2003. Third grade. Nine years old. My class is instructed by our teacher to find a book to read for a book report. Problem is, I don’t like reading.
Enough time passes and everyone has a book except for me. My teacher is frustrated with my indecisiveness and pulls a random book from the shelf. I don’t like reading but whatever, there are lizards playing the saxophone on the front so that’s pretty cool.
What unfolds over the next week molded my taste in books. I was glued to it. I still remember little bits of the story, and I don’t have many memories of anything around that age. I don’t know what you call it, and I didn’t know how to describe it then, but I remember asking my teacher for more “weird books.” I say weird with the upmost respect, I was tired of hearing stories that stayed too close to reality.
At this point I think its safe to say you laid the ground work for my love for science fiction. You took nine year old me to another world. Something that I only thought was possible with video games at that time. One day when I have my own kids I will be picking up a copy to read them. Thank you for giving me a happy memory and stimulating my childhood imagination by sharing a piece of your own. Best wishes!
Well, that message put a smile on my face. Of course, I had no idea writing that book would do anyone any good. I was just amusing myself, and telling a story. That may be why you were able to enjoy it. A suggestion, look up some of the books I wrote decades after...I like to think I learned something about authoring. Try The Neddiad, for example, and there are some others.
