Peg Kehret Blog

In the last week I have been the lucky recipient of several unexpected gifts. When Jenny and Jerry came for our annual firepit dinner (my first s’mores of the season) they brought four large bags of dry twigs that Jenny had gathered. These will be perfect kindling for my wood stove next winter.

My mail on Friday included a new copy of Donkey, Donkey, which has been reprinted by Knopf. In Small Steps: The Year I Got Polio, I told how my mother gave away the books I had outgrown and how sad I had been not to have Donkey, Donkey any more. This book was sent by Denise in Brooklyn, NY, with a note thanking me for many happy hours of reading. I have never met Denise, yet she warmed my heart with her thoughtful words and gift.

Today I went to the Bellevue Arts and Crafts Fair with Anne. One exhibit featured whimsical pottery yard art, and I was enchanted by the colorful decorated coffee cups. (I’m devoted to coffee.) I began talking about where I might put one and said I could fill it with water for the small birds to drink. At that point, Anne bought it for “Moonie Appreciation Day.” (My kids and grandkids call me Moonie.) It shows as I walk up my front path, and I can see it from the kitchen window - a reminder of a happy day with my daughter and of a spontaneous gift, given for no particular reason.

Today I gave the first copy of Ghost Dog Secrets to my grandson, Eric. I give the first copy of every book to the person that the book is dedicated to, and it’s always fun to make that presentation.

This was a preview copy - the book won’t be released until Sept. 2, but I couldn’t wait to surprise Eric.

My granddaughter, Brett, is on a Semester at Sea study/cruise this summer, and I’m having a grand time following her adventures. I check her itinerary each morning and when she sends an email, telling about specific places, I go to Google Images and find pictures of them. Her vivid descriptions plus the photos make me feel as if I’m experiencing the trip with her. Most recently I’ve imagined riding the chair lift on the Isle of Capri, visiting the Duomo Dome in Florence, Italy, and strolling around Mykonos Island. When she mentioned the name of a hostel where she’d spent one night, I was able to find a web site and see photos of that, too.

This kind of vicarious experience is what I strive for when I write fiction. I hope my readers will have pictures in their minds of the action and setting, and, through my words, will feel the hopes, fears, excitement and other emotions of the characters. If I do my job well enough, readers will feel as if they’ve taken that particular journey themselves.

Here’s an excerpt from a letter sent by a ten-year-old fan:

“I wish I could have a cat but my dad is allergic to them. I told my mom that there is a house for sale next to us and that he could move next door and we could get a cat. My mom said no.”