In 1990 I began trying to write a story about a boy who makes up a new word. That book eventually became my first novel, Frindle, published in 1996, and you can read the whole story of how it developed on another web site, frindle.com. Frindle became popular, more popular than any of my books before or since—at least so far. And it had the eventual effect of turning me into a full-time writer.
I’ve learned that I need time and a quiet place to think and write. My wife and I now live in Maine—not far from where I spent my earliest summers. These days I spend a lot of my time in a room attached to the far side of the garage—just far enough from the rest of our home to make me feel like I’ve gone to work. The room is larger than the small garden shed I worked in for almost twenty years, but it’s the same desk, same chair, same paper and pencils, same keyboard and screen. And I’m grateful to say that the books keep coming.
