As a child, I adored rabbits. I had a pet rabbit named Cleo, I owned books about characters like Peter Rabbit and informative books about how rabbits live in the wild and how to best care for your pet rabbit, and I even used to play a game with my sister and her best friend we called Rabbit. In the game, my sister and I pretended to be sisters (so that wasn't too challenging), and my sister's friend played the Easter Bunny. On Easter morning, we followed the Easter Bunny back to Easterland. The Easter Bunny was so much fun, so caring. But without warning, the Evil Rabbit's spirit would invade the Easter Bunny's body. Watch out! I was usually brought to tears and would plead with Missy (my sister's friend) to just stay the Easter Bunny for a while. I had a vivid imagination, and once Missy turned from Easter Bunny to Evil Rabbit, I truly thought the Evil Rabbit intended to harm me.
Lately, I've got bunnies on the brain again. I'm working on a poetry manuscript I'm calling (for now) Mother Rabbit, and it's loosely based on the game my sister, Missy, and I played as children. Mother Rabbit does all the crazy, wonderful, frustrating things my mother and grandmother did during my childhood. She endures their same pains and cares for her children in the same ways.
While my interests now are certainly more mature or intellectually based than during my childhood, I'm appreciating more and more the play and experimentation that we usually associate with childhood activities.
As another example, let me tell you about one of my new favorite books, My Milk Toof: The Adventures of ickle and Lardee by Inhae Lee. This book is based on -- guess what -- a blog. It tells the story of two milk teeth (also known as baby teeth) who return back home and live with the woman they left when she was a little girl. The milk teeth have distinct personalities, and they simply crack me up.
I showed this book to my three-year-old niece. She laughed at it and thought the teeth were adorable. She studied each picture. I trust I would have responded to the book in the same way as little kid. Now that I'm an adult, I'm more aware of and curious about the creator's process: How did the idea of these milk teeth returning back home come to her? How did she physically make these teeth, and how does she modify their appearances and arrange them in the photos she takes? How does she create and develop their stories? And how does she go about developing their personalities?
I attribute my renewed interest in that which is childish, that which involves play and experimentation with two experiences that occurred simultaneously: studying poetry at Columbia College and working at an independent bookstore, which sells an incredible selection of children's books and hosts weekly story times for kids. When I'd read through our selection of children's books at the store, I often felt jealous of kids for the beautiful, poetic, joyful books made for them. I loved the playful language and the attention paid to accompanying images. Then I realized -- anyone can read these books! So I do, with joy.
Reintroducing myself to children's literature while studying so intensely the creative process as a graduate student at Columbia forced me (with pleasure) to dissect the process that goes into any creative project. I admire the work that goes into developing enjoyable, imaginative books for children. I'm sure they influenced my decision to pursue writing throughout my childhood and adult life. And they inspire me still.
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