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I was born – well, we all are, aren’t we?  Gosh, it’s so many years ago that I can hardly remember.  I know it was in a small town in England.  My father wasn’t there because he was an officer in the army and he’d been sent to Africa. So he didn’t get to see the red, squalling, bald, pooping baby my mother produced.  

After three years the army let him come home and this strange man began to live in our house.  (Maybe he wondered whom this strange child was living in his house!  I was still pooping and sometimes squalling, but at least I wasn’t still bald).  I decided to let him stay because he brought me a book and books were the best things in the whole world. 

I could read pretty well by the time I was five and I almost never asked for toys for Christmas, just books.  My Christmas stocking was filled with them and I thought Santa was so clever to know exactly what I wanted.

I played lots of imaginary games by myself.  One special one was where I was the mommy of four children.  The eldest one was called William and we all used to have amazing adventures together. These mostly took place in the closet where my mother aired the sheets and towels and always ended with William saving us from terrible disasters.  They were very exciting.

I grew up and got married to a very nice man and we had two little boys.  After we came to live in America, I decided I was going to be a children’s librarian in a school.  I loved that because it meant I could share books with children other than my own boys. 

One day, I had a great idea.  If I liked children’s books so much, why didn’t I try to write some of my own?  So I did and I was very lucky because they got published.   And that’s why I’m able to write this to you all now.  

Copyright © 2008-2010 Pamela Duncan Edwards, All rights reserved.