The Books That Taught Me to Imagine
I've always loved books, but when I think about what drew me to them as a kid, it wasn't necessarily one genre or type of story. I loved books that let me see the story. Sometimes that meant vivid descriptions that transported me somewhere I'd never been. I wanted to picture the landscape, the room, the weather, and the characters so clearly that the world existed in my head while I was reading. But I also loved when an author gave me just enough—a few details, a few context clues—and let my imagination fill in the rest.
Some of my earliest memories of reading include Little Golden Books. There was something about those little gold spines, colorful illustrations, and simple stories that made books feel special. I wasn't thinking about storytelling or why I liked them then, of course. I just knew I wanted to hear the stories again.
As I got older, I loved Roald Dahl. His stories could be funny, strange, a little dark, and completely impossible, yet somehow they made perfect sense while you were inside them. A chocolate factory could become an entire world. Children could have extraordinary abilities. Giants could exist. I loved that the world could feel familiar while something completely extraordinary was happening inside it.
Then came Goosebumps, which appealed to an entirely different part of my imagination. I loved the suspense, weirdness, supernatural elements, and especially the books where you could choose the path the story took. You could make one choice, reach an ending, then go back and discover what would have happened if you'd chosen differently. You weren't only reading the story—you got to participate in it.
Looking back, I think I've always wanted books to feel like places I could enter. I love vivid descriptions, but I don't necessarily want an author to decide every detail for me. Tell me what the air feels like. Let me hear the water or see the light coming through the trees. Give me enough to understand a character or a place, and then leave a little room for me to build part of it myself. That's one of my favorite things about reading: the author creates the world, but every reader imagines it a little differently.
My taste now really isn't that far removed from what I loved then. I'm especially drawn to stories that are lifelike while still having an element of fantasy. I want believable people, recognizable emotions, complicated relationships, and places that feel real—but I also want magic, mystery, or something that makes the ordinary world feel just a little less ordinary. I don't necessarily want a story to take me completely away from reality. Sometimes I just want it to tilt reality enough to make me wonder what else might be there.
And somewhere along the way, I started writing the kinds of books I like to read.
I can see that especially in The Whispering Seasons. The Vale is magical, but I want it to feel tangible. I want readers to hear the Brook, see the light through the trees, and feel the landscape around them. At the same time, I don't want to explain every mystery or dictate exactly what a reader should imagine. There should still be room to wonder.
Long before Shining Through, poetry, the Vale, or five published books with my name on their covers, there was simply a little girl who loved stories. Little Golden Books became Roald Dahl. Roald Dahl gave way to Goosebumps and countless other books over the years. My tastes changed and the stories became more complicated, but I don't think what I'm looking for has changed very much at all.
Take me somewhere. Give me enough to find my way there—and then leave a little room for my imagination to wander.
What books made you fall in love with reading? Were you a Little Golden Books kid, a Roald Dahl kid, a Goosebumps kid—or was there another book or series you couldn't get enough of?
And when you read, do you prefer vivid descriptions, or do you like an author to give you just enough detail to imagine the rest yourself?
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