Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It’s time to give a shout out to some writers I’m thankful for.
A.A. Milne, for taking me on lovely expotitions with Pooh and Piglet when I was a child. And for giving me the Winnie-the-Pooh stories to read to my own children when I was grown.
Walter Farley, for pulling me and my nine-year-old friends back to the library again and again to check out the Black Stallion novels.
Carolyn Keene — every damn version of her — for Nancy Drew.
Ray Bradbury, for introducing me to the world of science fiction and dark fantasy when I was twelve.
Ron Hansen, for teaching me that stories need a beginning, a muddle, and an end. And for encouraging me to send out a story I wrote in his college creative writing class. That validation gave me courage.
Sue Grafton, for opening my eyes to the possibilities available for women writing mysteries. And for Kinsey Millhone.
Stephen King, for making me love and cry for the characters in The Stand, all the while scaring me to death.
Stephen King, for everything he’s done for me.
And my everlasting thanks to the teachers who imparted their love of literature to me: JoEllen Hansen in fifth grade, Peg Harris in tenth, and, of course, my dad, Frank Gardiner, from the day I was born.
I’m lucky, and grateful.