A Library Is The Door To Many

I Was Wishing I Was Invisible. Outside, The Leaves Were Falling To The Ground, And I Was Infinitely Sad, Sad Down To My Bones. I Was Sad For Phoebe And Her Parents And Prudence And Mike, Sad For The Leaves That Were Dying, And Sad For Myself, For Something I Had Lost.

...but It Doesn't Feel Crazy To Us. It Feels Like What We Do.

I Don't Want To Because Boys Don't Write Poetry. Girls Do.

As Readers Can Probably Tell From My Books, I Love The Outdoors.

I Wondered About Mrs. Winterbottom And What She Meant About Living A Tiny Life. If She Didn't Like All That Baking And Cleaning And Jumping Up To Get Bottles Of Nail Polish Remover And Sewing Hems, Why Did She Do It? Why Didn't She Tell Them To Do Some Of The Things Themselves? Maybe She Was Afraid There Would Be Nothing Left For Her To Do. There Would Be No Need For Her And She Would Become Invisible And No One Would Notice.