I’ve always felt that being a writer is more about who you are than what you do. I’ve been a writer since the age of six or so, shortly after I fell in love with reading. Way back from the first grade, I’d write stories which would win school-wide contests, and I’d run to my room with ideas, and I’d gaze out the car window on hot, California drives, looking for ways to describe the way the tan, dry hills made me feel. There’s a secret recipe, I’m sure – take an intense childhood, add a dose of introversion and the need to understand stuff, shake in THE MAGIC OF BOOKS, and poof – writer. The key thing is likely that last shake – your initial discovery that the written word provides answers when you need answers, understanding when you need understanding, comfort when you need comfort. Between covers, you realize, there’s power when you’re powerless, and quiet when the world is too overwhelming. There is both refuge and adventure. More than anything, you feel suddenly and astonishingly known. I made this discovery when Mrs. Conway, my kindergarten teacher at Kennedy School in Modesto, first read Ramona the Pest aloud to us, and I’ve been making that discovery over and over ever since. Whether through reading or writing, the page is the place where I search for meaning. It’s become a rich and permanent pursuit.

http://debcaletti.com/