Twenty-two years ago, I started working on the story of an unlikely hero–a very small mouse named Despereaux.
Writing is always hard for me, and telling this story was especially difficult.
Somewhere in the writing process, a narrator’s voice showed up.
This narrator was brash, confident, irreverent, and, also, comforting—this voice seemed to know what was going to happen in the story. It promised me that things might turn out okay. That voice was miraculous to me, a gift.
I’ve been thinking about that narrator and Despereaux a lot in the last few weeks.
We’re approaching the 20th anniversary of The Tale of Despereaux being published, and it seems ever more miraculous to me: that the narrator showed up and that I got to tell the story.

“The world is dark and light is precious.
Come closer, dear reader.
You must trust me.
I am telling you a story.”

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