Twenty-three years ago today my youngest daughter was born. She inspired my writing from the start.
It was she who lost the shoe that began the story in Blueberry Shoe. Without her incessant desire for liberated toes, Blueberry Shoe would not exist.
Later, as planning a child’s birthday party a week before Christmas became routine, memories of her birth and her very first Christmas, when she was just one week old, got me started on Waiting for Noel: An Advent Story.
What’s next? At the moment, I don’t know. Maybe a story about left-handedness, or playing the piano with your toes, or bloody trips to the emergency room. In the meantime, she is busy creating the chapters in her adult life.
Happy birthday, daughter. May your story be rich with living and loving.