By four years old I’d already realized that the words on the pages of books were written by particular people. And I had resolved to be one of them. ‘Resolved’ may be too strong a word. Hoped is better. I hoped—I hope to write. I’ve said it to a chosen few but I put it in print only once before, in an essay I wrote in college. It was read by two professors. One didn’t actually say the words “when turtles fly” but they came through. The other one talked for seven minutes about why I was born to be an editor. That was in 2002.
So there it is. It’s been this dream floating out in front of me for nearly as long as I can remember. If I have an older dream it’s probably to own a Cabbage Patch doll. I haven’t realized that one yet, either.