I’ve never set out to write any particular kind of book. If someone came to me and said ‘Pamela, here’s a million bucks! Write me a *Insert Some Kind of Book Topic Here*’ I’d probably faint. Then whenever I came around I would have to respectfully decline. Unless of course, the *Insert Some Kind of Book Topic Here* could be applied to a book idea I already had, then not only would it be an awesome payday, but it would be a severe stroke of luck.
My first book was written aged six. I asked my mum to make me a book. She cut up some A4 paper, taped it together and voila! I had somewhere to put my words. I wrote a story about a little girl who wandered into the barn beside her house one morning to discover her parents had bought her a horse. Really, it was a happy, but utterly fictitious, story. I’ve never liked horses. Their size terrifies me. But I like giraffes, so go figure.
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