Why I Write BY S U Z A N N E R O B E RT S
When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with Pippi Longstocking. I wanted to live as she did, in a big house on my own with a monkey and a horse. I admired Pippi’s strength (and the way she used it to put a bully in his place), her independence, her sense of adventure and wonder, but mostly the way she seemed to be boldly and unapologetically herself. My only pathway, as a child, to a life of adventure and authenticity was through my books, so I sat for hours on the couch, where I took off my glasses and ignored the world around me. Maybe there has always been a correlation between myopic children becoming writers. The fuzzy outside world makes it easier to look inward.
p hoto courte s y of the au thor
There’s also a correlation between bookish children like me and being bullied. As an adult, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how people fall into two categories: the bully and the bullied. I fell into the latter group, meaning my best friends would turn on me, crank call our house, write “fatty-fatty four eyes” on my school locker. In those times, I
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