As a reader, I got a late start. My parents and older sister read at the breakfast table, lying on the beach, on car rides, and curled up on the couch. I watched them, fuming. Why couldn’t I read too? Why wouldn’t they put down their books?

 

My mom explained that I was probably slow to read because I went to French school, while my family spoke English at home. When I was 4, my family emigrated from Scotland to Montreal, Canada, where most people speak French. But I didn't want my mom's practical explanations. I wanted to hear the words inside books.

 

Years passed. Then, in third grade, I picked up a copy of No Coins, Please by Gordon Korman. Normally I would toss a book aside after several pages. Reading was just too hard. But there was something different about this one—it was funny. And I needed to find out what happened next. In what seemed like a single magic moment, my eyes started to fly over the words. All of the work of reading fell away, and I was left with the sheer pleasure of it. Finally, at long last, I understood my family’s obsession. “Don’t bother me,” it was my turn to say. “I’m reading.”

 

Once I became a reader, I became a writer of what I considered truly hilarious works of fiction. As I grew older, I started reading the news, delving into the research collections of libraries, and discovering the power of telling real-life, often overlooked stories. It was exhilarating to discover that if I asked, people would tell me about their lives and work. I earned a Master of Fine Arts degree in nonfiction writing from Columbia University and began to work as a writer of books for children and teens.

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Today I live in the Hudson River Valley with my family and a giant dog named Sunny.