The moon was full.
We s...