There’s a book festival this weekend, and one of the first events is a discussion on writing for children. As I am known to whine about, here, there, and elsewhere, I am really missing the writing life. I talk about it with Dave, and online, but it’s just this itch I can’t seem to reach to scratch. Pathetic, I know.

Earlier this week, Dave and I were talking about Ingrid and her love of books (seriously, the kid DEVOURS books, it’s her favorite thing to do, ever, if we took away every toy in the house and left books behind, she’d be THRILLED) and one thing led to another, and we decided we’re going to write HER a book, for Christmas. Dave is a pretty creative guy, and when he colors with Ingrid he always draws these little characters for her, and what we’re going to do is do a little illustrated book and scan it, upload to shutterfly, and have them print it. I think it would be a neat tradition to start.

The other session I want to attend is with one of the authors of “Packaging Girlhood: Rescuing our daughters from marketers’ schemes,” because it’s a topic I feel pretty strongly about. There are other sessions that I’d like to check out, too, with readings from local authors, signings, etc, and it just looks like a cool day.