At first, the reason I wanted to write a kids’ book was to get something back that I didn’t realise I’d lost. I missed my imagination, which once upon a time was boundless, totally weird and a little coy. The absence of it niggled at me even if the memory of it was fuzzy: blurry dress-ups, monsters, magic, bedtime stories. There were whole, miniature worlds that I’d given up in favour of being an adult, a job I still don’t think I’m particularly good at.
But then, I don’t think anyone is good at being an adult. We still employ a fraction of those childhood faculties that help us make-believe that we’re grown-up, even if we still feel as though we should be tucked in at night. We’re just as chaotic and unsure as we’ve ever been. The impersonation just improves as you get older.
Doodle cat. Image supplied.
I was lucky enough to stumble across a creative soul mate when I met Doodle Cat’s co-creator, Lauren. Her brain lolloped at the same pace as mine, moving from one idea to the next, more impossible one with total disregard for logic. We both wanted to make better use of our imaginations and accordingly, the silliness was infinite.
We didn’t know anything about putting a children’s book together. We had no lessons, no morals (or at least none that we could honestly offer) and so had little idea of the sort of real world that a kid should be learning about before they officially entered it. Although the book started out as an attempt to get something back, we soon felt as though we just wanted to celebrate how great it is to be a kid and be totally in love with the world.