This is the first time I can remember writing my name.
It was 1984. I took my favourite book – The tale of Squirrel Nutkin- to a quiet corner of my room and carefully copied from an example of my name that my mum had written on a piece of paper. It felt so good to leave my mark on the creamy, matt hardcover. I remember looking at it and thinking it needed a little picture underneath, like the cover had the picture of the naughty, brave squirrel. So I found a wooden block and carefully traced around it to make the border for the blades of grass and the solitary flower. It was only once I had finished that I realized I would probably get into trouble for it. I can’t even remember if I did.
Even at four, my love of books was fanatical. I dreamt of making my own books and putting my name on the covers. Now that I have had the chance to write and illustrate two of my own, all these early memories are flooding back to me.