Eleanor Cameron

When I was a kid, probably ten or so, my parents would take me in to Greenfield, the nearest decent-sized town, to go to the library and check out books. I can remember a lot of books from that time vaguely, very few clearly.

One of my favorite authors, whose books I do remember clearly, was Eleanor Cameron. She wrote about a boy my age who constructed a rocket ship and flew to a secret moon in earth orbit and had adventures with the little green men who lived there. The premise of the stories, and the science in them, was pretty absurd, but the stories themselves were wonderful. I still remember the chill running down my spine when reading one of the more tense bits of Time and Mr. Bass.

Anyway, Eleanor Cameron is no longer with us, but I wound up wandering to her wikipedia article, and then to an essay she wrote about writing, which I think is worth a read: http://www.hbook.com/magazine/articles/1970s/oct72_cameron.asp

What she says in her article is something I think any writer today could stand to read. What she says about Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is amusing, surprising (to me) and revealing.