The Story of Peyton James

When I was a little girl, I authored a series of hand-written stories on poorly-folded flip chart paper and illustrated the pages in a mash-up of crayon and marker. At seven years old, I had no idea that dreaming up storylines for my zany cast of characters would be something I’d continue into adulthood. I didn’t realize that running out of space and ending the story with a lopsided “To be continued…” was a big taboo in certain genres. Back then, I was very concerned about my crappy markers running out of ink and less concerned about the conventions of writing. But I can promise you this: My characters always found love. The endings were always happy. And my zebras always found their stripes.