But I found myself less and less interested in inventing plots for adult readers. I finished that novel and wrote two more in collaboration with my husband. I was well into my fourth novel when our daughter Merian was born-quite unexpectedly, because we had been married fourteen years. Especially, I loved the research involved. Earlier, for many years, I wrote historical novels and there was a time when I would have told you I was unlikely ever to write anything else. Soon after I started bombarding the magazines and sold my first story when I was eighteen.įor a long time now I have been happily absorbed in a succession of books for children, chiefly the Betsy-Tacy series.
When I was ten my father, I hope at not too great expense, had printed a booklet of my earliest rhymes. I cannot remember back to a year in which I did not consider myself to be a writer, and the younger I was the bigger the capital “W.” Back in Mankato I wrote stories in notebooks and illustrated them with pictures cut from magazines.
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
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