Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts

7/18/2011

The Secret Garden


I have a tendency, when life feels stressful or out of control, to return to books I know and love. Right now that book is The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I remember the first time I heard about this book. I was in the sixth grade. A friend told me about it. Her mother had recommended it to her. I think it was the first “classic” piece of literature I’d ever read, though I didn’t know it at the time. I only knew that Mary and Dickon and Colin and Martha captured my imagination—and probably fueled my love for all things British!

Years have passed since I’ve read through the book, though I can’t count the number of times I lived in its pages growing up. It was the first book I bought for my daughter—the hardcover version with the Tasha Tudor illustrations, as a present on her first Christmas. She was nine months old. She’s twenty now and I don’t think she’s read it yet! Sigh. But it’s still there. Waiting. For her—or for my future granddaughters. Doesn’t matter which. I’ll just enjoy sharing the story and hoping one comes to love it as much as I do.

12/07/2010

Racing Cars?


A friend asked me recently about the new novel in progress.

“What’s it about?” she said.

I always feel a little funny answering that question, but I did. “About a girl who ends up driving a race car. In 1916.”

Now you must know: I’m not a car girl and I’m not an adventurous risk-taker (although my drivers ed teacher did nickname me “Lead Foot.”) So this story has been a stretch for me. A fun one, but a stretch all the same.

And yet not long after that conversation I was prompted into thinking through some of my favorite cartoons from childhood and I discovered something interesting: two of my favorites involved race cars! Yes, Speed Racer and Penelope Pitstop.

It’s interesting what they have in common, both with each other and with my story. Race cars. Money. Romance. A bit of mystery. Maybe this book isn’t such a far-fetched tale after all. Maybe it’s my inner child remembering the thrill of something long forgotten.