While We Were Working, We

Most Of My Books Begin With An Image Or A Voice - One Small Thing - And I Don't Know What It Is Going To Become.

The Miraculous Journey Of Edward Tulane Began With A Friend Giving Me A Rabbit Doll - Forgive Me, Edward, For Using That Word; He Doesn't Like "doll" - For Christmas. I Said, "oh, He's Lovely, What's His Name?" And She Said, "edward." And A Few Days After I Received The Rabbit, Who Was Dressed Very Handsomely In Edwardian Kind Of Clothes, I Saw Him Stripped Of His Finery And Face Down On The Bottom Of The Ocean Floor. Why? I Don't Know. But That's Where His Story Began In My Head.

Seasons Passed, Fall And Winter And Spring And Summer. Leaves Blew In Through The Open Door Of Lucius Clarke’s Shop, And Rain, And The Green Outrageous Hopeful Light Of Spring. People Came And Went, Grandmothers And Doll Collectors And Little Girls With Their Mothers. Edward Tulane Waited. The Seasons Turned Into Years. Edward Tulane Waited. He Repeated The Old Doll’s Words Over And Over Until They Wore A Smooth Groove Of Hope In His Brain: Someone Will Come; Someone Will Come For You.

There Ain't No Way You Can Hold Onto Something That Wants To Go, You Understand? You Can Only Love What You Got While You Got It.

Like Most Hearts, It Was Complicated, Shaded With Dark And Dappled With Light.