What is your emotional age as you write?
I’m really eleven. Maybe twelve. Smack dab in the middle of shy, snarky, harsh, tender, let loose, hold on, tell me the truth, don’t tell me anything years old. I’m naive yet cynical. I question tiny things and huge things and things that don’t need questioning and when I get the answers, I’m almost never satisfied.
Which is why I love writing for children.
The world is too big for me, but I find small ways to be truly amazed – a tiny breath of breeze on a spring day, the way it flows over and around me as I stand perfectly still in my front yard, the smoothness of glass, the smell of freshly cut hay from our fields, the sunrise on a foggy morning.
How would you describe your emotional age as you write?