Beginnings are surprising. I'm never quite sure where the next beginning will come from, or why. The trick is to be open to them, or they slip away, into the mind of another writer who's ready and waiting. The manuscript I'm working on right now began with a news story about a boy who made a little library for his mum, on Mother's Day. It was a secret, he had stayed up all night with his Dad, crafting it, painting it, filling it with books and installing it on their front lawn. His mum was an English teacher and he knew that she would love something like this. He was right, she did. I like to imagine her joyfully waving her arms about, in her nightie and curlers and dog-eared slippers running through the wet grass, all excited and teary the first time she sees it. But it was not to last. And this is true - an official from the City soon arrived, shook his head and demanded it be taken down. A violation of code apparently. And so I thought about a boy, wanting to save a library, and although my story has grown into something very different, that's how it all began.
PS - Little Free Libraries are beautiful. Put one up if you can. littlefreelibrary.org
