I was very interested in books as a child. I still remember how hard I worked as a four-year-old at learning to write my name because my mother promised I could have a library card as soon as I could scrawl “PAMELA.” When my parents made me turn my bedroom lights out at night, I would read by the tiny red glow on the temperature control for my electric blanket. I grew up in Riverside—a rather hot part of Southern California. I was forced to sweat through many books, and not just because I was worried about the hero.
The first thing I can remember wanting to be is a children’s author. I also loved animals. We had a dog and a big outdoor cage full of doves. My good friend, Jenny, lived on a dairy farm and it was critter heaven for me. We would jump her horses bareback over bales of hay and ride for miles in the hills.
