Peggy Reiff Miller | Writing for Children

I didn't grow up a reader.
At least, I didn't think I
did. But as I look through
my memory box, I find
evidence that I read more
than I remembered. I
lived on a farm with very
few books in the house,
far from a public library,
so most of my reading
happened at school.

I was surprised to find this entry recently in my sixth grade diary:
"I started the book I'm going to write." January 7, 1959, I started a
book! I have no clue what it was about. I suspect it never got
finished. But there it was - I was interested in writing even then.

After I graduated from college, married, and discovered teaching wasn't for me, the itch to write
emerged. I responded to an ad for the Institute of Children's Literature and passed their test.
"Write what you know," the material said. What did I know? Nothing! I thought. I didn't enroll.

A decade later, my husband and I were blessed with twin daughters. Reading out loud to them the
likes of Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb, Dr. Seuss books, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
re-ignited my itch to write. When the girls were about ten, I finally enrolled in the Institute of
Children's Literature. I worked my way through three courses in magazine and book writing for
children over the next fourteen years. On completion, I joined the Society of Children's Book
Writers and Illustrators and took the bold step of considering myself a writer.

Since the unrealized sixth grade attempt, I've started and completed many manuscripts - magazine
stories and articles, picture book texts, even a YA novel. A couple of my stories have made it into
magazines. My break into books is yet to come. But I don't itch anymore. I've found the salve of
writing.