I write, Morgan, to share the stories of those who no longer can--my mother, who kept a scrapbook of her life with my dad and our family for so many years, for my great-great-grandfather who traveled on a sail ship for two months with his wife Anna Maria and small daughter Lizzie in hopes of making a better life in America, for my dear Aunt Ellen who was a wonderful teacher for nearly 50 years. She loved children and sharing books about her childhood and marriage.
I write, Morgan, to remember my own life experiences, joyous or painful, and to share them with others. Sometimes we can change the world, starting in small ways.
I write to remember a special childhood friendship that ended when my best friend died. I still miss her, even though she died in 1961.
I write to remember trips around the U.S. with my mom and dad and brothers and how coming home meant looking at the pictures on a big screen and sharing a big bowl of popcorn with my family and reliving those fun times.
I write to remember what a special place the cabin was and how I loved going there with my mom and dad. My dad built it long ago and it was the best home I ever had.
I write to remember a wonderful older gentleman named Albert who lived near the cabin and seemed gruff and tough, but was really a tender-hearted man who named his dog after your uncle Alex.
I write, Morgan, to remember the courage of my mother who was in the hospital for months at a time when her leg wouldn’t heal. She was lonely and sad, but she didn’t give up and she still played sports like the other girls with normal legs.
I write to honor my father Lowell who worked hard all his life and had two successful businesses even though he never went to college. He gave me that chance though. He died at 60 and I was very sad, but he made me happy in so many ways. He was the kindest, gentlest, and most patient man I ever met.
I write, Morgan, because I’m still curious about life. I never want to stop learning and challenging myself. I read as much as I can, study, do research, and write about what I’ve learned. It’s still exciting to me.
I write because I get ideas from you—good ideas about wonderful new book titles. You make me laugh and think about what kids would like to read.
And finally, I write because it’s what I feel passionate about. I love doing it. Some people love knitting or singing or dancing. You know I can’t sing very well, so isn’t it good that I like writing?
Someday maybe you’ll share some of your own stories with the world. They’re worth writing about, at any age, and you can write about whatever you want, even Summer Adventures with Grandma. I hope you’ll always remember those times.
Thank you for asking why I write. It made me think a little harder about things that are important to me, and that’s a good thing.
I LOVE YOU—and that rascally little brother of yours.
GRANDMA
I write, Morgan, to remember my own life experiences, joyous or painful, and to share them with others. Sometimes we can change the world, starting in small ways.
I write to remember a special childhood friendship that ended when my best friend died. I still miss her, even though she died in 1961.
I write to remember trips around the U.S. with my mom and dad and brothers and how coming home meant looking at the pictures on a big screen and sharing a big bowl of popcorn with my family and reliving those fun times.
I write to remember what a special place the cabin was and how I loved going there with my mom and dad. My dad built it long ago and it was the best home I ever had.
I write to remember a wonderful older gentleman named Albert who lived near the cabin and seemed gruff and tough, but was really a tender-hearted man who named his dog after your uncle Alex.
I write, Morgan, to remember the courage of my mother who was in the hospital for months at a time when her leg wouldn’t heal. She was lonely and sad, but she didn’t give up and she still played sports like the other girls with normal legs.
I write to honor my father Lowell who worked hard all his life and had two successful businesses even though he never went to college. He gave me that chance though. He died at 60 and I was very sad, but he made me happy in so many ways. He was the kindest, gentlest, and most patient man I ever met.
I write, Morgan, because I’m still curious about life. I never want to stop learning and challenging myself. I read as much as I can, study, do research, and write about what I’ve learned. It’s still exciting to me.
I write because I get ideas from you—good ideas about wonderful new book titles. You make me laugh and think about what kids would like to read.
And finally, I write because it’s what I feel passionate about. I love doing it. Some people love knitting or singing or dancing. You know I can’t sing very well, so isn’t it good that I like writing?
Someday maybe you’ll share some of your own stories with the world. They’re worth writing about, at any age, and you can write about whatever you want, even Summer Adventures with Grandma. I hope you’ll always remember those times.
Thank you for asking why I write. It made me think a little harder about things that are important to me, and that’s a good thing.
I LOVE YOU—and that rascally little brother of yours.
GRANDMA
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